Author: Denise

Wednesday night Chris and I watched “Owl Power” on PBS. We loved it, and Thursday night I sent an email to my friend Jeanne C. (nickname: Birdwoman) to ask if she had seen the show. Of course she had. Friday morning, a little before sunrise, I saw the shadow of a large bird fly past the window. I looked out to see a huge owl land on our neighbor’s arbor. For many years we have heard a Great Horned Owl “hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo” in the backyard, but have never seen it. I think this owl may have been even bigger, maybe a Great Gray Owl, because the bird I saw did not seem to have any “ears” like the Great Horned Owl.

The owl perched on the arbor for several minutes and then swooped down to the ground. She/he sat in the snow next to some bushes for a few more moments, maybe watching for mice or voles, then lifted into the air.

This felt like a blessing to me and to Chris. He has been researching “owl boxes” and we are thinking of putting one up this spring to attract even more beautiful ghost birds.

(Thursday, February 19, 2015, Lunar New Year, Year of the Wood Sheep)  New moon in Pisces / tarot: four of wands

I often have to sit with my dreams for a day to tease out an order of events. Maybe dreams happen in a single moment and the illusion of linear time is added in waking memory. I’m still unsure of the sequence of images in the following dream:

I am visiting Bonnie’s new house with Cullan and Alea. Bonnie first shows us the kitchen, which has two rooms: a butler’s pantry and the preparation area containing countertops, sink and appliances. I am surprised that the house is smaller, cozier than was suggested by the photos I have seen. Even the appliances are the reduced size common in my childhood. The refrigerator is black.

The interior colors are warm and earthy. Floor tiles of polished quartz crystals explode underfoot in complex patterns like starry mandalas. I am mesmerized by their beauty, but I also notice sticky areas on the tiles and I try to polish them clean with my feet. Bonnie’s students must be raiding the kitchen and making messes.

Bonnie is teaching an art class to very lively young children. I can’t locate the exact space where class is being held. Sometimes it seems to be in a large studio next to the kitchen. Sometimes it seems to be in the upper floor, next to the bedrooms. Sometimes it seems to be in the barn next to the house. There is a glass patio door in the kitchen where the kids can run in and out. They are creating costumes from found objects. One child has made a nun’s or witch’s habit out of two stacked black plastic waste baskets: the top is a hood and the bottom is a cape. I think the effort is lazy and brilliant at the same time.

Cullan, Alea and I walk upstairs to see the sleeping loft. We surprise two young lovers in bed. I assume it is Kelsi and her boyfriend, yet both of the lovebirds are black. Very beautiful with large doe eyes. He is an actor I recognize, and she is his exact twin. Kelsi is a little sheepish and I can tell she does not want me to say anything to her mother. Maybe I wink at her, gently.

The three of us, Cullan, Alea and I, head out to the barn. We pass a triangular field of thick, waving grass. The root system is so ancient and deep that it rises several feet above the dirt road. Almost like a salt marsh or a hedgerow.

We notice paper litter strewn in the grass. Cullan and Alea pick it up and put it in a large metal trash container. But they leave a roll of black plastic sheathing in the grass, maybe in their hurry to get to the barn.

And the barn is certainly worth the trip. The barn IS a trip. Taking up a large corner of the stone floor is a potter’s kiln that is breathing huge orange breaths, in and out, in and out. Shaped like a sea urchin, round and squat, covered in furry sweetgrass, it’s on fire and alive. Like a character out of a fairy tale by The Brothers Grimm.

Cullan and Alea stay for a long time, observing this surrealistic creature, but eventually turn back to the house to sleep. I cannot leave the presence of the kiln. I sit alone in the dark for many hours, watching it breathe. When the fire finally ebbs, I reluctantly leave and walk outside, into the peaceful night. On my way to Bonnie’s house I pick up the neglected plastic debris and put it in the waste bin.

