Author: Denise

(Saturday, August 20, 2016) moon: waning gibbous Aries / tarot: two of pentacles

I fell back asleep after this dream, which was incredibly vibrant, but has faded because of my sleep pattern:

Chris and I are at home. Others may be with us. Our brother-in-law (married to Chris’ sister), a wild and violent man, tells us he will assassinate Chris. Following the dark threat, he stalks out of our house, into the night.

I feel terrible shock and fear. I have no doubt the man is a murderer. Even so, I look about the comforting interior of our house. It is a beautiful and eccentric environment, full of unusual color combinations and well-loved art. It’s a bit like our living house, but more so. To the next level. Like a painting by the surrealist Leonora Carrington.

It is time for me to go to work, so I travel the rather long distance to the office. I settle in, and the murderous brother-in-law reappears, amplifying his threat against Chris.

I know it is urgent that I buy a gun. It is urgent that I get home as quickly as possible, before my brother-in-law harms Christopher. A few of my coworkers want to help, and we leave the office together.

I make a quick purchase of a very deadly handgun. Large, heavy, powerful. We all jump into my car and speed onto the highway together. The clock is ticking, every second is critical.

The murderer is following us. We decide to pull off the road, to try to trick him into a situation that we control. We run over hilly, green terrain, into a thick woods. As he searches for us, I point my handgun at his chest, but either I miss or the gun doesn’t go off. I realize I have never shot a gun in my life and cannot expect to aim with any success. In a stand-off, I will be the one killed, not my opponent.

We decide to flee the forest, to rush back to the house. Once home, I run from lovely room to lovely room, calling Chris’ name. No answer. Finally, I stumble into a bedroom and find him dead on the floor, a bullet through his heart.

Instantly, I perceive a second, overlapping layer of the dream. No bullet has pierced his heart. Chris rises up from the floor to greet me, as if waking from a nap. Is he a ghost? Or a sentient being?

Day notes:

The tarot card was accurate: two of pentacles is about balance. I fell out in Chaska today and now can barely walk on my right foot.

I know there is an episode in this dream where I notify the police and ask for protection, probably on my way to the office. I don’t remember their response. It seems they do not help. But I can’t be sure. 

Members of my not-so-close family are angry and destructive. It’s Chris’ birthday next week and I have been wondering if his sister will bother to mail a card.

Another dream with contrary content: the house is inspiring and evolved, the distant relations are dangerous and full of hate. 

What to do when I retire? I have thought about selling the Wayzata house (too big!) and buying a tiny one or two bedroom house in the city, plus a small adobe in New Mexico. But these dreams of my present house seem to be telling me it is important to stay where I am. There is more here than I realize on a conscious level.

(Monday, August 15, 2015) moon: waxing gibbous Capricorn / tarot: three of cups

Night dream:

I’m in a hallway of a huge conference center filled with people. The campus is bigger than any real-life events structure. There are many levels that are not visible from where I walk.

I am able to perceive a distant conversation. Remote viewing. Cyndi, my coworker suffering from stage four breast cancer, is standing along the edge of a corridor with a group of people who are commiserating with her story. I am at my most powerful one-on-one but Cyndi is motivated by intimate social groups. I don’t even sense peer pressure. Cyndi is enlivened by it.

Cyndi tells her friends that she and her boyfriend have just broken up. I have influenced the ending of this relationship in some way, according to her tale. Yet her bitterness has no effect on me at all. It causes no fear or hesitation. I walk up to her and embrace her warmly, wrapping my left arm around her shoulder with honest, healing affection.

As we converse, a tall, thin man strides down the hall towards us. Cyndi’s ex-beau. He has silver hair and the air of a mountain man, a man from the West. A bit like Harrison Ford. He is distinguished, an elevated soul. He clarifies his relationship with Cyndi to the group: they only ever were friends, not lovers. He is kind, but firm.

This man and I walk together down many corridors, until we enter a quieter space. We are alone. Suddenly he falls to his knees and begins to weep. He caresses and kisses my hands, confessing his deep passion, his true love for me. I am shocked. Equally in love.

Waking dream:

Thursday afternoon as I left work, Cyndi was sitting outside the office door, soaking up the warm sun. I could see she was in tremendous physical pain. Her last radiology session was causing her nerves to burn all over her upper body. Friday morning she sent me an email apologizing for being “weepy” and I wrote: “Don’t be sorry. Be real. Pain is pain.”

She was unable to work on Friday and today. I had to step in and finish a large project she had underway with Kleopatra in Greece. There were problems with the files Cyndi had created so I was in a virtual conversation with the printer in Amsterdam named Marco. After we got everything sorted out Marco sent me a LinkIn request! That made me laugh and think of my dream. A proposal, albeit for business. From the east, not the west. Lowlands, not mountain highlands.

Day notes:

This dream has elements of contrariness like many of my recent dreams. Cyndi’s tale is opposite the truth, the expression of love from the beautiful mountain man is opposite my expectation. I awake with a physical sensation of opposites.

 

(Saturday, August 6, 2016)

I had a long dream following the Sheehan family reunion last Saturday. Even when I awoke, the dream was in fragments. I haven’t had time to record it till now, and have had no dreams since. Which seems to be a message from dreamland that I must write down what remains:

Chris tells me he will be leaving soon, and wishes to show me two places he once lived. One is a modern high-rise, but, paradoxically, his flat is several hundred years old, with a lovely brick fireplace in every room. The other flat is in an old stone warehouse. The building foundation has been recently painted glossy brick-red. Chris’ old ground-floor apartment is devoid of any walls or decor, like an abandoned storage warehouse. The concrete floors are chipped and worn. Used.

I begin to walk a long trail, on my way to a family reunion. I come up over a low rise of green grass and see the main building at Rolduc Abbey. My dream-family reunion. Three giant sea turtles are making their way, rapidly, to the front entrance doors. Their large flippers experience no resistance to the earth – they move as if they are in deep ocean waters. Swimming.

Day notes:

My waking-life family reunion was powerful. Cullan and Alea came, which made me very grateful. I have 25 or so Sheehan cousins, and when we get together, time dissolves. There was great affection in the room, colored by the loss of loved ones and the physical challenges of growing old. For several days following I felt the presence of our family members who have passed. They were peaceful and loving.

At the reunion, I could also sense the pain I had caused my own son when trying to raise him alone. I made so many terrible mistakes. I also realized that most of the joy I experienced as a child was with my cousins and my friends. Not with my angry, controlling, alcoholic family. For a couple of days after the reunion, I felt a strong wish to never incarnate on this earth again. Not from fear of what my own life might contain, but to ensure that I cause no more harm to any being.

Turtles are an ancient reptile, older than crocodiles, older than dinosaurs. The sand prairie near my grandmother’s farm is now managed by the Nature Conservancy and is home to a rare, protected creature called Blanding’s Turtle.

I had a deep, brief conversation with my cousin Tom (his is a family name that goes back several generations). Tom was an only child and his mother Marguerite was my godmother. She died on July 5, 1965 of non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. He told me he has just retired after being a language professor at Superior for 30 years. I said I often consider retiring to the bluff country, because I have such connection to the sand prairie of our ancestors. The heat and sparseness of it, I think, is why I love New Mexico too. He said that he and his wife Gretchen have settled on a sand prairie in the north, and also think of moving back to Wabasha. I received a lovely email from him a few days after the reunion.

Terrapin symbolizes peace and is the oldest Native American symbol for Mother Earth. The Sheehan family crest is a white dove, also a symbol of peace.

Chris and I went out for dinner today. I asked him what he wants for his birthday on August 24. He said, “To live one more year.”