The Rose and her Thorns
Last night I dreamed that I was moving house. I was moving into a beautifully spacious new place but the previous owners had left piles of detritus throughout the house. I knew that getting the space ready to live in was going to involve an almost overwhelming amount of work.
A few friends offered to come over and help me clear out the house. I gratefully took them up on their offer, but after they arrived, all they seemed able to do was half heartedly move small piles of items around. Within a short time, they started talking amongst themselves on their plans for the evening.
I stared at them feeling disappointed and abandoned. They shifted uncomfortably and assured me that I could handle what was left.
I woke up feeling discouraged and alone. In the dream, these same friends had encouraged me to move to a larger space, to expand and grow. How could they abandon me just when I needed them most?
Over coffee this morning, I started thinking about the dream, unpacking what it actually meant.
A house usually represents the dreamer. My holiday selling season will be wrapping up in a few weeks, with the new year I've new plans and ideas for how I want to evolve and what I want to do with my work (think serious commitment to the Tarot deck that I've been promising to make).
Those plans are the foundation of that new house, an amazing new space for me to move into and make my own.
The problem is that I am the house and I still need to take out my mental trash. I need to clean out my past issues, throw out the baggage that hasn't served me or been of use to me in years.
I am my own inconsiderate old homeowner.
We are all full of infinite creativity. We just have to free the space within ourselves.
My friends may love me. They may encourage me, but in the end they can't do the work for me. They don't know what the useless detritus is; they don't know what needs to be thrown out.
I am responsible for the state of my own inner self and only I can make it a space in which to thrive.
I am the rose; learning to control her thorns. You may attempt to trample me; you may pass me without noticing, or maybe, just maybe, you'll catch a glimpse of the endless, infinite potential within.