Category: Uncategorized

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.

(Saturday, October 2, 2021) waning crescent Leo / tarot nine of wands

A highly vivid dream, full of thousands and thousands of clearly visible elements, impossible to remember or record them all.

This dream takes place at my Rustic Lodge house. The front door opens to a large, Victorian-style living room (my grandmother called living rooms parlors) with a very tall ceiling that angles up to the back of the house. The parlor is full of decorative elements: gold-leaf fabric, velvet, floral wallpaper, chandeliers, carved wood and plaster, side balconies, more. It is much too much.

My move to the residence is recent. Two strong young men have come over to lift a few items and relocate them on the main floor. They are waiting for notification from a drone or some other sky-contact to inform them when it’s time to leave for a more playful task. Wyn is standing with us in the living room, paying his usual close attention to how things get done. I call this his engineering mind, he calls himself a construction worker. The friendly men receive their message, although I do not see or hear it, and they wave goodbye, heading into the woods at the edge of my house.

I start to work on the dramatic parlor. Wyn watches. Cullan is there too. I pull a big strip of patterned wallpaper off of an interior window and discover that part of the trim is missing. Cullan hands me a piece of wood and we fix it. The overkill of Victorian decorative elements and DIY disasters overwhelms, crushes me.

The dream shifts to a huge upper floor furnished by a young female teacher, a previous homeowner. In my dream-mind she looked like Emily, the waking life previous owner, a speech therapist for the Minneapolis school district. Every corner, every tiny space of the room is packed full of female-focused books, toys, art supplies and notebooks for writing. I’m overwhelmed again. I pull a fragile, chaotic bookshelf down from one wall. I tear away a wide strip of wallpaper and find a full row of windows beneath it. I need to empty this room and simplify. Open the space.

The dream shifts again, to the basement. This dreamspace was furnished by Emily’s husband Charlie. In the dream he was an elementary school teacher, but I don’t know if that is true in waking life. The basement is horrific and huge. It is full of male-focused toys and games. Some of them feel very negative, as boy-toys sometimes do to me: guns, video war-games, equipment for sports that can be physically damaging. One door opens to a dark, narrow brick hallway with a yellow fungus-coated toilet at the end of it. I panic and realize I need to put a wooden barrier over the door. Immediately. There are small boys meandering about and I want them to be safe. (The format of the room is similar to my waking house basement studio, which has an old dismantled bathroom and is near a red brick wall.)

Deeply saddened, I become aware of a large space next to this basement room that resembles a laundry. I see a double cement sink through a doorway. It looks like the sink in our waking basement. The area is full of adult men interacting in a pleasant way, but I have strong suspicions about the environment. To the men it is a secret party room. (When we bought our waking house, there was an old refrigerator used for beer near the laundry.)

In the third dream shift, a woman is outside, near my backyard. She informs me that her house is in much better condition and worth substantially more money than mine. In the dream I feel she is being egocentric, un-neighborly. I would not treat anyone that way.

One day later, the dream returns in a flash during my waking life: I see an image of my higher self, with arms widespread like the protective angel in the Lovers tarot card (Rider-Waite). I’m floating at the very top of the angled parlor ceiling. My higher self is many sizes larger than living human beings.

Day notes:

I get frustrated by the sloppy DIY projects Charlie left behind. Some could have been done much better. Some are OK. There is a lot of old asbestos tile in the basement and that worries me. Lead-based paint. The gorgeous limestone walls need to be resealed.

When I had my yearly tarot reading with Marlene in August, she assured me that we absolutely chose the right house. She said the projects will get done over time and I should be patient. Don’t worry.

A few days after this dream I discovered that the bathroom toilet is slowly leaking from the basement ceiling. A plumber is coming on Wednesday. Our backyard, now full of damp wooden mulch, is populated by hundreds of mushrooms and one-billion-year-old (harmless) yellow fungus.

I have been upset with my brother-in-law handyman (Bob the Builder). A month ago my sister Jo told me a story that our sister Jamie shared with her, saying Bob had raped Jamie over a year ago. I decided I would let Bob finish two projects he started early this summer and then find another handyman, but when Bob came over on Thursday, I got the other side of the story. Living with Jamie, who has bipolar disorder and OCD, is nearly impossible, as I already knew. She physically and verbally attacks him. She threatened suicide on September 24. He showed me the text on his phone. I told Bob to make sure the next time this happens to call 911 and the National Suicide Hotline.

OCD comes from my mother’s side, bipolar comes from my father’s side. I remember visiting my grandfather several times at the old Willmar state mental hospital. His aunt committed suicide. There are at least five generations of diagnosed bipolar disorder that I am aware of.

(Thursday, September 30, 2021) waning crescent Cancer / tarot Strength

I walk to a retreat in nature. There are multiple buildings, all packed with participants. I might be a teacher, or just an observer, because I am not signed up for any classes or events.

I meet with a tall male partner in one of the main buildings. We embrace, but I am confused about whether we should kiss on the lips in an intimate way. There seems to be some privacy about our true relationship. He moves on to a meeting and I continue to wander through the retreat center, watching hundreds of people enjoying their social interactions.

I head outdoors and see my partner start to walk up a hill to a multi-story building he owns. He says it is “steel and stone.” He has some caution about the structure, perhaps the height of the land it sits on, but I feel it is strong and safe. I plan to return to his property, but first I move to the right, towards the bay of a large lake.

One of the retreat buildings hugs the edge of the bay. It is a single story, full of large windows that face the water. People are sitting near the clean, clear glass, enjoying their view of the calm lake. I warn them, though, that during the night a powerful and deadly wind will roar across the lake. Hurricane force. No one wants to listen, so I turn away and start to walk back to my partner.

Day notes:

I found out on Friday, October 1, that all of the people I work with that went to inspect the location for our upcoming photo shoot were exposed to COVID. I was supposed to join them but because Wyn was waiting to be tested for COVID, I said I would not go. The photoshoot will be at a high-rise at 5th and Marquette downtown. I have seen photos of the space and there is an expansive room full of wide glass windows. No one at the inspection wore masks, even though I plan to bring N95 masks to the shoot. The deadly wind in the dream could reference COVID, especially since no one bothered to wear masks.