(Monday, March 15, 2021) waxing crescent moon Aries / tarot The Magician
I am traveling in the deep blackness of outer space, perhaps in a small ship, perhaps flying multidimensionally with my body. I am moving at warp speed, many millions of light years from earth. I arrive at a planet that is newly colonized by humans and other entities, but almost as soon as I land, I feel a calling to head to the earth, even though my sensibility is not purely human.
A black, cylindrical storage bin I carried with me like a backpack is empty. I try to compress it into a flat, dish-shaped object, pushing down on the top. It doesn’t budge. I ask some fellow astronauts for help, but even together we cannot flatten the container. I let it go. No baggage.
The dream shifts. I am in Minneapolis with another woman. She is either my old artist friend Denisea or a twin aspect of myself. It is past sunset, dim. We are walking south on Washington Avenue, heading to the former warehouse district where we would always do art crawls and openings at The Women’s Art Resources of Minnesota. We were members of WARM when it was in the Wyman Building on First Avenue.
To my left I feel the presence of the photography gallery where Bonnie and Claudia have exhibited, but we keep walking. The dream atmosphere is night-like and nothing feels like a normal human experience. Magical, quantum energy is everywhere.
My twin tells me she just met Bob Dylan and that they were instantly attracted to each other. Even though he is a famous genius and my twin is not, he has agreed to meet with her at a large old building on Third and Second. “Third Avenue? Third Street?” I ask my friend. She is unsure. I tell her that we will figure it out.
We reach the warehouse district and it must be the time period when we loved it so deeply, in the eighties and nineties, because many of the historic brick buildings are surrounded by parking lots. These days those asphalt lots have turned into high-rises for the Millennial and Gen Z communities.
I focus on a very tall building between Second and Third Avenue. The entrance is mysterious, hard to find. We have to wander around to the loading docks before we see a door we can enter. The interior has a large, open courtyard. We look upward, watching many floors of people mingling and moving. It is evening-dark inside, but there are decorative lights that festively illuminate different areas of the warehouse. Some parts of the structure are off-limits, blocked, secret.
Bob Dylan has a full floor at an elevated level, perhaps a recording studio, but we don’t know how to reach him because of the restricted staircases and rooms. Denisea realizes that she left Dylan’s phone number on a piece of paper in her car, parked on the street. She heads outside to look for her vehicle, and I stay inside, attentive to the creative atmosphere. I am thrilled beyond belief that she gets to hang out with Bob. I want to meet him too.
As I stand quietly watching the activity, I notice three young women who live together in a studio that has floor-to-ceiling windows facing the courtyard. A small three-layer kiln sits in the middle of the main room. The kiln looks a bit neglected and the women seem to be struggling with the ceramic process, which makes me sad. I head in to help guide them.
Day notes:
I became obsessed with Dylan when he released “Blood on the Tracks” (recorded in 1974). That is the year Chris was run over by a Santa Fe locomotive in Chicago. Denisea and I met Chris at the Northern Artist Coop in Lowertown in 1993. Denisea’s birthday is March 20, the Spring Equinox.
I have dreamt of this exact building before, but not for quite a few years.
Dreaming of Dylan made me wake up in ecstasy. Famous characters in my dreams: Merlin, Ben Franklin, Joan of Arc, John Lennon, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Frida Kahlo.
