Category: Uncategorized

(Good Friday, April 19, 2019) full moon Scorpio, tarot nine of wands

Four dreams come to the surface as I awaken. I remember three of them. They all have some scenes in the grey, cosmic atmosphere. Not in the void, because there are physical elements, but my dream vision is often dim, as it has been since my eye surgery.

Dream fragment: This may be a part of one of the larger dreams. I carry a heavy fabric tote-bag over my right shoulder. The bag is packed with items that need to be donated or recycled. I don’t think the items are mine; I’m helping someone else with their baggage. When I awaken, I think of emotional baggage, but also Jill Purce. Purse.

Dream 1: This is a long, complex dream that takes place inside of an immense building that serves hundreds, perhaps thousands of human beings on many floors. The lighting is muted. I share a sparsely furnished suite with Chris. I move from a small side room to the main living space, looking for him to join me. I see him standing in the corner, but he does not recognize me. He is grinning in a frightening, monstrous way: his personality has shifted completely into the most negative, sometimes violent aspects of dementia. I flee the room, searching for mental health professionals to protect me.

There is another scene that takes place outside, in a neighborhood near the communal building. Grey atmosphere again, and the natural elements (lakes, trees, houses) are also devoid of much color. Dusk. It is Cullan and Hillary’s Tangletown, which is slightly east of Fairview Southdale. Cullan is highly distraught because he has lost his job. I assure them that I can donate my house to them and that all will be well.

Dream 2: This fantastic, mythical dream is hard to describe. I float above the scenes in the dream, lucidly creating them as I go. But I also “physically” experience the dream. My higher self and my dream body cohabitate consciously. 

In the dream, the Mississippi River flows north along the west edge of a rock canyon so deep that the bottom is not perceivable. The river is as wide as it becomes at Lake Pepin. Fabulous, ancient manor houses overlook the precipice, spread thinly apart, enclosed by thick gardens and woodlands. The houses are absent of human inhabitants. Some of the manors have crystal gem components: windows, towers, sculptures.

My dream body intends to do a swim in the river, the kind of major life goal like swimming the Channel between France and Britain. Decisions about the process are more alive in my higher-self mind. I plan and debate and delay. “Testing the waters.” I am going to meet with my coworker Steve A. at the end of my swim.

Eventually my motivated dream body enters the cold water. The Mississippi feels like it is at flood stage, moving strongly and swiftly. I sense that the base of the riverbed is hundreds of feet below me. My higher self sees an image of my swishing feet in the dark water with no visibility of the river’s bottom. My higher self and my dream body are concerned about being attacked by aggressive, dangerous fish, such as would live in the ocean, not in a mainland river. Suddenly, my higher self shares information with my dream body about parasites in the water that can destroy a human heart. Floating in spirit above the water, my higher self tells Steve that I won’t be able to safely finish my swim. My dream body then energetically leaves the river.

Day notes:

Steve is a web designer, like Cullan, someone who works with virtual reality. The two of us have been planning a department trip to the Weisman Museum, which is on the east shore of the Mississippi.

One of my favorite books is Dr. Thomas Cowan’s “Human Heart, Cosmic Heart.” Maybe I need to read it again.

(Saturday, April 6, 2019) waxing crescent moon Taurus, tarot Hanged Man

I dream that Chris and I have moved into a different house. It is much more expensive and expansive than our 1960 ranch-style house in Plymouth. The neighborhood is a modernized village, built along hillsides, haphazardly structured: the buildings twist and turn. No grid. There is very little space between lots and houses. It feels like Tangletown, where Cullan and Hillary live.

In the beginning of the dream, I walk with a female friend down an old, grassy dirt road. The atmosphere is cosmic grey. We are heading together to the new house.

We arrive. The house is several stories tall. It’s busy. People enter and are involved in events on multiple floors. Chris participates in some of these events, but I cannot, because my heart is broken. I miss the wide range of animal lives that joined us at our Plymouth acre. The animals inspired me and touched my heart deeply, birds and mammals of a wide variety. I remember the contract I created with Jill Purce in Glastonbury: “love for the animals.”

