Author: Denise

(Tuesday, August 22, 2023)

I have been reading Machiel Klerk’s beautiful book “Dream Guidance” and working on his dream incubation process (1. create a symbolic ritual, 2. state your case and include an offering and/or sacrifice, 3. meditate in bed).

Stating my case, creating a question for the incubation: “My tall, wise male dream guide, my daimon: what is the percussive calling for my new life? My most important journey?” Obviously, that question is too long, but as I was thinking about it, my Cinderella Slipper dream came up and I wondered if I already have an answer. “The sole is raw clay.” A soulful journey with Mother Earth. Focus on dream art is an old mission but now I have much more time for it. We’ll see what the dream says, if I get an answer.

(Saturday, August 12, 2023) waning crescent moon Cancer / tarot knight of cups

It is dusk. I am driving a railway handcar through a wide ocean, an ocean with no visible shore. The water is about two feet deep. It does not cover the wheels, but I cannot see any train tracks under the dark waves. There is a steel truss bridge directly ahead.

I sense a tall male guide standing closely behind me, to my left. A small boy sits behind my back. I tilt my head slightly to the left to catch what the guide is telling me. He bends his head to bring his mouth near my ear. He says it is my task, my responsibility, to protect the child, although he gives me no directions or transit advice. It seems to be my duty to figure this out on my own, to trust myself.

The only thing that feels safe is to head for the bridge, since I have no idea how deep the rest of the sea could be. Yet when I turn my vision forward, the bridge has completely disappeared. Perhaps I have already driven through it. Perhaps it has dissolved.

I stare at the boundless, green-grey surf. Terrified. Then, again at my left, I notice a small island made from a mound of thick, barren tree limbs. I cannot know how buried the ocean bed is, but I take a risk, and make it to the islet.

We three sit in the handcar on the wooden shore for quite a while. Silent.

Next, a surprise. A larger island appears, to my right. This one has an inviting, one-story retreat center filled with white light and gentle, celebrational beings. I understand that the young child is ready to enter the building of light. I travel across the narrow channel, and release him to the welcoming community.

Day notes:

The island retreat center reminds me of my IASD Virginia Beach dreams, and even Hollyhock. Am I a member?

(Wednesday, August 10, 2023)

I was not able to write this detailed dream yesterday as I had to head up to Cambridge to help my parents. My dad went to the ER. He is better today.

Dream: I have a large RV that is parked midway to the mountains. I get a phone call from a woman and a man that are white-collar and middle-aged. Their voices are highly intelligent and professional. Energetic. I know they are seeking information from me. I push back and ask question after question, and they become silent. Spies? Perhaps we agree to end the conversation, or I hang up the phone because “they are on mute.”

I walk downhill, along a road that reaches the edge of the ocean. I meet with Cullan and we enter a building together. He wants to tell me something he deems critically important, but he also wants to make sure that no one can hear us and secretly record the information. Spies?

We enter a private room with no windows. Two male IT workers are inside, so we move on to a second room. Two more male computer analysts are in this room, and I recognize one of them. We walk through a door to a third room, and this one is empty, safe, sealed. No one can hear us or grab any audio from our cell phones. It is sound-proof, like something I would expect to be used by the FBI. I don’t know what Cullan tells me when I awake from the dream. It is still a secret.

I move on to another part of the building to begin a task. A group of small children are ready to walk with me back to the RV, but there is a small, surprise duty that is added. In a dining area I grab a dozen or more glass salt and pepper shakers, unseal the metal tops, then empty the spices. The shakers are old, ornate. I screw the tops back on and put the clear shakers in a flappy, open storage box. The kiddos and I move on up the road to the RV.

When we reach the RV, I am struggling to keep the shakers stored in the nonfunctional box. I don’t want to lose them because I am required to return them to the building-on-the-beach. I leave them inside the RV. The dream has dissolved, but I think after inspecting the RV, the children keep walking with me. How odd that I don’t just drive the RV. I guess it is a “mobile home.”

Day notes:

A loud military jet just flew overhead.

Small children from St. John’s daycare walked past our house at lunchtime.

I got a dangerous spam text this morning on my phone. I ignored it and deleted it.

I walked to an estate sale this morning. It was full of very old antique glass dishes, mint toys and sewing machines.

Salt and pepper, female and male? White and black. Movers and shakers.