I suppose this is more of a journal entry than a description of a dream.
At dream group on Tuesday I shared a dream I called “Lycopene Dream”:
I am moving into a house that is near a medieval castle. It’s a castle I know from a past life. The stone fortress has an ominous, dark energy. I don’t know if that sensation is because of the location, which seems to be Germany, Transylvania or Romania (countries terrorized by genocidal rulers), or if the energy is transmitted by the structure itself. I notice that the castle is surrounded by a waterless moat. The moist, black-soil channel is filled with spicy-smelling green vines hanging with hundreds of plump, red tomatoes.
For a few days following the dream, I interpreted it as a health message: “Eat more tomatoes and lycopene to strengthen your bones.” But the dream seemed to expand after I shared it with the Dreamsters.
Last night my coworker Cyndi invited us to her house to celebrate the visit of Seiko from our Tokyo office. Spending an hour or so in Cyndi’s house created strong and surprising reactions that this morning morphed into some rather strange ideas.
Cyndi’s house is located a few blocks off of ugly old highway 13 in Savage, which seems to have risen up with no zoning or planning. I had to drive through an industrial park to get to her small, 1970s-era neighborhood. Her house is a split-entry, typical of that decade, but she and her husband have doubled the footprint.
The front walkway was made of stone pavers laid in a circular, almost labyrinthian pattern. I entered the front door and her cat Peaches gave me a nose kiss, then disappeared.
When I walked up the short staircase into the dining room, I felt disoriented. All of the colors were dark earth tones. An antique, banquet-sized oak table filled the room. The atmosphere was Victorian or even medieval. Very formal. Reminiscent of hippy, 70s style decor, but expensive. Not modern American.
I walked into the huge great-room addition and was warmly greeted by Cyndi and the other guests. Her kitchen was decorated with massive quartz countertops, and backlit ceiling cabinets filled with crystals and geodes. Two six-foot tall amethyst geodes stood on either side of the stone fireplace. Oddly shaped couches and oversized round leather chairs furnished the room.
As more guests arrived, Cyndi gave us a tour of the house. I have never been in a place with so many collectibles. Every corner was filled with stones or sculptures or paintings or antiques. Which would have made sense in a Victorian-era house, but was strikingly off-beat in a house from the 70s. Many of the sculptures were dark, gothic creatures. I like art that pushes the edge, that reveals the shadow, but these were like frightening gargoyles to me.
Cyndi showed us a room that she called her “boudoir.” She had two large wooden, antique dressers filled to the brim with Egyptian and Victorian-style jewelry. Obviously there had been a period in her life where money was no object. She said she had an antique dealer in St. Paul who would find special items for her. The cumulative energy of all those collectibles was palpable. Overwhelming.
My coworkers were having a good time. The food was wonderful and the kitchen island was full of giant, party-sized bottles of booze. I felt that if I had a single drink, I would become vulnerable to a questionable spell. I wanted to go home to my simple, quiet house.
I appreciated Cyndi’s dedication to collecting, and her passion for the unusual. I thought that by being a graphic designer she had somehow missed her calling, though I wasn’t entirely sure how her true happiness should express itself.
But this morning the feeling of the karmic nature of that house struck me hard. Is it connected to her cancer? Do I have a karmic relationship to Cyndi, or is it my perception of the bleed-through from her past that I find so difficult?
I am familiar with the term “psychic vampire.” I have never thought of Cyndi in exactly that way but her home has changed my point of view. The emotion in the house was at a fever-pitch. All those crystals are about power. All that money spent on a house in the most ordinary of neighborhoods. In Savage, Minnesota.