Day notes:

 

Where to start? Bonnie has loaned me a wonderful book called “Braiding Sweetgrass.” Sweetgrass is a sacred plant to NDNs. It has reminded me of the potter Amy Sabrina, who lived at Sweetgrass Farm in Dalbo before she passed from breast cancer. The book is a powerful inspiration to respect all of creation, both organic and inorganic.

 

Two mothers and two young couples. Double triad. Six is the number of partnership, marriage, creative collaboration and balance. Union of internal opposites.

 

People whose skin is black (grounded, of the earth, ancestors), black refrigerator (chill? preservation? sustenance?), black plastic (artificial, transformation from organic to inorganic material). Hamilton says there are two kinds of black: that which is distorted/unconscious and that which veils the hidden light. A black plastic sheath could be used to veil light, I suppose.

 

Waste containers are used in the costume/art project, and for holding debris. Cleaning the floor (the ground of being), removing waste (what is not essential), purification of old “habits” and karma. Letting go. New house, new life phase coming into being.

 

Bonnie’s art classes at the IASD are held in multiple locations.

 

The Kiln God has great power! Many potters create a little creature from clay called a kiln god which is used to bless each firing. I made a kiln witch to guard my pieces.

 

Kilns transform earth into stone. Kitchens transform plants and animals into meals, sustenance. Art is transformative, alchemical. A critical point in the firing process happens at 1063 degrees, called quartz inversion. Silica (sand) molecules transform into quartz crystals. Quartz crystals are a recurrent theme in my dreams lately. From wiki: Quartz belongs to the trigonal crystal system. The ideal crystal shape is a six-sided prism terminating with six-sided pyramids at each end.

 

The grass-covered kiln is reminiscent of a muskrat house, a sacred portal revealed to me in my muskrat dream a few years ago.

 

(From Hamilton) mandala: alchemical symbol, balance of the four elements as well as the masculine and feminine.

 

Pat agrees that Terri Peterson’s breath-work is transformative. The interior of the Salt Caves where she holds her Soul Breathing sessions is full of Himalayan salt crystals which glow orange in the light. It feels to me like being inside the body of a working kiln. Terri is doing a workshop at Peace Valley Sanctuary in Arkansas. The site holds an Earthkeeper Crystal and was the area where Caddo and Tula tribes lived. Guests are invited to dig for diamonds and quartz crystals. Nearby Lake Ouachita flows over quartz crystals. The Sanctuary has a loft and a barn. Maybe I am being summoned …

 

(Saturday, Valentine’s Day, 2015) Waning crescent moon Sagittarius / tarot: five of swords

I dream of the IASD conference. This time I am presenting, not just attending as a student and volunteer.

I walk through a meeting hall on my way to the podium, up the right aisle, through hundreds of pinkish-brown metal folding chairs. People are just starting to fill the chairs, entering the large, square room directly from the outside. Blue sky and sun are visible through the double doors.

There is a lot of buzz. The crowd is very excited to hear my talk. Maybe I am the keynote. I’m not used to that level of love and it lifts my spirits.

I walk past Ernest Hartmann. He shouts out to me. He wants to write my “character file.” This is a document written only for the inner sanctum of dreamers, a secret society. (When I awake from this dream I don’t quite recall the exact title of the document.) Rita Dwyer, too, wants to write for my file. Linda Mastrangelo waves at me from the opposite side of the room.

I am overwhelmed and do not know how to respond. My modest level of education makes me feel unworthy of such distinguished attention.

I arrive at the podium. A dark-haired older woman with glasses, whom I recognize from other IASD conferences, is waiting to introduce me. I notice a large black column at the center of the hall (dead center?). I express my concern to her that this structure will block the view of many people in the audience. She explains that the column moves in and out of our physical dimension. It’s a corridor for spirit beings. Perhaps Ernest Hartmann used it to travel from the realm of the dead. The pillar dissolves in front of my eyes.

Another woman is already seated in the first row, directly in front of the podium. She tells me she is there to offer whatever assistance I may need. I tell her I have throat / fifth chakra issues and public speaking often leads me to coughing spells. Does she have a cough drop? She does not!

