THE WHITE BUFFALO
I’m sitting on a great plain, legs crossed, meditating. I hear the grasses blow gently around me and an occasional bird sing. I am deeply, profoundly peaceful.
Suddenly I hear a colossal sound. The ground shakes underneath me. I turn toward the humungous noise and see a herd of buffalo stampeding directly toward me. I know immediately that I can not escape and this is to be the way I die.
I return to my meditation stance assuring myself that dying in peace is the only choice I can make. The enormity of the sound is my only reality and I await the bombardment of hoofs. And I wait. What? The herd has split into two thundering packs charging on either side of me. In awe I face forward again to watch them move on.
And now I hear another sound, indescribable, approaching behind me. I turn in time to see a White Buffalo fly over my head!
I jolt awake with a feeling very similar to being thoroughly shaken by a major earthquake. Elation floods my body and I say, “Oh my God! WHAT A DREAM!”
Oddly, I awaken in the morning with a feeling of exhilaration but no memory of the dream. Brushing my teeth the White Buffalo image flashes. I yell, “WOW!” spitting toothpaste all over the mirror above the sink. Clearing my mouth I run for my journal and write everything I can remember.
I drive to San Juan Bautista, a two hundred year old town with one main street which always prompts memories of movies about the Old West. I meet a dear friend, Judy, for breakfast. I show her my dream book and read the dream from just hours before. We whoop and holler like cowgirls herding cattle. Then Judy points to the picture in my journal on the page I wrote the dream. I had not noticed it, (nor had I remembered it from the night, months before, when I cut the picture from Southwest Arts Magazine and pasted it into the journal). Indeed, a picture of a White Buffalo!
We celebrate the dream, as only committed dreamers can, deciding to visit the nearby Native American art and gift shop we love and share the dream with the owner, Standy.
Judy crosses the threshold before I and immediately shouts for me to look to the left. And there is a white buffalo painting. I tell Standy the dream and, after lighting a candle and a stick of sage, she interprets the dream from her Indian culture. She tells us that the white color is a rarity in the species and is considered a spiritual symbol which communicates directly to the Great Spirit. Since the buffalo is imagined to give it’s life to sustain the tribe, she believes the dream means that I need to and will give more of myself to the collective, the People, in the near future. We three are deeply touched by the dream and the experience it evokes for each of us.
On that morning in September I cannot imagine a way for Standy’s reading of the dream to manifest. However, three weeks later I receive an invitation from the local public radio station, KAZU, to be interviewed about my dream work by a very popular host. Though not interested in dreams herself the host asks great questions and soon the phone lines light up. Calls came in for the entire hour and within two months I have my own show called Dreams, Another Way of Knowing. For the next twelve years the White Buffalo must have been as happy as were all of us involved with the weekly call in show.
I began writing my first book within a month after the White Buffalo dream.