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For [the poet] there is no other woman but Cerridwen and he desires one thing above all else in the world: her love... Other women, other goddesses, are kinder-seeming. They sell their love at a reasonable rate—sometimes…for the asking. But not Cerridwen: for with her love goes wisdom. ~ Robert Graves, "The White Goddess" 

Some time ago, I had a dream.  I had been blocked in terms of my writing for some time and had begun to believe that the creative talent I once believed I had in abundance, had mysteriously dissolved.

And so one night, before I went to bed, I asked spirit to provide me with guidance. Through the dream that follows it seems to me that guidance was received:

I was standing on the edge of the dream which had come before wondering if this new dream belonged to me or if someone else was dreaming it instead.  Immediately before me, a beautiful woman with long curling, light auburn hair was rising slowly and majestically into the air.    

I saw flowers and vines and tiny newborn pigs and sparkling drops of what I knew was milk spinning slowly around her, sparkling like and then becoming bright stars, in the great drifting vortex of animals and vegetation.  I was now suddenly quite close and I saw each detail of this amazing train of life float past me, delicate and beautiful and vivid as the lady herself.    

The tiny pigs were pink and tender and sweet.  The flowers were colorful and bright and incredibly vivid.   The small traveling stars shone.  I was in awe of what I was seeing but I was also quite clear.  This was no ordinary woman.  This was a goddess - I was sure.

It was a wonderful moment.  And then my modern sensibilities kicked in.  I found the tiny newborn pigs disconcerting and the milk seemed odd and out of place.   'Why pigs?" I asked myself, and as I struggled with the unconventional imagery I began to wake up. 

Abruptly, right at the edge of awakening, a white sow's head  flashed across this strange but beautiful scene.   The pig was not in any  way attractive but, like every else in the dream, the detail was remarkable.  I saw coarse hair, a single wild eye, a smudge of dirt.   

And then I was awake. 

I didn't know what to do with the dream.  I found it a little embarrassing and I didn't want to share it anyone. Feeling conflicted I sat on the dream for three days.  But it wouldn't leave me alone.  It was too beautiful, too vivid, too bright.  And I know what dreams with that kind color and light always mean.  It was a dream of spirit.  Disconcerting or not.   

I decided to research it. And that was when I discovered the white goddess, born three or four or six thousand years ago, traveling from Sumer to Egypt and then inexplicably to the wilds of a new place - a fey island we call Britain.  And it was in Britain where the cult of the goddess - the white sow goddess, Cerridwen and the flame-keeper known as Brigid (associated with milk and the magic boar) took hold.

Inspired by their Goddess, the bards of this ancient land drank the fire of inspiration from the sacred cauldrons and called themselves her sons. 

I did my research and reflected.  I didn't like the animal imagery especially but I knew that without that detail - a detail so important it was repeated just as I began to wake up - the real meaning of the dream would have been lost or forgotten and I would have never connected the dots. 

I didn't have much interest in goddesses or any avatars really, at that point. I had been on a New Age path for some time blogging regularly about angels and spirit guides and other new age topics.  When I considered the idea of a supreme deity (which wasn’t often) I thought, as I had been taught, of a male god with a capitol G.  But no god hadn't come to me.  She had.  

In the aftermath of the dream, I began to write again.  And as I skipped from project to project I learned something.  My talent for writing was still there buried deep beneath my effort to produce material that other people might be expected to like.  The only thing that had been lacking was passion.   

I looked over my old blog posts and saw that all through the long drought I had, in fact, written several posts that were beautiful and moving.  They were few and far between but they had a common theme.  The good ones had been born of passion for the topic at hand.  A few days later I made a small altar, wrote this post, and began to explore a new and exciting path.

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