Sometimes, the images, they smoor themselves inside.

Often the images that arise in the dream and immediately upon waking from the dream, soak themselves into memory and soul.  They linger there in degrees of exactness and surety; often fading as time wears on.  Some semblance of what we held and tasted and mingled among is in the lingering.  But often only shadow and lace remain of what first we knew.

Equal of import to the texture of the images themselves are the emotions, intuitions, and stirrings that arise from the calling forth of memory and soul of the dream.  The way we feel and lean into life while calling forth the shadows and lacery of what we once lived.  The impressions and glimpses we hold as we summon - with all our deep cravings -  the bones of our  deep remembrance.

The stuff of dreams and dreamwork are insulated in our "me" the way the embers are in the ancient practice of smooring.  Smooring (to smother) the hearth fires, was to cover the embers of the fire in ash to keep them aglow through the night.  In the morning, when the fires of were needed again, fanning the smoored embers brought them back to flame.

Feel this connection and know that the soul holds all things.  Fan the reams to life and find the flame that once burned brightly.