(Saturday, October 29, 2016) new moon Libra (Black Moon) / tarot ten of swords
When I awoke this morning I knew I’d had a night filled with dreams, although I recalled none of them. I laid on my left side and closed my eyes, waiting to see if any memories would percolate up. The 100% full moon occurs tomorrow in Scorpio (water sign of transformation and the underworld), trine Neptune (the planet that rules dreaming), therefore powerful dreams and a “thinning of the veil” are expected by some folks, just in time for Halloween.
Three fragments bubbled up. In the first, I enter a large, square hall with a polished wooden floor. The hall is hundreds of years old, completely devoid of furnishings, and the high walls contain multiple recessed rooms, each with a bed, each hidden by elegant drapery. The Observer Me sees that I am sleeping in one of the curtained alcoves, dreaming a dream that I first consider to be precognitive. But as I enter more completely into the structure of the dream, I perceive the way we create the fabric of reality through our dreams. Dreams construct, not preview, and that is the value of lucid dreaming: bringing awareness to waking life of the architectural power of dreaming. “Precognition” is more than a vision.
In the second fragment, I am floating in a small wooden row boat in a cove surrounded by steep red boulders. Cornwall? The sea is black, the water still. A small churning begins, right below the surface, next to the left bow of my boat. An infant girl is beginning to manifest in the sea of the unconscious. She twists and turns and giggles. I dip my fingers in the water, intending to scoop her up, to save her from a potential drowning. I am not allowed to do so, for that would interfere with the completion of her manifestation. Her birth. It would prevent her from entering this world, this incarnation. At the moment of my realization, I become conscious of the teaming life beneath the midnight water. Infinite, diverse, eternal.
The third fragment takes place at my grandmother Helen’s white wooden farmhouse. It is Chris’ birthday. The house is full of celebrants. I step outside for a moment, into a gentle mist. I am completely alone; not even a single tree stands in the outer landscape.
Day notes:
Chris came home from the hospital (femur surgery #3) last night. I came home from Methodist with glitter in my eyebrows. The anniversary of my first meeting with Chris is The Day Of The Dead, November 1.
I’ve been watching “Poldark” on PBS, which takes place at the Cornish coast.