I stand in the kitchen with my friend, focusing on the physical environment. The wallpaper, carpet and furniture disappoint me. They are dated and lack design sophistication. The rooms are too full of furniture, artwork, knick-knacks and utilitarian objects. Packed. The carpet is a dreadful floral pattern. I dislike the wallpaper, too, and start to peel it off the wall behind the sink. This house needs my renewal skills.

Day notes:

We have results from Chris’ MRI. His Hepatitis C has grown, and he is now diagnosed with early-stage cirrhosis of the liver. His weight is down to 160 pounds. His spine has weakened into scoliosis and he has declined from 6 feet in height to less than 5 feet ten inches. We are full of grief. My wages are almost fully required to pay our medical expenses, but we must move forward with the prescription for Hep-C as soon as possible or he will die of cirrhosis.

I wonder if the multi-story house is a hospital. Or a different dimensional reality. Chris is socially comfortable; I am overwhelmed with sorrow.

Memorial Day 2019: The multi-story house seemed to match Fairview Southdale Hospital Day Surgery, where I had my eye operation in April. Surprisingly outdated decor and furniture.

(Thursday, February 7, 2019) waxing crescent moon Pisces, tarot 8 of swords

I drove Jeanne C. to her knee surgery on Wednesday, then brought her home and stayed overnight to make sure she could manage her pain and her ability to walk.

A motion-detecting knick-knack of two little cardinals rests on a shelf near her stairs and front closet. As I draped my coat on a hanger the red birds started to sing wildly. We both laughed. “Jim is here,” Jeanne said. Her theory is that the spirit of her deceased husband Jim Jankowicz activates the birdies. It seems true enough, because I passed by the cardinals many times over the next two days and they never made a sound. They cry when I first enter the house and then are silent.

I slept in the guest room upstairs, next to Jim’s old bedroom and across from Jeanne’s room. The last time I stayed at the house I saw an illuminated orb hover over the top of Jim’s funeral urn. A shade fell crashing from a window, along with a few other odd events I have forgotten. He greeted me in multiple ways.

This time I awaken in the middle of the night with sleep paralysis. Lying flat on my belly, a mysterious pressure pushes my whole body into the mattress. Eventually I am able to break free.

I fall quickly back to sleep. Suddenly, my phone chimes more loudly than I have ever heard before. Bells are ringing like a cathedral. I reach over to grab the mobile from the night table. The screen is flashing and alerting me that the battery charge is almost empty, so I put my hand behind the headboard to push the charger into the wall outlet more firmly.

The charger thunks onto the wooden floor. Irritated, I get out of bed to turn on the lights, but the lamp on the table does not work. Neither does the lamp on the wall. I lucidly understand this as a false awakening, because the experience is one of hyper-reality. As I stand by the door, recognizing the dream state, I hear Jeanne’s voice issue a firm, one-sentence directive from Jim’s room.

Her voice is much deeper than normal. Masculine. I sense she is standing in the dark, wearing a black priest’s robe. I cross the threshold, enter the room, and my body dissolves into the void. Jeanne’s presence disappears.

I remember her directive (even though when I truly awaken it is forgotten) and move out of the void, back into my physical form. I step into her bedroom. She is lying delicately on her mattress. Her body is weak. I slide my arms beneath it and lift her out of bed, carrying her over to a west-facing, rough-hewn square window that overlooks a large green field. The atmosphere over the field is the grey void.

Jeanne kneels and rests against the wall, talking quietly with me. I stand, looking outside. There is no glass or screen covering the window, so I lean out as if reaching through a Dutch half-door.

I see a young, round-faced boy, perhaps 4 or 5 years old, playing alone in the field. It feels like I am viewing the distant past, and that the little boy is Jim. I watch him for a long time.

Day notes:

When I tell Jeanne the dream, she says that Jim used to stay with his grandmother at her farm during the day. His parents were working at their small-town newspaper in Verdigre, Nebraska. The bed I slept on once belonged to Jim’s grandmother.

This is the same day I found out about the male gender of my grandchild. Is this related in some way? My father’s name is also Jim. He grew up on a farm and had a Czech grandmother, just like Jim Jankowicz. The farmhouse my father lived in had a Dutch door in the kitchen.