Lammas Dream

I woke  this morning after a night of odd dreams, one of which moved me to tears. Last night I had to fetch back my hive of bees after we’d been informed that it was being raided by wasps so we were late back last night and had to get the girls settled in a discreet part of the garden, working by torchlight. I’m mulling over a lot of things right now and am intending to start weaving them into a set of stories when I get a bit of time and energy, but this dream seems to be a part of the inner journey I am taking right now. I’m not going into any more than that as it’d take too long so I’ll give the gist of the central part of the dream.

I am not sure where I was, but it was a bit like one of the great summer fetes we have here in England and I’d wandered off a bit before finding a sort of gazebo or tent with it’s sides up, much like the ones you find at summer fairs and village fetes all over the country. But when I stepped inside it, everything changed. If I said it was decorated with autumn leaves and berries and ripe apples, I’d be damning it with faint praise. It was as though those things had magically just grown there. No flower arranger had had a hand in this; it was beyond beautiful. Branches of all sorts of trees seemed to have woven themselves together, some laden with nuts and berries like hazel and rowan, and others had apples and pears and plums and all sorts of other fruit as well as leaves that were changing colour to their autumn hues. But it was the atmosphere that made me cry with a strange atavistic joy. I’d stepped into the very presence of God, or that’s what it felt like. A deeper peace I can seldom remember experiencing. The scent of fruit flowers, leaves and barks filled the air and there was a profound expectant quiet like the feeling in a church when the last notes of the organ die away leaving a resonance like silver hanging in the air. Apart from me, no one was there. I simply didn’t want to leave. The dream moved on then and other things happened that I must ponder later.

When I finally woke this morning and drank tea, I remembered today is Lammas, the feast of the ripening corn and the harvest. I’d woken with tears of joy and sorrow at leaving that tent of God and now I feel I must seek it again or even create my own corner of it.

Lammas blessings to everyone who reads this.

8 thoughts on “Lammas Dream

  1. What a gorgeous dream. My first thought was of sukkot, the Jewish harvest festival. My husband said it was one of his favorite holidays growing up. Your description reminded me of his description of the sukkot booths, decorated with harvest fruit.


    • I didn’t know about that festival at all. I’ve been thinking about it all day and am feeling very dreamy, which is nice but I’m working a long day tomorrow and today is my only full day off now for almost a fortnight.


  2. There is a call in this dream, Viv. You have been in the presence of the Self, that wholeness that embraces all that is self and not-self. Some will call this God, others will give other names. The journey beckons. On the journey, all the rules, all the knowns vanish. Think of Odysseus voyaging on the wine-dark seas of the unconscious …


    • hmmm. wine dark seas. hmm…wine.
      sorry not being flippant but it does feel as if today it all means absolutely diddly squat.


  3. What an incredible and positive sounding dream. It seems to reflect the essential core of yourself – all the wonderful goodness contained within in the vulnerable outer self.


    • You are very kind, Jessica. I appreciate this. Are you having a good break? I’m mildly envious of your holiday having seen some of the pics. It was a beautiful dream and when i am feeling less steamrollered I need to think and write some more about it.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.