(Tuesday, August 22, 2023)
Yesterday afternoon a dream that was at least 20 years old flashed in my mind, a dream about a parking ramp near the shore of an ocean or lake. That never seemed like an important dream, so I’m not sure why it showed up. Maybe because I am thinking about my end-of-life journey.
(Tuesday, August 22, 2023)
I have been reading Machiel Klerk’s beautiful book “Dream Guidance” and working on his dream incubation process (1. create a symbolic ritual, 2. state your case and include an offering and/or sacrifice, 3. meditate in bed).
Stating my case, creating a question for the incubation: “My tall, wise male dream guide, my daimon: what is the percussive calling for my new life? My most important journey?” Obviously, that question is too long, but as I was thinking about it, my Cinderella Slipper dream came up and I wondered if I already have an answer. “The sole is raw clay.” A soulful journey with Mother Earth. Focus on dream art is an old mission but now I have much more time for it. We’ll see what the dream says, if I get an answer.
(Saturday, August 12, 2023) waning crescent moon Cancer / tarot knight of cups
It is dusk. I am driving a railway handcar through a wide ocean, an ocean with no visible shore. The water is about two feet deep. It does not cover the wheels, but I cannot see any train tracks under the dark waves. There is a steel truss bridge directly ahead.
I sense a tall male guide standing closely behind me, to my left. A small boy sits behind my back. I tilt my head slightly to the left to catch what the guide is telling me. He bends his head to bring his mouth near my ear. He says it is my task, my responsibility, to protect the child, although he gives me no directions or transit advice. It seems to be my duty to figure this out on my own, to trust myself.
The only thing that feels safe is to head for the bridge, since I have no idea how deep the rest of the sea could be. Yet when I turn my vision forward, the bridge has completely disappeared. Perhaps I have already driven through it. Perhaps it has dissolved.
I stare at the boundless, green-grey surf. Terrified. Then, again at my left, I notice a small island made from a mound of thick, barren tree limbs. I cannot know how buried the ocean bed is, but I take a risk, and make it to the islet.
We three sit in the handcar on the wooden shore for quite a while. Silent.
Next, a surprise. A larger island appears, to my right. This one has an inviting, one-story retreat center filled with white light and gentle, celebrational beings. I understand that the young child is ready to enter the building of light. I travel across the narrow channel, and release him to the welcoming community.
Day notes:
The island retreat center reminds me of my IASD Virginia Beach dreams, and even Hollyhock. Am I a member?
