It’s been a while since I watched the sunrise.
The wind calmed down having done his job of cleaning the sky of clouds and rain.
A faint pink ribbon weaves in and out of the eucalyptus trees I see from my window.
The dirt was washed off the glass and a new world, clean and loaded with promise, springs up.
September blue skies look at me through the curtains this morning and bring up unicorns before I finish stretching in rumpled sheets, before the waning moon pulls up her light beams, like a ladder, out of my dreams.
What would you put in a unicorn’s horn?
What would a dreamer put in there?
For some, the mythic unicorn is somewhat like the goat of redemption; there she stores pains and sorrows, mistakes and errors, imperfections, character flaws, all the transgressions of the day. Why the day?
So that each morning the world is new and clean, and could be the perfect dawn that changes everything…
But really, what would be in that horn? …
What are horns for if not defense or combat?
But a unicorn gallops with the wind, disappears in the rain, vanishes in shadows…
Hiding, evading, escaping is her best defense; why would she need one?
What is it made of? It shines like gold …
It is precious. It is what makes her a unicorn, it identifies her.
Without it she is just a mare (perhaps a night-mare?) …
What is prized, what is priceless? So rare and sublime in its experience, that to describe it requires translation and the dreamer —who needs symbols to sort out the chaotic sense of dreams/thoughts/desires– spins a horn of gold on a white horse?…
White bull for Mithra.
White horses for Alexander and Apollo rising.
White horses are divine.
White animals of large sizes [elephants, stags, whales, etc…] are pure, from another world; a world of spirit and the unseen, of what is mysterious yet felt from within as well as without.
What is luminous and golden and transforms the ordinary, the everyday into magic?…
Is there anything but love?
The falling in love kind, the thunderstruck thing, the love-at-first-sight anomaly…
A creative, driven energy that wants to unite two souls searching for wholeness.
It’s a shattering, disturbing, mind-bending, ecstatic projection of the divine within onto the other.
It is Psyche meeting Eros. Promise of paradise if nothing changes.
“I would like to try the sea that brings all chances… I would have the sea bear me far off alone, to what land no matter, so that it heal me of my wound” said Tristan.
Can I let go of my love? Can I stop loving you and do I see you naked without the emperor’s cloak I threw on you at first? Can I?
A scarab shines, golden, on a far-off white lantana bloom.
It twinkles like a fire-fly, flashes, dazzles, nearly blinds…
Then it moves, settles, and becomes just another brown bug.
But I know him from close up.
I have marveled at the design of his shell, the lines and flecks, his scratches and spots.
I have stood in wonder at the sound of his wings when he flies, and the way he folds and hides them beneath the elytra when he dreams.
And I have also watched in dismay the way he rolls like a pebble when touched…
We must have known each other once before
I know you so well
And you love me so poorly.
Unicorn photo credit http://www.tchevalier.com/unicorn/tapestries/desir