The other day I dreamt, as other times, being back to a known place of my dreams, a sacred place I love and honour, a place I love to wander and get lost as long as possible.
For some reason, this time, my path was as if it wasn´t free but determinated to take me to an specific point, so I simply ended my walk where it was signed, and there I found an old woman, in the gloom of a large cold and austere room.
She was standing, resting her hands at the end of a long stone table, dressed in black, almost martial, with some light behind and above her, quiet, silent, waiting for me. I came closer so I could see her old shriveled face holding a peaceful but majestic and grave gaze to nowhere.
And then, I simply knew it, without her saying a word or making a sign… She was the owner and mistress of that sacred magical place. Not a high priest, not a king, but an old woman, that appeared to me as almighty, wise beyond limit and the spirit and strenght of the magic, power, wonder and beauty of that place.
And so I felt protected, real, enlighted.