Inner landscapes

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I believe we all have our inner pantheons and deities and spirits. living in the inner landscapes of our being.

I have a Morning Crocodile that lives in the moments between sleep and awake, in the last breath of dream before the day starts. He plays with my eyelids and rides the dust suspended in rays of light. He is like gold dust. He has a deep laughter and a crooked smile. What else to expect from a crocodile? He's only with me when my love is near. I suspect He belongs to him as much as to me. Maybe he plays yo-yo with our mids as we sleep, mingling our dreams and our hearts. He is a Trickster.

I have an Old Mermaid that lives in the Woods. She doesn't have a tail anymore, been away from the sea for far to long. Her breath still smells like the ocean, though, and when she laughs you can hear the sounds of waves in the distance. Briefly. Like a faint whisper. We always sit on the veranda of her cabin, facing the lake. She smokes her pipe, I slowly eat cookies and pieces of fruit. We drink tea. She's not a guide per say, she's not there to answer my questions and send me on my path. That's not for her to figure out. But we talk, and we observe the light change on the lake. She doesn't say, but I know that she misses the ocean sometimes. But she is rooted in the Earth now, she has dirt in the crevices of her skin as deep as her bones. At night she dreams of sailors and seashells, of deer people and pine trees. She dreams of the day where the Earth will fold Herself and where land and sea will finally meet in a thunderous embrace. Till that day, I will sit with her in the Woods, facing the lake and eat fruit and smoke pipe and talk until the sun goes down over the horizon and the stars are high in the sky.

I have a Deer Girl that won't show herself, as elusive and fast as a sudden gust of wind. Ever changing, never the same. She comes and goes. Bare feet, naked, dressed, tall or small. I don't know what to make of Her. I wish I could kiss Her, make her stop running so fast. Take a breath, sweetie. Take a breath.

There are others. Oh so many, some have past and are gone. I put on my boots and shoulder a bag. There's a Lady, I know, on the mountain top, Her arms full of feathers, her necklace made of keys. A Lady of Secrets and Flight. I think Her son is a Lord. Of what I have no clue, but I would like to meet Him. I would like to know Her.

Some are light, some are dark. All are ours.
An inner landscape of endless adventures.