Author: Denise

(Monday, November 23, 2015) moon: waxing gibbous Aries / tarot: nine of swords

I meet family members at a square restaurant table, near the Stone Arch Bridge. Alea and Cullan are there, and my two sisters Jo and Jamie. My brother Kurt’s energetic presence is also there, but not his physical body. Everyone is seated on two sides of the table; the other two sides remain open. Alea and I sit on the same side of the table, at opposite corners.

Alea is in such tremendous grief she does not look up when I seat myself and she does not speak to anyone at the table throughout the course of the dream. I discover from my sisters that her father has developed such serious asthma that he is dead or close to death. This is a huge shock to me on several levels. I am deeply hurt that no one has communicated this news to me in the conventional manner. And I am ashamed that I have not accessed the information on my own via social media (Facebook), as my sisters have done.

I step away from the table and walk out onto a grassy field. I fold my hands over my face and sob for a long time, trying to wash away the pain and shame. I am lucid enough in my dream to recognize a bit of ego in this, and when no one pays attention to my tears, I walk back to the table and sit down quietly.

The essence of Cullan is always with me at the table, even as he tries to console Alea. So very comforting to me.

My sisters and I decide that I need to empty my bag, the small black leather shoulder purse that I bought years ago for traveling (it closes with zippers, not just flaps or snaps). I carefully remove all the items and determine which I will save and which I will discard. I’m grateful for this process. It’s a relief to let go. I hand over the empty bag to Cullan. I notice that I am holding a wallet in my lap that my sisters gave to Alea and Cullan as a housewarming gift a year ago. Cullan and Alea have “taken what they need and left the rest.” I hand the wallet to my youngest sister Jamie, who sits to my left, between Alea, Cullan and me.

Then I look up. Bonnie is standing at the left, open side of the square table. She asks me, rather sternly, when Chris is having his surgery. “December 3,” I say. It seems this is the first time I have communicated the date to my family.

Suddenly I am in another landscape, a large park, rather like the Como Zoo, walking around a huge square pit with a young father and his son, holding on to the metal rail with my left hand. Traveling counter-clockwise. Biding time as Chris undergoes his surgery. The pit is full of animals on display. Small fish jump out of a pool and land on the ground in front of my feet. I desperately scoop them up and return them to the square pond. Trying to save them. Trying to give them oxygen.

Day notes:

Chris is having osteo surgery December 3. He thinks these are our last few days together.

I am hosting Thanksgiving, preparing the table for my family.

The area of the Stone Arch Bridge is the oldest area of white settlement in Minneapolis. Cullan works in St. Anthony Main. There once was a limestone island sacred to the Dakota below St. Anthony Falls called Spirit Island. It was mined for the limestone and is no longer visible above the water of the Mississippi. The edge of the river is guarded by iron handrails like those in my dream.

My two sisters are very domestic. Family (their children and grandchildren) is the most important focus of their lives. But they both have cut themselves off from my brother and have not spoken to him in 25 years. The irony of this is quite painful to me. Forgiveness heals not just the one forgiven but also those that forgive.

(Friday, November 20, 2015) Moon: waxing gibbous Pisces / Tarot: ten of cups

Vivid, sensual dream: I own an opulent house with of an infinite number of rooms, all richly decorated beyond imagination.

My friend Jeanne C. has come to stay for an extended visit. We begin a long investigation of the manor, searching for the perfect room. We find an intimate corner with a small private sauna made of white porcelain, spacious bathrooms tiled in stone, immense sitting rooms with carved marble fireplaces and ceilings, bedrooms filled with silk and down.

I want Jeanne to have the best suite in the house. Her new lover will be arriving soon and they will be rooming together. I want her bedroom connected to a large, art-filled parlor. I have a particular room in mind, but I realize it is on the level above us. We need to find a staircase and continue our search. There can only be success.

(Friday, November 20, 2015) Moon: waxing gibbous Pisces / Tarot: ten of cups

In my dream, I wake up. I have been driving a vehicle many hundreds of miles, asleep at the wheel. The atmosphere surrounding me is thick and turbulent, filled with funnel clouds. The tornadoes are a light, foggy grey color, like waterspouts, and are nearly as wide at the bottom as they are at the top. One spins very close to my left side, near the driver’s door. I consider ditching the car and taking shelter in an office building on my right. But the sky is filled with vortices and so it seems futile to try to escape. Instead, I surrender to the nearest wormhole. It sucks me up into another dream, another reality.

I wake up in the living room of the house I share with Chris. There is a large picture window to the left of the entry door, the same placement as in my childhood home, and opposite that of our Plymouth rambler.

Someone has broken into our little house and stolen one of the speakers that Chris bought to use with the television. The bandits have replaced the tall black Klipsch speaker with a smaller, dummy device. I am surprised that Chris is completely accepting of this invasion and theft, because his stereo equipment is more important to him than almost anything.

I inspect the entire house and cannot determine where the break-in occurred. I decide to stay up all night, watching to see if the thieves return for the second speaker. In the living room, I notice a thin crack in the caulked lower left edge of the picture window. Suddenly one of the banditos stands in front of me and volunteers to demonstrate his technique. He slips his fingers through the small corner opening at the edge of the glass. The window begins to peel up like a clear fabric sheet. I notice that the cuticles and skin on the thief’s fingertips are bleeding. He explains the reason behind the burglary and I then have as much compassion for him as I do for Chris.

 

Day notes:

Meaning of the name “Klipsch” (so very close to “Krupp”):

http://www.sevenreflections.com/name-numerology/klipsch/

Television: viewing from a distance

Loss of speakers: not being heard, or not being able to listen