Thursday, July 2, 2009

Dream or vision from last night...Descent into the Abyss

I woke last night, heart pounding from this dream and basically stuck to the ceiling. I could not rest until I wrote it down, and it is haunting me. It also relates in my mind clearly to a dream I had last year that was equally as vivid, though very differnt. One item in the two dreams remained the same...the sword. I am posting the second dream from last night first...the next post will be the first dream. The posting order seems important, maybe because last night is haunting me so.

Descent into the Abyss…
I dreamed I was walking a worn down path – on my left was a great high grey stone wall; massive cut stones fitted tight together. There is a curve to the wall and the path that leads me always around. To my right there is a dark twisted forest where the shadows are so deep I cannot see more than a few feet in…the trees come right up to the path with low over hanging branches and gnarled roots encroaching on the path to trip and stumble over. There is a heavy white fog that turns all this into strange shapes and shadows and random movements. I cannot see the top of the wall above my head.
I am a man in the dream; which is not unusual – I normally am in my dreams. I am wearing only a faded kilt that’s ragged, a sword with a sword belt and a bronze and brass twisted torque around my neck. My face is rough with beard stubble and I feel very tired. I walk a long, barefoot and my feet are sore as though I have walked a long, long way. Suddenly I come to a great shattered break in the wall – there are broken stones and rubble and its jagged, as though some great violence had occurred there. I start to walk carefully by the gap, which is very wide and dark inside past the wall. A voice calls to me, and I see a shape, a distance below me in the dark, going down carved steps in a great cliff face. So I turn and walk down them carefully until I come down a fair amount into the depths and see a figure standing there ahead of me. Behind me, as I look back up, I see above me the dim light of the fog and the forest through the big break in the wall. There is not a lot of light.
The figure comes up the stairs to me, and it is hard to see who or what it is, even though it is carrying a burning torch. As it – he – steps up beside me I catch impressions of great height and strange eyes looking down at me – they are simultaneously the green of moss under flowing water, the brown of deep dark earth, and the colors shift without intermingling. There is some great shadow above the face that I cannot see clearly as though great stag antlers rose from his head. But these are impressions only, seen in flickers of darkness and fire.
He says to me, “Your way lies there.” And points down into the dark down the great crumbling stairs below us. And I am frightened and say, “Is there not some other place to cross, not so dark or dangerous or deep.”
“Yes,” he replies in a great deep rumble, “many other places, some no further down then the height of your knee. But those paths are not your path – they will only lead you back to these steps and this journey. This is your path. You must walk it.”
Now I am very frightened and I say “Where do the stairs lead?”
“Up and out the other side, but they go to the bottom first. You must give me your kilt and your sword before you go.” At this I cry out, “Have I no choice!?”
“No,” and he holds out his hand to me. “You may choose not to go today, but you may not avoid this journey forever. It is your road. You must go naked and alone. You will cross and come back into the light. But, you cannot not go. Eventually you must go into the dark.”
I stand shaking for awhile and it seems this great horned creature towering above me waits in perfect silent patience while I struggle with my fear. Finally, I pull off my kilt, and my sword and belt and place them in his hand that he is still holding out to me. He takes them and I reach to take off the torque around my neck and he says “No, leave that. You may wear it as you journey.”
I take a step, already stumbling a little and I say, “It is so dark…”
He steps beside me and says, “Here…take the torch. It will only burn for a moment, but it will see you on your way for a little…and here…” and he reaches out with his hand and I saw that it was covered in blood running down the fingers and the wrist and taking his finger he draws a spiral on my chest with the blood. “You will not see me, nor hear me. You will feel doubt and fear. But even the darkness is light to me – by my blood I am with you.” And as I took the torch, feeling the blood trickle down my chest and belly, I see for one split second the face, the eyes, the great spreading antlers rising from his head – I see him clearly, but I cannot describe what I see, nor can I forget it, ever. And then he steps back and is gone. I take one step down, barefoot and shivering and then the next step down.
There are great splits and breaks in the stairs and they wind back and forth. I can no longer see the way I came in; before and behind me beyond the wavering torch light is only utter blackness. I trip and fall, once, twice, repeatedly…and finally, the torch flickers, and burns out. I cannot see the hand in front of my face, or the wall I feel beside me, or the rough broken stairs beneath my feet. I lean on the wall, feeling my way with my hands and my feet so very slowly…
But I do not fall again, and I go down into the blackness.
And that is where I woke up.


  1. I know this place, where one walks to the abyss. I know the words, and the dark fey who live in the woods and beckon the unsuspecting. I know the might and the wall. It is the place of my depression and the place where I find the crone. I am fascinated it is the place where you meet the Lord of the Forest.

    The paths are exactly as I remember them from lucid dreams and from the dark of night. However, this is not the musings of depression or suicide. This sounds like an initation. You may need to talk to Lady S.

  2. You do indeed. I have spoken. ;>

    Yes, this is big and yes, I agree about what seems to be going on here. Sometimes the formal ritual is only -part- of the story. Sometimes They have their own timing and their own ways of doing things. I think, truthfully, you have been blessed. And I think we need to get together and talk about this in depth.

    Everyone percieves the descent in different ways, and I think it's fascinating that you and Dreamweaver have basically gone to the same place. Fascinating. (If I knew the 'lil emoticon for a spock eyebrow I'd be doing it right now...)

    I also have to tell you that I have a feeling you've got more dreaming to do. This has a distinct "chapter one" feeling to it.

    My porch would like to talk to you at your convenience, m'dear. Much love,