Copyright 2010 Roberta Osborn. All rights reserved.

Dreams of the Borderland

Protection

At the bay, I walk along the narrow rocky beach to a paved trail back up into the woods. There are

delicate wildflowers and large butterflies passing here and there in the dappled light along the

path. A black butterfly with blue spots crosses over my shoulder on its way up into a tree to give

me time to observe, but not interfere with its beauty. Further into the woods I hear a rustle, and

quickly look for movement. A tender beige and brown-striped salamander is climbing on fast legs

through the tunnels of curling leaves and bridges of fallen branches. It says nothing, but pauses

for a moment to let me admire it, and wiggles quickly under cover just before I get too close. It

occurs to me that

these motions in the

living world reflect the

currents of my psyche.

I am briefly aware of

my emerging

motivations, but these

must be protected

from my own

relentless scrutiny until

I am wise and

trustworthy enough to

let them be.

I emerge into the sun.

There is a lawn here

at the high point

looking across the

water, a location just

perfect for a tea-party, I think. I rest my hands on the heavy fence that someone built to hold the

cliff together. Below me, massive gray boulders retain the beach against the modest surf. I

consider that someone had the forethought to create these boundary conditions well in advance

of my arrival, permitting me to experience beautiful perspectives from this precipice without fear. It

is a bright, cool summer morning, and boats in every size and color are already at anchor or

sailing playfully in every direction across the gentle waves. I am also witness to the shadows of

large ships that pass in the channel on their way to port. I realize that there is powerful business

at work in the world that I know nothing about. I watch both sailing and shipping through the sun-

enlivened mist. I can barely see the dim gray silhouette of land at the other side of the bay, an

area I know to be richly inhabited and green with forested coves. At the moment, the long smudge

at the horizon is faint enough to be an unknown country, its occupants sheltered by the anonymity

afforded by this long perspective.

I get back on the path and turn onto a wooden walkway that winds down through the trees. It

ends on a wooden deck overlooking a hidden pond that is sheltered by trees all around. The

water is covered with floating plant stuff that filters the sun, casting shadows into the water,

cooling its depths for whatever lives there. The buzz of thriving insect life surrounds me. In the

shade at the pond's edge, water skimmers are busy surveying the surface, racing this way and

that, dimpling the shining water in quick, tight zigzags and spirals that leave no trace. Sparkling

blue dragonflies hover and zip across the pond, and eventually come to the bank to have a look

at us. "We've been here a long time. We know the ropes. We'll take care of things," they say. I

have every confidence. I am amazed that this lively place has been here, out of sight, all along.

From a tree at the far side of the pond, a large bird emerges to glide directly toward me. I am

astonished at the forward line of its wings, which span five feet at least. As this sentinel lifts up

and away, I see that a great blue heron presides here.

I peer into the sheltered water for the creatures that I know must live here to feed such a large

bird. After a while I see careful activity just under the thin mat of plants. It is not a fish, but a very

large snapping turtle, at least eighteen inches long, with a massive head on a thick neck. It swims

very slowly amid the columns of sunlight just under the surface, its shell dark, its neck and limbs

glowing amber through the clear green water. Eventually, it comes closer to see me and pokes

just the tip of its dark nose carefully into the air for a moment. It dips back down and turns away. I

watch it for some time, nearly suspending breath to match the creature's graceful and desultory

patrol of its own mysterious domain. I remember that strong, well-defended powers patrol the

depths of my own being, and that I can relax in living and let these natural guardians work.

One of the small blue dragonflies comes back to light up the shade and give me permission to

leave. I turn and walk back up the path. I feel strangely deepened by my experience of this place.

Every living being in the world is somehow aware of me, observing of my progress, and available

to inform or help should I come within its sphere of influence. Meanwhile, lives of utter beauty and

mystery occur, waiting to share their meaning, and witness my own, upon my arrival.