Wild dream... Native horsepeople

May 3, 2006
I woke this morning from an intense dream. My dreams are often vivid... colors, smells, sounds, textures; I walk in other worlds, no doubt.
So here it is:

I was moving into an apartment/motel (extended stay type place) building for a short stay. It was of 60's design, metal railings, groovy carpets and crazy "modern" chandeliers in the hallways- think rusts, orange, avocado greens. Yeah baby. I was with several people I know well, including Greg. We all were burdened with big bags as if we were travelling for a long time, and intended to stay for a while.

While heading up to the room with more bags, I decided to take the circuitous route. The place was long and wide, only 3 stories, and an open plan (with all those metal railings you could see alot). I began to see people dressed in ancient nomadic garb leading their rough, small ponies about. They were all over the hotel, mostly the first and second floor; they were real, in fact they felt more real than the patrons in their jeans. I was incredibly drawn to them.
I saw them leading the horses into rooms; into the fields behind the motel. I must have set my bags down somewhere because I was suddenly free to follow. There was one rider and horse in particular that caught my eye; it was a woman, she was dressed in tan doe skins and had a flat drum strapped to her back. Her horse was a beautiful little dun, and was loaded down with baggage. They went into a room and unloaded; I saw them head towards the gift shop after that. The horse had a pronounced limp in the rear; I wanted to offer my myotherpy services to her, even free, just to be near them and discover who they were. They went into the gift shop so I followed. They must have left by a back door; they were not in the shop when I entered. The shopkeeper was a round American woman, dressed in jeans with a t-shirt on- a black one with a wolf and lightening bolts (you have seen those, you know what I mean). She had short dark curly hair. I said, "Who are all these people, and what in the world are they doing here?" I could see the woman and the little dun in the field behind the motel, they had left by a back door. The woman said, "they were displaced, and they are supposed to be here temporarily; it's awkward for them, and for us..." We were sitting on the floor, and I was watching out the window. I could see all sorts of people and these amazing horses. There was another, a black one, that was three legged lame- holding up her right foreleg. I said, "Is anyone even tending to these horses? Some are wounded! I need to help" and I felt deep emotions, tears in my eyes; but as she turned to see what horse I was talking about, the black had become a woman with long silky black hair, very Native looking, holding her arm awkwardly and laughing with the boy that had been leading her when she was a horse. I was stunned; but I could see flickering in her form the horse she was.
To the left there was a hill. It had looked like a graveyard, with a little snow on it, I overlooked it- barely saw it- before. As I watched, the woman with the dun were riding towards the graves. The little dun had no baggage on it now, and the woman rode her bareback, still with the drum on her back; they were a blend of tans, all the same and natural- they fit together. The woman rode the dun in a fury towards the graves. I exclaimed- "But see how she runs, and injured! Look at her hip, she's painful, but she's loyal- she will do this, despite her pain!" and the tears were choking my throat.
They plunged inbetween the graves, and I saw that the graves were printed on paper, and the white was not snow but paper- and the churning hooves tore up the illusion and revealed what lay beneath. I held my sobs- for beneath were horses, hundreds of them, only their heads above ground and a curious path made of horseshoes to the right of them. As she darted around, ripping the fake graves, the horses in the ground began to stir. They were of all colors horses come in. I watched as nostrils began to move, ears twitched, and I was fully crying now, in that shop- I could not tell if they were trapped, buried alive or if they were waking, what was going on. I only knew that the drive in me to go and help was strong, and that I needed to know them, that woman, and that dun. It was stunning.

I think I woke then, my throat tight, choked... I have many dreams of horses and native americans, and they are always vivid. This one burns in my mind, and I had to share. I have written it, and now the haunting can fade a little so I can move through the day in peace... Wed,