Real power lies with the dreamsmiths, as they shape stories fresh from their forges.
I dreamed I would visit a screech owl near a place where my wife and I track coyotes. I had not seen an owl before but Screech Owl became important to me. Then, a week or two later, screech owl visited me near the place I saw in my dream. It stayed for some 15 minutes, staring at me from a thin windblown branch, as my wife and I illuminated it with flashlights and took pictures. I got about 8 feet from it, at eye-level, before it flew away.
Stories tell the world, like mothers tell their children, what the world is like.
We have rabbits in our living room, and Mama Rabbit made a nest for the New Year. Now some 6 or 7 kits are wiggling in the straw and fluff. They are tiny, fuzzy, and blind, but starting to move about. What stories are their parents whispering in their ears? The cats sniff the nest curiously but don’t pounce when it moves; they stay away. Even my cat who likes to play with twigs won’t pull at the straw. Something in the air breathes a tale of birth and life, and the cats respect it.
May we all hear such wisdom. May we all bravely tell our stories.