Category: Denise

(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?!!!!

The synchronicity on Tuesday of reading the Skywoman myth and dreaming of the Great Flood earlier that morning has made me contemplate my muskrat dream from a few years ago.

The original dream presented as a simple fragment. I saw a round house far off in the distance, in a parched riverbed. The house appeared to be made of sticks, with no door or windows. So this mystery of how to enter the house motivated me to work the dream with Sheila Asato.

And in the way that often happens with Sheila as the guide, the dream exploded into an incredible shamanic vision. As I walked closer and closer to the round house, I realized it was not a Navaho hogan, not a beaver den, but a muskrat lodge made of twigs and cattail reeds. I understood that the entrance to the lodge was from beneath, and I suddenly found myself inside. It was here that The Ancestors began communicating with me, expressing their sorrow about the two-leggeds and our deafness to the spirit world, to the natural world. They told me that anytime I wished to speak with them I simply needed to enter the spirit lodge of brother and sister muskrat.

I left the inner lodge to travel the river bed. The valley seemed to be that of the Mississippi, but it was dry like an arroyo. I could sense the flow of an underground river made of sand. I began to fly above the bluffs, and from this vantage point I was able to follow the hidden river connecting the Wabasha valley with the mountains of Santa Fe.

At the time of this dream, I had no knowledge of the Dakotah creation story of muskrat and Turtle Island. I had no idea of the importance of muskrat in the Dakotah teachings. I feel I must have truly been communicating with my blood ancestors, for them to be able to tell me this story.

Additionally, I feel they must have told me of past lifetimes as Pueblo Indians in the Taos and Sangre de Christo mountains of New Mexico. Two lifetimes came to the surface when I worked with Sabine Lucas.

As a child of eight I experienced a Great Flood on the Mississippi River. My sister Jo and I stayed with my grandmother while my brother was being born. My father had to come pick us up in a boat. The road to the farm was completely underwater.

Muskrat totem: breathe deep!

The more I study dreams, the more miraculous they become. The more grateful I become.

I dreamt this on Friday morning and needed to let it sink in for a fuller awareness:

I am asking Angela Niemann about her twin, who stands slightly behind, at her left shoulder. Her twin is taller, with an alien appearance: translucent, papery white skin, wide-open nostrils, and huge dark eyes. This is what angels really look like, without the human overlay of wings and halos. They are from another dimension or level of reality.

Day notes:

I was happy to see the alien presence. Sabine had advised that I try to contact (telepathically) the aliens I had dreamt of for so many years. But I hadn’t had any luck at it. I read a book on the Star Nations that Pat told me about, written by an Indian professor from Montana. Several Indians said they had telepathically asked the star visitors to leave them alone, and that had worked for them. That is what I did when I was in my late 30s and I had not heard from them since.

 I have had quite a few dreams this past year of the two Angelas. When I was a child, my sisters and I walked along an abandoned dirt road on my grandmother’s farm. I found a Liberty half dollar from the 1940s laying in the sand. I’d never seen such a coin. To me, Liberty looked like an angel. She was walking through a field of stars. I was very excited to get back to the house to show my grandmother. Just before we entered the gate at the front of the house, I found a second Liberty half dollar, from the same decade, laying in the warm prairie soil. So from that time on I imagined that I was blessed with two guardian angels.