Author: Denise

(Friday, June 1, 2018) waxing gibbous moon Capricorn / tarot three of cups reversed

I arrive at the dream conference. It is taking place outdoors, along the bank of a long, deep channel. I walk upon the crown of the slope. The river’s edge has been designed and built into a pleasant promenade.

Ahead of me, to my left, I see a group of dreamers traveling from the bottom of the valley up the steep ravine. Their line is long and several rows across. IASD founding member Rita D. is in the lead. Everyone in the march is a founder or prominent contributor to the foundation.

I look to my right. A pretty stone plaza is scattered with large pieces of paper that display schedules of dream participants. I am surprised to see my stage 4 breast cancer coworker Cyndi is attending the conference. And surprised that these calendars are public information. In fact, it appears that Cyndi has been a member of the IASD for many years. Lori is by my side; we turn around and walk together in the opposite direction along the river bank.

I want to contact Cyndi to ask her more about her conference plans. Lori and I sit on a curb and I try to call Cyndi, but my phone doesn’t work. No matter how many software tweaks I attempt, nothing is fixed. I am no idiot with computers, so this frustrates me tremendously. I feel betrayed by modern technology.

Day notes:

I could not do a Skype call today on my computer because the audio wasn’t working. IT had to help with that and a server connectivity problem. I think I will enjoy Paradise Valley and being away from my broken MacBook.

I hope Rita is well. Cyndi is not. But the dream Cyndi may be Cynthia Cavalli, whom I met last year at the conference. I found a bookmark from her publishing company when I was cleaning this morning. I sent her an email last year but did not get a reply.

 

(Sunday, May 26, 2018) moon waxing gibbous Scorpio / tarot Maat-Justice

Waking dream: it is the Memorial holiday. I have spent the last two full days gardening in my bare feet (connecting with bare feet to the electrons that flow from the soil is called “earthing”). When I was weeding the native wolf berry bushes at the back of the yard, a tom turkey stood 10 feet from me, observing, in full-feathered splendor. I love a blog by a cardiologist at the Cleveland Clinic confirming that “earthing” benefits the heart and reduces free radicals and inflammation. I feel like I have been on vacation for a week. Peaceful and calm.

Night time dream: I remember few details of a dream that seems to last all night. My emotional memory equates the dream with the life review that occurs after death. The strong impact of chemically-dependent humans on my life stands out. It overwhelms the first 40-50 years of this incarnation. When I wake up, the Badfinger song “Baby Blue” from the final episode of Breaking Bad plays in my head (Guess I got what I deserved / Kept you waiting there too long, my love / All that time without a word / Didn’t know you’d think that I’d forget / Or I’d regret / The special love I have for you / My baby blue). Chris just saw Badfinger at the Medina Ballroom. I think about the huge shift in personality Walter White (Breaking Bad) experiences when his body fills with cancer. Baby Blue is the crystal meth Walter creates and sells. I have been told Lola’s brain tumor will alter her behavior. Chris’ brain tumor changed him completely.

Day notes:

My friend Amy gave me a book by Rich Martini called “Flipside: A Tourist’s Guide on How to Navigate the Afterlife.” Rich was in the same class at Northbrook High School in Chicago as Chris. He was mentored by Dr. Michael Newton, as was Eric Christopher. I wonder if they know each other.

The Maat card in my deck shows the Egyptian goddess weighing an ostrich feather and a human heart on the scales of justice. The principles of karma.

(Wednesday, May 16, 2018) waxing gibbous moon Gemini / tarot Dreamer

I stand in the grassy front yard of a comfortable retreat center. The atmosphere is muted: twilight, peaceful. I find, or am given, a single hand-rolled cigarette. Everyone who enters the very large wooden house smokes one stick of tobacco. I fire mine up and step through the front door.

The spacious rooms are occupied by dozens of loving, female, angelic beings. It feels like the highest moments at the Glastonbury Tara-Beltane ceremony, and far beyond! The spiritual, aromatic essence of blossoming pink flowers fills the air and every fiber of my being. I am saturated by beautiful, soulful pink. Pink, pink, pink!

I know it is important to fully breathe in my tobacco smoke but I also do not wish to violate the breath of those who have finished their cigarettes. It is vital for us all to inhale exactly one dose of our own smudge. I hold the flame close to my side and walk in a focused way through the main floor. I exit the back door of the house, entering a circular, stone-filled courtyard where a roughly-carved bird bath holds the remains of a leafy, half-smoked cigar. I sense the presence of the ancient male gnome who left the unfinished tobacco. But he is not visible to my physical eye.

Day notes:

Yesterday I came home from work and said to Chris: “It’s the pink time of year!” Our two magenta crabapples have burst into flower. The neighborhood is bathed in trees in full bloom.

This dream has a cloud-like, otherworldly feeling. Peace pipe. Sacred tobacco. In the pink.

Message on my morning tea bag: the voice of your soul is breath.