Tuesday, October 19, 2021 (granddaughter Oona Jane’s birthday)
I’ve joined a conference with a large group of younger people: Gen Y, Gen Z and Millennials. We are at a large retreat center with multiple buildings, in the wild, very much like Hollyhock in British Columbia.
The group moves on without me, the old woman. They have their own agenda, which does not surprise me. I decide to walk up a small, L-shaped wooden staircase in a private two-story cabin.
As I open the left-facing door at the top of the stairs, I am surprised to see John Lennon, sitting in a simple wooden chair, holding and gently kissing another man in a chair directly in front of him. Paul McCartney? I leave Lennon to his privacy, although he acknowledges my presence.
I reconnect with the young retreaters. They have decided to meet John Lennon. I tag along behind them and am the last person to enter John’s cabin upper floor. His partner is gone. As before, the retreat members don’t pay much attention to me, but John laser-focuses on my character and mission. The youngsters respectfully move away from me to observe Lennon’s teaching.
He tells them that I am able to move between the dimensions of life and death, the soul transition space. That is my next task, my new lifework. I leap into the black, empty Cosmos and fly far, far away.
Day notes:
Lennon in Irish is Leannán (lover) and Lonáin (blackbird).
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to be free
Blackbird fly, blackbird fly
Into the light of a dark black night
Blackbird fly, blackbird fly
Into the light of a dark black night
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
My middle name is Lenore, so ravens (black birds) are one of my spirit animals.
This is the third dream I have had this summer/fall about famous creatives. One dream was about Bob Dylan, another dream did not reveal who the famous person was. Secret.
The week that John Lennon was killed, I had a lucid dream. He asked me to send a letter to Yoko Ono, to let her know he was OK.
Prescient elements, November 11: I visit the children’s bookstore “Wild Rumpus” to do some Christmas shopping. Behind the desk is a huge print of a crowned white Queen Cat, and that catches my attention, since the feral white calico slept on my blue velvet couch for an hour on this day. But the other odd thing was a thick box, at least four inches deep, that held two books of Paul McCartney’s song lyrics. Why was that at a children’s bookstore? It reminded me of my black bird dream. In addition, “60 Minutes” is showing films tonight of the Beatles that have never been shared on TV before.