Category: Denise

(Wednesday, December 2, 2015) moon: third quarter Virgo / tarot: Crone of Cups

I travel to a building that has been in my dreams for over a year. I think it first appeared in my dream of the white-haired Philip Seymour Hoffman. It was in the last dream I had before the 2015 IASD conference in Virginia Beach.

The building is deep red brick, built in the style of my old high school. It is a single story, simply but elegantly constructed, with a central, rectangular courtyard. Most of the courtyard is filled by a large pool of water. Many people stand along the banks of the man-made lake.

I walk along the shoreline, entering a door that leads to a small room that has the feeling of my childhood bedroom. On a table sits a glass jar with a small Mr. Magoo type character inside. My 3D project. The tiny bald doll holds two fabric banners, each of which say “SALE.” Also on one of the banners is printed the image of a human skull. The skull was not processed correctly before it was printed (it’s full of “artifacts”) and needs touching up in Photoshop. I have been working with the company president and vice president, both of whom are highly critical. Their minds change with the wind. I lose my patience. I can’t do this kind of commercial work anymore. I decide to leave both the room and the design profession.

At the moment I make this decision a tall white-haired man appears next to me. He is a master healer and teacher, serious and calm in nature. I receive a telepathic message from the community of souls on the edge of the pool that this is a great blessing. This teacher is a very evolved entity. But I do not know if he is here to heal me, or to teach me how to heal. I think of Chiron, The Wounded Healer.

My teacher and I converse as we walk along the lakeshore to a wooden wharf that opens to the sea. On the wharf are dozens of women of every age, all wearing identical tan dresses, lounging about like joyful sea lions. The brown, sun-kissed skin of the mermaids glows. I receive another telepathic message: powerful solar rays have penetrated to their bones, healing them.

We turn back along the shore and enter the building again. I see a thin, lovely woman in great emotional pain, standing with her belly to a countertop, her back facing me. I drape a soft gold and magenta shawl (cashmere? prayer shawl?) around her shoulders. I am surprised to understand that this gift has healed her.

At this moment my teacher morphs into a trickster figure. He is fey, with a peaked tuft of snow white hair, what the character Jonathan Strange would describe as “thistle-down.” I receive two telepathic messages: he is a famous intuitive healer from two hundred years ago. And he heals by drawing energy from the earth, up his shins, along his belly to the top of his pointed mane.

I know he cannot be Edgar Cayce, because the timeframe is wrong, and his persona is that of an elemental. But during his time on the earth plane he was a famous as Cayce.

I walk along the banks of the lake, meeting many souls, sometimes finding the ability to heal those in need. When my energy becomes drained from this work, I kneel on the ground and my fairy guide covers me like a blanket, an etheric blanket I cannot feel with my physical body. This is how he heals me.

Day notes:

Chris’ surgery is tomorrow.

Last night I was reading about “earthing.” Grounding the electrical charge of the body.

The serious white-haired teacher reminds me of my dream character Harry the Magician.

 

 

(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.