I remember the Virginia Beach conference where I provided a throat lozenge to one of the speakers (Bjo Ashwill), so I wish to be prepared. I have a water bottle but it is nearly empty. My helper is able to direct me to a corner of the room where boxes of new glass water bottles are stored. The bottles have dual chambers with bent glass straws. One chamber is full of clear liquid, presumably water, and the other contains translucent blue fluid, the color of sapphires. This vessel provides me comfort and confidence and I walk back to the front of the room.

But once at the podium I am unable to locate my presentation in the pile of papers sitting on top of the wooden box. I shuffle through them multiple times to no avail. I should have posted the text online so I could read it from a laptop. It was a beautifully constructed piece, richly poetic. In deep frustration I look to the woman who is waiting to introduce me. She tells me not to worry and turns to the waiting IASD members. “Let’s go to lunch,” she says.

This gives me a window to travel back to my office in an attempt to retrieve my speech. Again I cannot find it. My Ergotron coworkers are all in the office but they barely acknowledge my presence. Too busy. The workflow has changed with time and there is very little left for me to do there, yet I am still on salary, a member of the team. A white #10 envelope, stuffed with a hefty paycheck, sits on the upper right corner of my desktop. I scoop it up and take it with me.

Once again at the podium, I have to admit to my spectacled hostess that I have not located the file. And I have no memory at all of the content of the missing document. So I will need to invoke the wily spirit of my Celtic storyteller-grandfather, Ellsworth Lloyd, to entertain the gathered crowd.

I turn to face the enthusiastic audience and begin my tale. My voice is strained and muted. I am unable to project in a trained, theatrical style. There is no microphone. I decide to walk throughout the room so everyone can hear me.

The first story I share is my remote viewing dream of Sabine Lucas’ house in Santa Fe. The crowd loves it! Smiles and cheers! I follow that up with my dreams of the blue alien beings and they love those even more. I continue on for many hours, relaying dream after dream. It’s a wonderful, warm, happy experience for me and for the listeners.

Day notes:

 

A dream of finding my voice. My creative expression. Finding my audience. A dream of acceptance by great teachers. Community and love. Moving from superficial work to work of the soul.

 

I wonder if my art piece will be accepted into the IASD gallery this year.

 

This dream feels like a new chapter in my life. Emotions both powerful and positive. A shout-out from Ernest Hartmann, very nice!

 

Another dream of straws, tubes. The water vessels are heart-like. Glass vessels are alchemical symbols. The Elixir of Life, the Grail. A crucible, a distillation vessel, has two chambers. https://jeanraffa.wordpress.com/tag/alchemical-vessels/

 

Synopsis: I am entering a new area of my life where I will no longer be the student but will be sharing my knowledge with like-minded souls. My time in the business world is coming to an end. I have powerful support from my spirit guides. Although I don’t have the documentation that gives me confidence in certain arenas (a degree, what Bonnie calls “letters behind my name”), I am able to improvise and tell my story in an engaging and entertaining way, in the manner of my Celtic and Indian ancestors. Speaking from the heart. In real life I am able to “throw my voice” (project my voice) but in the dream my throat is weak. Perhaps not “projecting” is a positive thing at a conference full of therapists! Weakness of the fifth chakra is about blocked creativity. Nonetheless I am able to share my story with honesty, artistry and intimacy. In the moment when I stand in front of the audience, paperless, I realize there is nothing else in life BUT one’s own story.

 

When I had a tarot reading with Marlene in November, she said I was coming into a prolific artistic period. I would find a way to guide dreamwork with groups of people. It’s hard for me to visualize that reality.

 

Last time I dreamt of Ernest Hartmann, Bob Van De Castle was in the dream, and unbeknownst to me, he had just passed away. It makes me wonder about Rita Dwyer. Why is she in the dream? Because she is a rocket scientist?

 

Releasing the past, the carefully constructed story. Living in the present moment. Speaking from the heart. Is it Sabine in the front row? She asked me, in our final meeting, if I was ready for this to be my final incarnation. How does one answer such a question?!!!!