I have this dream Tuesday morning, October 11, the day I took Chris to the ER. The day before Yom Kippur. My parents’ 60th wedding anniversary. It has the identical spiritual intensity of my Jacob Wetterling dream.
I am standing in the living room of the house where I grew up, facing the large picture window. It’s twilight: the sky overhead is purple-black, but there is a white-magenta-golden glow along the entire horizon. A thin wave of light.
My father is in the street, under the streetlamp to the north of the house, at the base of the hill upon which our house sits. He is flying a kite, or a motorized toy airplane (I am not sure which), high in the sky. I have an instant, deep, multidimensional understanding of the pain and psyche that he shares with Chris. Both were involved in deadly vehicle accidents (my aunt Carol killed by a truck driven by my grandfather when my father was 5 years old, Chris run over by a train and pronounced dead at 19). Both had brilliant mothers who were elementary school teachers (my grandmother Helen decorated her farmhouse in the middle of nowhere with reproductions of paintings by Velasquez and Van Gogh). Both had abusive fathers. This vision is emotionally shocking and healing at the same time.
The kite/airplane string may hold a key, like Franklin’s electrical experiment. Something about the flying object magnetically attracts a star from trillions of light years away, from the edge of the galaxy or the edge of the universe. I do not know.
The star flies in from the west at breakneck speed. It is shaped like the Star of David, a six-pointed star that appears extruded, almost like a thick cookie, a two-dimensional shape that has become three-dimensional. The six-pointed star is filled with other shimmering stars, along the edges and within. It rotates quickly, spinning forward on its axis.
As it passes over the red brick senior high school half a block north of our house, I become extremely anxious. The starship takes a sharp turn towards our street and halts, hovering at our front door. I open the door and view the immense, pulsating star. It seems miraculous to me that such a huge ship fits in our modest neighborhood of small streets and small houses.
My long history of alien dreams makes my first reaction one of fear. Because of this history, I also know that the starship is reading my every thought. I release my fear and open my heart. I communicate love to the luminous white star, and the star loves me in return. Even in the dream I understand that this is a Big Dream.
SHIFT: I am standing inside the Great Hall of an ancient stone palace, next to a long stone banquet table. I see my paternal grandparents waiting at the wide entry door. They are there to assist my maternal grandparents up the short-but-steep stone staircase. The stairs are softly rounded from eons of erosion. My maternal grandparents are not as strong or as healthy as my paternal grandparents. But they make it into the ancestral temple.
I turn back to the table and converse with Julie, my beloved maternal cousin from Winona (Dakota for “firstborn daughter,” which I am but Julie is not. Winona was the daughter of Wapasha III. Wapasha II is our ancestor). We talk about the starship. Every resident of the Hall is discussing the star, but most are less captivated by its presence than am I. Including Julie.
SHIFT: I head out of the stone palace, into the red brick high school next to my childhood home. My father is ahead of me. We are walking down the corridor where history and social sciences were taught. Here my dream memory dissolves.
Day notes:
The star spins, not like a top. Wheel of Fate, Wheel of Karma. Another dream of the Hall of Records, the Akashic.
Dream conferences often take place in my dreams at my old red brick high school. I assume I was headed to a conference at the end of this dream.
A six-pointed star can represent the union of male and female. The macrocosm. As above, so below.
I have dreamt of Ben Franklin. Every stitch in his clothing was visible to me.
In a recent email from Ryan Hurd, he talks about how the fear aspect of sleep paralysis can be transformed into a spiritual, healing experience. Angels and ascended masters, not greys and goblins.