(Saturday, March 24, 2018) moon 1st quarter Cancer / tarot queen of swords
A very busy night in dreamland. A few fragments remain.
I walk alongside a tall, athletic woman with a quick, open stride. We are at the dream conference and she is describing her workshop to me in a highly confident manner that borders on condescension. She is unaware of the ego element that is causing me pain. It could be Susan A. I have had that kind of interaction with her.
I tell her about my clay workshop, and there is a lucid aspect to the dream because I feel I am telling her a bit of a fib. Bringing my tub of paper clay to our Dreamsters retreat is the closest I have come to guiding anyone about clay. Even so, I express my heartfelt belief that clay is an ancient, sacred artform.
I move on to a table full of handmade trinkets for sale. The money collected is donated to the IASD. Bonnie is next to me now. There is an exquisite small clay ornament she has created and I marvel at its perfection. It has a triangular shape, like a teepee or a long, open cape. Madonnaesque. Someone else has made a tiny evergreen ornament. The needles flake off gently beneath my fingers, and that surprises me.
Richard W. and Lou H. meet with Bonnie and me, offering to drive us to my home so I can pick up something I need for the conference. My home is a New York flat with a great room filled with hundreds of small, brilliantly colorful statues and artwork. The era seems like the 60s. The vibe is highly Bohemian, not unlike my real-life black, white, red, magenta and turquoise kitchen full of handmade clay dishes and knick-knacks.
I was not expecting to bring guests to my flat, and it needs tidying up. This embarrasses me so I rush to the kitchen sink to wash the dishes. Lou comes over to calm me, standing quietly by my side. He shows me that the sink basin is made of beautiful carved white stone, not just porcelain. This startles and soothes me.
The four of us hop back into Richard’s car, a 1960s era convertible, maybe an Oldsmobile Cutlass or a similar model. Long, wide and full of chrome. Again I experience a lucid moment. I appreciate the depth and intelligence of these two men. It is a joy conversing with them. I have not had the luck of the draw in my life where relationships with men are concerned. It makes me feel quite alone, abandoned. Unworthy.
Richard is driving us up a steep, sandy road. We seem to be at the edge of an ocean beach. I sense that his car does not have the power to make it to the top. A weak engine. Like heart failure. I am very sad. I grab at the wooden posts that line the roadside in an attempt to help pull us up the hill. Another episode of surprise in this dream: I have some success. The strength of my hands is high in horsepower!
Day Notes:
Pat has the flu and is unable to host dream group on Monday. I am relieved that Peter can host because I don’t have the energy for guests and basement cleaning this week, even though it would not take that long. I am tired from worrying about Chris’ low blood counts.
Toko-pa: “Perfectionism is one of the great pillars of patriarchy, used to stem the rise of the wild feminine … Perfection is a counterfeit form of beauty which, as you’re strengthening your instincts, will ring with dissonance despite its seductive surface. True beauty always contains a delicious dash of chaos.” The Buddhist concept of wabi-sabi.
My paternal grandmother was Bohemian/Czech.
I love being in your dream. Yes, Lou and Richard are such lively men. I think of your strong hands as being related to you being a clay worker. I like what To-ko-pa says about perfection. What a wise woman.