In the birthing world, there is a phenomenon known quite well – that of the birth dream. It occurs across cultures, and is recognised and revered by many, though in our modern day western culture, it is often missed and the ritual around it has been lost. Someone close to the pregnant mother has a dream in which the baby makes itself known, introduces itself, and shares information about it’s person or it’s future life. It is thought that this occurs to aid in the preparations for the baby’s arrival, to make space for the person coming, to begin creating a concrete defined place for it in the community.
Mary Alice, a long-time local farmer extraordinaire, had a dream about us buying this farm. It coincided with our decision to put an offer on the land, unbeknownst to her. The morning after we had decided, we called her to let her know (as up until then we were loosely exploring some sort of collective community purchase, but to no real end at the time). It was during that phonecall that she shared she had had a dream.
A birth dream. The birth of our new life, the coming leg of our continuing journey, the next segment of our saga. It was a sign.
In the process of making an offer and buying the land, we made a number of visits to Sooke and began to meet the community. I was quite taken by the number of Mary’s in the community. I had met 4 almost immediately, and three of them were associated with Steve’s! To put this into context, I went to Catholic school my entire schooling life. And in that time, I was one of 3 Mary’s those entire 12 years. I re-iterate: Catholic school.
On our first potential buyers’ visit to the land, for a tour of the property with the selling agent, a series of weird things occurred with keys. The key that had been arranged for us to open the gate to the property did not work. The key to the house did not work either. Then, somewhere on our walk about the land, the keys to our car fell out of my pocket and could not be found again (to this day they remain lost, 5 summers later). We had to stay the night while we waited for our second set of keys to arrive by courier the next day. We stayed at Mary-Alice’s farm and gave that as the delivery address. It was a post office box, the key to which was with a member of the farm who was off farm that day and unavailable til’ that evening, at which point, we could open the mailbox and retrieve our keys.
Keys. Doors and gates, locked and closed. Were we being messaged to stay out, stay away? or were we being kept here to understand that keys are obstacles in themselves, to be removed from the process, so that doors and gates and hearts and souls can be kept open, to be walked through and into?
Still don’t understand the whole key thing, but I trust, that upon death, all will be revealed. (The competitive advantage of a single-lifetime religious worldview vs. that of reincarnations during with a series of lifetimes must endure delayed gratification before all is revealed. I digress.)
With my all-things-are-possible open mind and raised-Catholic with a fabulously superstitious Druidy-rooted Irish grandmother to balance things out, I read the signs.
So now, it’s the radios.
Not a single radio is working around here. Not the one in our VW golf. Not the one in our farm truck. Not the portable windup solar jobbies in the greenhouse and the outdoor kitchen. Not the one on my cellphone. Not the one in our 2 foot thick cob wall house. Most of them are broken, but otherwise the reception seemingly sucks at our place. Everywhere. I can’t tune in a radio station to save my life.
What does this whole radio thing mean? What does it all mean? Would love to know. One long ongoing universe shake-of-the-shoulders thing. All will be revealed. Hopefully before my death. Because I love discovering clues and solving riddles; holding blank paper to a candle and revealing invisible writing; orienting the compass and following a trail; snapping puzzle pieces together, identifying patterns, and watching a picture emerge.
Science has discovered that our skin not only acts as a protective layer to our vital insides, but is a radio of sorts, loaded with receptors that interact with our environment and collect and send information to our brain on a constant basis. Must eliminate background noise and interference to hear better what I receive…
Patterns. Signals. Signs. Keys. Radios. Embedded message everywhere.
The language of the universe.