Ding

(Sunday, November 21, 2021)

The exact “ding” sound I hear when someone texts me woke me up early Sunday morning. I picked up my phone, checked it, but no one had sent me a text. I realized the bell-ring was intended to alert me to the dream I just had: “This dream is important!”

In the dream, two older women are lying asleep in single beds in a shared hospice room or nursing home. Lights are on and I have stepped in as an observer. The woman closest to me has wavy, jet-black hair. The other woman, who is lying on her side and facing away from me, has soft white-grey hair. Each of the two beds are holding large, square, white wooden boxes that touch the women’s feet. Their knees are bent to make room for the boxes. The boxes are sealed except for square openings on one side of each box. I leave the room to avoid disturbing the stillness.

After I walk out of the hospice room, into a hallway, my consciousness becomes aware of a man with a handgun who is entering the room. He is angrily responding to the social media posts of these women. He shoots and kills them both, and is able to sneak out of the room without anyone seeing him.

I also see and hear nothing, except for within my intuition. I dash into the women’s room and find them cruelly discarded into the square wooden boxes, the oddly-shaped coffins. There is an emergency communication device on the far wall, near the grey-haired woman’s bed. I slam the buttons, crying for help.

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Because of the “ding,” I spend a long time lying in bed, going over the dream details. I eventually fall asleep and the dream continues.

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I am at work. The two women in charge of communications have asked me to write a blog post, so I slowly sift through all of the elements and publish one based on the dream that woke me up. Dinged me. When I let them know that the blog subject is based on a dream, they are anxious and horrified. But their emotions don’t affect me in the least. I tell them: “Well, you can just delete it from the web if you don’t like it.” And I walk away, perfectly happy.

The dream shifts to a huge Victorian house. I comment that hundreds of people could live here, which is important in these times of tremendous poverty and homelessness. A logical, organized contractor has been in charge of clearing, repairing and updating the house. He shows me the clean, white sheets and comforters in every bedroom. All of the rooms now feel spacious and calm, beautiful and livable.

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Day notes:

Before this dream I had listened to Al Franken’s podcast about Facebook and the sociopathic business practice of Mark Zuckerberg.

Today I received a Facebook post from the IASD about Dr. Patricia Garfield. She is now in hospice. She has been suffering from cancer for many years.

The acquittal of Kyle Rittenhouse has been devastating news. A nightmare. Social media is inspiring violence and murder.

On my way home from getting my booster shot, a truck drove past me from White Crane, a company I have been interested in for some remodel projects. This dream confirms for me that White Crane would be a good choice.

Pilgrimage: Returning to Earth

(Friday, November 12, 2021) waxing gibbous moon Pisces, tarot High Priestess

Hundreds of humans live in a small city nestled in a wooded, hilly, natural environment. We are visitors to a foreign planet. The beautiful town is a colony. A few dozen of us are now ready to travel back in space, back to our home planet, but we have to take a long journey through the mountains.

A strong, middle-aged woman is the captain, the leader of our trip back to the space station and beyond. We are confident in her ability. We start to amble along the city streets together. I point out my lovely, two-story home with a veranda that freely opens to the lighted interior of the house. The clear openness has inspired me. I hope others feel cheered by it, too.

I want to bring my vehicle along with me in the large spaceship, but cannot. In my hand I hold a steel ignition key with a patterned hexagon top. I have affection for the classic, charming car. I will miss it. There are many aspects of the colony we will all miss and we take our time to visit people and places to say good bye and then, to discuss the process of being in space together.

We need to travel to a planet that is fairly close to this colonized planet, and from there we will fly to the earth. As we make it past the border of the friendly, populated town, we enter a very tall mountain range, the height of the Himalayas. Our captain instructs us. We must slide our bodies down the spectacularly steep, barren snow ridges, thousands and thousands of feet to a valley below. That is how the dreams ends for me. I am shocked by the dramatic angle of my pathway, but I obey. I slide forward at tremendous speed. Not everyone is able to race as directly and easily as I do.

Creative Force Soars into the Infinite, Like a Rocket

(Monday, October 8, 2021 / waxing crescent moon Capricorn / five of pentacles tarot)

A long, elaborate dream. It seems to be the working details of the retreat center dream. A group of us are deeply involved with our personal retreat tasks. Our goals. We are all indoors, inside classrooms with large drawing table-style desks.

I really only remember the story at the end of this dream. I share a dual drawing table with a male dream-worker or friend. Our table is at the front row of the classroom. He is struggling with his ability to draw on a large white sketchpad. His strong irritation causes me to move away from the desk, to take a quiet, personal break. I want to allow him to concentrate.

The woman who is teaching the class walks over to tell me that my creativity is off the charts. I am completely skeptical but she shows me the data. My creative ability is at least twice as high as 100%, which must be statistically impossible. I can’t even see my exact numbers because the top of the chart seems soaring into infinity. That life-changing chart soothes me and gives me tremendous peace of mind.

The Dreamsters Union