Abuna (my Coptic Priest, literally "our father") tells me not to make too much of dreams, the kind that happen when you're sleeping, because you never really know their source. Could be your subconscious just sifting through raw material for something to chew on or eject, could be random noise, or yes, it could be the omnipotent one...or His nemesis, he says. You never know. "Don't over analyze," he instructs me.I'm very skilled at over analysis. He pretty much gives me the same instructions no matter what quandary or confession I babble on about in his presence. However, this time, this dream, I think a bit of analysis is in order. I think the magnificent one may indeed be trying to tell me something, and as was His habit with the parables of His Son, He has made a bit of a game of it. Let's play dream analysis with God, shall we?
First, the setting. In my waking life, I am entering a state of transition. I am getting ready to leave the place that I have called home for the past four years, and lived in for more than eight years. It's just time to go. I'm not quite sure where I'm going and what I will do when I get there, but I'm trying not to get too caught up in that. "He has a plan for you," Abuna reminds me. "Don't let your plans get in the way of His plans. " He tells me to make myself strong, yet flexible, like a marsh reed, so the breath of God can bend me to His will, but not break me.
I keep praying for this plan to be revealed to me, for a sign, or for my steps to be easy if I am on the right path. Don't get me wrong. I know God's path is rarely the easy one, but sometimes he gives us a little push that allows us to keep momentum enough to plow through the obstacles, and sometimes our surety that we are indeed heading the right direction is enough to make the process of overcoming even mighty obstacles invigorating rather than draining. When we are in alignment with His will, our resolve is strengthened at the right moments. That's all I am asking for, really.
But so far all I've encountered along the few bold new paths I've started to trod down in search of my path is a growing sense of irritation. I was looking forward to the Great Fast, Orthodox Lent, as a time when I could really settle down and just sit still with God. This time, I resolved, I was going to "make it," at least on the vegan diet part, the full 55 days. Then I overanalyzed and skipped the first week, reasoning that it really wasn't part of the original, as it is rumored to be something that the Coptic Church added on so that we can get ready for the "real" fast. "Hmmph. I'll be ready all by myself." So there I was, one week later, fast-less, making a half-hearted pledge as I went to bed to start my fast the next day.
Enter the dream:
I was walking on the wild hillside beneath the pine trees behind my father's church in the neighborhood of my childhood home. I was with childhood friends, and we were all grown ups, the same as we are now. We were checking out the construction that was taking place, as some of the land had been sold. I noticed a patch of wild blue columbine amongst the grasses and pine needles. It was directly in the path of the construction. "Hey, look at this!" I said to my friends. "We can't leave it there. Let's dig it out and find a new home for it." They agreed and stood by as I scooped out the earth around the plant.After I gingerly pulled it up, we discovered we could see right through to the "other side" of the ground, as if we were standing on a bridge of land just one foot deep. I was stupefied. My friend merely commented, "I guess the ground isn't very deep here."
No time for pondering, we had to get this little columbine, her roots hanging in the wind, tucked into her new home. But where? We began walking through the neighborhood, searching for the perfect spot. Across the street, we saw a beautiful hillside garden, tomatoes and beans and corn weighing down the plants that sustained them. A man sat in a wooden garden shed with a counter at the bottom of the hill. We hurried over to the man and showed him the columbine. "Would you be able to help save this beautiful plant? She needs a new home," I explained. Without saying anything, he took down a little pot, patted down the plant in premium potting soils, and handed it back to me, saying, "that will be $6.00."
"No, you don't understand. I don't want to buy the plant back, I was asking if you would take care of it, and plant it in your garden," I asserted, wary of being hustled. By a gardener, at that! The man shrugged and made as if to tear the plant out of the pot and toss it. I wasn't about to sacrifice the columbine for a measly six dollars, so I paid him and picked up the plant again. I carried the little potted columbine down the street with me again, in search of a garden.
End of dream.
What does it all mean? I confess that I am pretty sweet on columbine, because it was introduced to me by my little gardening buddy, the 80+ year old grandmother of my ex-husband, God rest her soul (Grandma's, that is). We used to take weekly walks together in an estate garden open to the public and she would stop and point at every flower she recognized. Columbine, she recalled, was her own mother's favorite flower. So I get a little gushy when it comes to columbine.
After this dream, I discovered that columbine has been imbued with meaning by many before me, and is pretty much the penultimate symbolic flower. Here's a few choice representations:
• A symbol of foolishness, since it resembles a jester's cap and bells.
• The name columbine is derived from the Latin word for dove, columba, as its circle of petals is thought to resemble doves. As doves apparently mate for life, the blue columbine is a symbol of fidelity.
• In the seventeenth century, Columbine became a symbol of cuckoldry and bouquets were presented to women who were thought "loose". The Victorians associated Columbine with folly and thanklessness. Columbine has also been used to treat measles, smallpox and liver problems, and jaundice if taken with Saffron. It is one of eight herbs cited in 1373 for the treatment of plague. (http://www.englishplants.co.uk/columbine.html)
• The flower of the Virgin Mary. "As columbine flowers age, the petals fall from the plant and each individual petal with spur attached resembles a slipper. The legend says columbine plants arose wherever Mary stepped on her way to visit her cousin Elizabeth, so sometimes columbine goes by the common name Our Lady's Shoes or the Virgin Mary's Shoes." (http://web.extension.uiuc.edu/macon/palette/060521.html)
But here's where it really gets interesting. Columbine’s association with doves made it an easy favorite with the church. “…Because of the Dove's religious symbolism, it was popularly grown in convents & monasteries. The Dove in religious context most often was emblematic of the Holy Spirit; the seven petals of a wild columbine indicated the Day of Pentecost, & the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit, as enumerated in First Corinthians 12. ...(Monastic) legends maintained that it was a columbine made of fire that appeared to the apostles on Pentecost. A pure white columbine together with 'Ruby Port' is nature's portrait of the Holy Spirit arising, like a Phoenix, out of the divine fire."" (http://www.paghat.com/columbine4.html)So, we have an array of heady symbols to choose from. Clearly, the possibility that the Pantocrator was trying to "say it with flowers" exists.
So, what exactly is the Creator trying to say? Am I being called out on being a loose woman? Or perhaps a faithful one, full of fidelity? Do I have liver problems and should seek treatment? Is Mother Mary coming to visit?
Or was He reminding me that the Holy Spirit is in me, and entrusted to my care? That the places I had chosen for my spirit were shallow at best, that it was wise to get out of danger's way, but not to just dump myself in the nearest (most convenient) fertile ground? And how about that symbolism in having to buy back my own spirit? Yes, there is a price to pay when we let it get away from us. But now, my little dove, my columbine, my holy spirit, has been given just a little patch of fertile soil to sustain her as we wander together in search of a place to put down roots.
Or, perhaps more likely, I am just being foolish.
