Author: Denise

(Saturday, April 22, 2017)

My tall young coworker Blake is renting a room from us (real life: Blake is in our workplace yoga class. He is sharp, funny and a talented businessman. Creative and open-minded. His desk is a few feet from mine.)

Rather than park at the edge of our very long driveway, he has rented a stall in a nearby ramp. Blake is so well-mannered. But he is having trouble getting his ramp access code to work. I give his tech access devices a try, with no luck.

Chris and I push hard to convince Blake to park in the drive. “Winter is over,” we say. Finally he agrees, and makes reference to Chris’ Nobel Prize. I wonder if that is an achievement from a past incarnation. Chris hears a different word than Nobel. “Mobile, mumble, oh-well.” I can’t remember his exact response when I awake.

Day notes:

Nobel Prize winner Bob Dylan released a new album yesterday. He did not attend the Nobel awards ceremony; Patti Smith played in his place. Yesterday Chris played Patti singing, “in my Blakean year.”

(Friday, April 21, 2017) moon waning crescent Pisces / tarot seven of wands

Chris, Cullan and I have moved into a large, multistory house. It seems the number of rooms is infinite. I don’t notice right away that everything in the house, and the structure itself, is completely white. I walk into a simple parlor where a vision of the richly saturated, jewel-like tones of my last house appears in my mind’s eye. The depth, beauty and creativity surprise me. But all of that sensual color is gone now.

I have dreamt of this house before. That realization causes me to slowly awaken within the dream.

Cullan has been living in the basement but I need him to move up from the lower level. I search for new living quarters for him within the house. I head to the large attic. It feels ancestral. A few historical heirlooms are scattered in the eaves. I open the shutters of a window beneath the peak of the roof and am dismayed to discover the glass has been shattered. Floor boards are broken or missing, too, so this area is not habitable without renovation.

I need help to find this new space for Cullan. I call on my coworker Bob Hill, who is one of the kindest, most energetic souls I know. A devoted father.

Bob discovers a second attic below the first. The ceiling is only four or five feet tall!

We conclude that it is best for Cullan to live on the same floor as Chris and I do. We find a wing of the house with a bathroom and laundry that provide Cullan with autonomy and privacy. I peek into the very essential laundry room and make note of the basic white washer and dryer set.

At this point I begin to become conscious of Cullan’s supportive presence. I understand the symbolism of the stark, white house. I am entering a time of purification. We are entering a time of purification. I need Cullan to step up and assist me in caring for Chris. This awareness happens fully within the dream itself.

Day notes:

The upper attic describes the karmic nature of Chris’ afflicted body. The broken window is a reminder of how his femur failed last fall. Its position in the dream is the same as in reality, below the roof peak. The damaged floor boards mimic the busted bracket and twisted screws. On Monday we saw the surgeon, who said there was no benefit to Chris using his crutch. Chris was without pain when sitting or lying down, so we decided to wait a couple months and rescan the bone. After two days of hobbling around without a crutch, his pain when walking has become excruciating. He is, basically, bedridden. The surgeon is out of town and can’t perform the operation till May 16.

How do I know what to do? Cullan would like me to go on my retreat. The dream seems to be assuring me that he will “step up” and care for Chris.

Rolduc all over again? That was a highly stressful journey and a soulful, life-changing experience.

White house = spirit house? White house = hospital?

(Easter Sunday 2017)

Most of this dream is gone. It is about work projects and work relationships. What I do remember, and find amusing, is a call I make to my coworker Michael Morris in Portland. As soon as he picks up the phone, the project details I am supposed to share with him evaporate from my mind. I am embarrassed by my aging brain, but confess to him what has happened. Suddenly a kind of limerick appears in my mind’s eye that clearly communicates a secret about our current business culture. This pleases me. I can communicate truth in a way which keeps us both safe from corporate revenge.

Day notes:

The Irish are credited with forming language styles to confuse their British overlords, in order to communicate important information to each other.