The Rant and the Weavers

I want to share a dream with you.

I recorded this on February 5th, still half in it when I woke up. I'm sharing it here because some dreams aren't just for the person who has them. Some dreams feel like they belong to a wider conversation. This one felt that way.

I'll tell it to you the way it came.

I'm staying in a converted manor, the kind that's been turned into a bed and breakfast, all heavy doors and high ceilings and the feeling of many lives lived inside its walls. I'm planning to drive somewhere, but a man arrives at the place, and he arrives with other people. He is heavyset, bald, and wearing a white suit. They have an official, authoritative vibe. He says he's there to save me, and is certain of his right to be there.

I don't believe him or trust him. There is something deeply creepy underneath the performance of authority, something that knows exactly what it's doing and is counting on me not to say so out loud.

There is a woman at the front desk. I come out of my room quickly, urgently. I draw and write on two pieces of paper and hand them to her. I tell her, " These are the last two cards for my oracle deck." She understands. Not just the words…she understands the urgency, and she understands that the people who have arrived at this house are not here with good intentions.

I go back to my room, and I pretend to sleep seated with my head resting on the wall by the window. The man comes to my window, and I peek open an eye, and he says: I know you aren't sleeping. You're coming with me.

I keep pretending to sleep; I don’t move or respond. I stay perfectly still until he leaves.

Then I get up, and I start pacing. I walk out into the front hall of the hotel, and I start to rant. I am loud, and I make sure everyone can hear me. I say: "if there were not two women here already, that man would have assaulted me."

I cross the reception to the right side of the hall, and I fling open a door.

Inside the room are three ancient women…crones. They all have long white hair, sitting with their spinning and their weaving. The colors in what they're making are vivid, rich and alive, more saturated than waking life. The crones feel old in a way that goes beyond age. They feel like ancestors.

I am still ranting, though I am now slowing my rant. And then I notice my shadow across the room, standing on its own by the wall. It is standing tall, and proud. It looks almost like its own being, not just a shadow but a presence. Something that has always been there, waiting for this exact moment to become visible.

The women are watching me. Every one of them. And in their eyes is something I recognize but don't often let myself receive.

Pride, like they have been waiting for me, for this…

I woke up with that image still on me; it felt very powerful. Those last images felt very meaningful: my shadow, the crones, and the colors in the weaving.

I've sat with this dream for weeks now. What I know is how it felt. It felt like something had been witnessed. Like I had done something that mattered to forces much older and wiser than me, and they wanted me to know it.

Within our dream group, we give our dream a mantra to carry this dream forward. Mine is: I am weaving my own path.

I am not following one. Nor am I waiting for someone to hand me a map or grant me permission or confirm that it's safe to proceed. Instead, I am weaving it, thread by thread, in color, with my own hands, watched by women who have always known this was coming.

If you've had a dream that stayed with you long after waking, one that felt less like a dream and more like a message, you are not alone. Inside the Dream Weaving Circle, we gather to explore the deeper language of dreams, symbols, and soul guidance in a supportive space of women walking their own path.

Join the Dream Weaving Circle here.