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(Friday, July 24, 2020) waxing crescent moon Virgo / tarot six of cups

The first half or more of this dream has no physical experience. Chris and I are staying at a very large hotel, but we are not part of a manifest, three-dimensional realm. We are spirits, yet I sense that his hair is black. He is Chris but he is not Chris. He is my strong, intelligent, healthy mate from my 2015 past life dream I call “Yoga Couple.” In that dream I name myself Madame Renault.

The single-story hotel or conference center may not be “real” either. I notice no striking colors. The immense rooms feel quite bare, devoid of much furniture, empty of any humans. Huge windows overlook the edge of the ocean, or perhaps the muted edge of the universe. I stand on the shore for a long while, sensing the infinite depth, then head back to our room.

It is night-time, but it is not dark. We are resting in a bedroom together. We make quiet love early in the evening like partners who have been together for centuries. We sleep, but I am lucid in my sleep. Anxious. I have a meeting at 9 a.m. Hours and hours of this dream are about having no body, and waiting.

My yoga husband rolls out of our wide, king-size bed in the early morning and enters the bathroom for a shower. This distracts me. I am worried I won’t have enough time to prepare for my 9 o’clock. The dawn has solidified things: I am more human, the rooms are more physical. I am able to enter the constricted black and white bathroom after Chris has finished his morning cleanse. The room is shaped like a small, rectangular box. I feel compressed, and surprised that such a big resort would have such an uncomfortable water room. A tomb.

Then the room shifts, expanding into the large old bathroom in my grandmother Sheehan’s farmhouse that at one time had been my great-grandparents’ bedroom. As I undress for my shower, a small group of people outside the window notice my naked, lean body. I shield myself with a towel I find in the wardrobe-style closet. More and more people appear. The out-of-doors is becoming active and social.

(Wednesday, April 29, 2020) first quarter moon in Cancer / tarot eight of spirals (pentacles)

In an episode of sleep paralysis, I lie flat on my back with my right arm outstretched. I don’t realize I am frozen until I sense the spirit of a female cat in bed with me. She curls around my inner arm several times, settling against my armpit. I cannot see her, but I know she is grey and lanky.

I start to focus on freeing myself from paralysis. I try to wave my knees back and forth, from left to right and right to left. It works.

Suddenly I see an eagle descending from heaven, from many miles high. The eagle-angel protectively clutches the grey cat in her talons, bringing her down to earth to meet me.

(Wednesday, April 8, 2020)

Last night I dream I am walking with some friends behind the beloved musician John Prine, through a beautiful city in Kentucky that looks like Rome. A holy city. We are heading to a spectacular cathedral or temple owned by his friend Bob Dylan. John holds hands with his soulmate Fiona, who trails after him slightly. He is furious about the coronavirus: the same powerful resistance he had to the Viet Nam and Iraq wars.

Day notes:

John died Tuesday, April 7, of the coronavirus at the age of 73. My heart is broken. He has been compared to Mark Twain, and I like that expression of honor. To me he always felt like an angelic being, writing stories and tunes at the highest level of compassion, honesty and poetic creativity.

His song “Paradise” is about his ancestral roots in Kentucky, a town where his parents were born, and since destroyed by the coal industry:

“And daddy won’t you take me back to Muhlenberg County
Down by the Green River, where Paradise lay?
Well, I’m sorry my son, but you’re too late in asking
Mr. Peabody’s coal train has hauled it away”