May 2007

tale of a dream beanie

by Leonie Dawson on May 25, 2007

There has been some beautiful instances of synchronicity, manifestation and The Secret in action (or as my gorgeous co-worker Katie calls it “The Common Sense”) in my life lately.

A few days ago I felt really teary over watching “Choir of Hard Knocks” ~ a choir gathered together of homeless and disadvantaged people. I felt so emotional over the challenges they faced, and decided that the next time I saw a Salvation Army guy, to give a donation.

Yesterday, I did, giving him an amount I haven’t given a charity before.

Moments later, I walked back into work and found a long forgotten cheque that hadn’t been banked ~ for a few dollars more than I had just donated.

Give… and you receive. Funny that!

And then…

I’ve been dreaming of a beanie.

Not just any beanie ~ but a rainbow striped one, with ear flaps.

It is May and here in the alps we are descending into Persephone’s den of Winter. Dream beanie has been on my heart~horizon for months, but I still hadn’t sighted it, and my ears were starting to get cold.

On the weekend, my love and I went to wander around the Old Bus Depot Markets to eat churros, sample olives (he) and fudge (me) and feast our eyes on all the arts and crafts there. That day happened to be Wool Crafts day ~ a sure sign, I thought, to find my Dream Beanie. Alas, no luck. The closest I came was to a brown ear flapper. My faith wavered, and I thought for a moment about buying it instead as the Universe OBVIOUSLY hadn’t heard my request. I kept thinking “uh HELLO, universe, WHERE’S MY DREAM BEANIE?!?!!”

I wonder how many times I’ve caved before, to buy the not~my~dream~but~close~beanie in my life. I left the markets, faith intact and beanie~less.

A couple of days later I meet two goddesses for magical corn cakes and passionate smoothies for breakfast. As we walk down the street afterwards, arm in arm, my sweet friend gives me a small parcel wrapped in orange tissue paper and string. I feel like Daryl Hannah in Splash – when Tom Hanks gives her a present, she fawns over the box, and tells him she will love that box forever. I felt the same way about that parcel. I didn’t want to open it ~ I just wanted to love it forever, rubbing my hands over the rough paper the colour of autumn leaves, feasting my eyes on the beauty of cream string.

But I open it, and inside is Dream Beanie. She had been waiting for me all along, and was just waiting for the angel to deliver it to me properly.

All I needed was the faith for it to be delivered,

and Me and Dream Rainbow Beanie found each other.

This Universe is too cool, baby.

Rainbow OUT,
Leonie

dear leonie

by Leonie Dawson on May 21, 2007

dear leonie,

i am writing you this so you may remember.

i want you to know what it was like to go to your first shamanic drumming circle.

it was raining, a dark may night.

we turn up early ~ an hour early, i’d gotten the time wrong,
so we strolled up and down the street, us and chris and his mum,
talking of this and that, sticking our heads into the remaining open shops that smelled of patchouli, plastic tubs of turkey feathers on the shelf.

i want you to remember how we at last entered the circle, smelling strongly of grandfather sage. a man with blue eyes and black boots is the guide.

the circle begins to fill with men and women,
black leggings, eyebrow rings, frog shirts, smiling eyes.
the guide walks around the circle, introducing himself, hugging each of us,
and slowly the circle walks around inside itself,
saying our names, hugging each other hello.
i decide there that it is the best way to meet someone:
to embrace them, to say “lovely to meet you” and to mean it as your heart is pressed against theirs.

then there is talking, and you find yourself thinking:
enough with the talking of doing, let’s just do
and you grin at your own impatience,
staring at the monstrous drum in the middle of the circle
meditating out and into your own core
the sage smoke takes you there.

we are smudged with a huge wing of eagle
and inside my cells i know
i am being changed.

the drum begins
and a journey into the heart
it is heady and hot and smoky
and without words.
it feels like every part of my body is being smoked out.

and then we all begin drumming
on that huge deerskin drum
a flute is played around us
and i move back from the circle.

the guide plays a didjeridoo, and i close my eyes,
and he begins to play it over my chest.
my heart begins to beat with the didj music,
the layers of pain strip away
and there flighting, flying, dancing in my centre
is joy
and i begin laughing.

there is my joy core. i had been looking for it, wondering where it lived and how it felt since my dear friend D saw it one magical night as we held a rose quartz crystal ball together. there is my joy core.

i lay on the floor afterwards, soaking in the beating of the drum,
the sage of past lives,
the sacred sounds of a life unravelling
to who i wanted to be.

i write you this so you may know it, hear it, feel it again,
maybe in twenty years.
i don’t know where you’ll be
but i know it will be fucking magnificent.

i love you older self,
24 year old leonie

six

by Leonie Dawson on May 20, 2007

Six years ago today
Or two thousand one hundred and ninety days ago
I met a beautiful man on a quiet beach
We held hands in the sand
Talked about the ocean and the soul
Kissed under the moonlight
And decided to be together.

This morning I wake him with a kiss
and whisper “happy six years my love”
He whispers back “here’s to another sixty… thousand”
And we both laugh because this lifetime isn’t the end or the beginning at all.


the first night, charcoal, 2002