(Thursday, July 27, 2017) moon waxing crescent Virgo / tarot eight of pentacles
This dream has the wonderful, sensual feeling of the earth after a healing, soaking rain. Everything is vibrantly alive and joyful. Fully conscious.
I am at a retreat center with a bunch of women and children of all ages. The room where the dream begins is quite crowded. Bustling with activity. Scenes of my life are being shown to the group. In the dream I wonder about this because I am seldom captured on any kind of camera. And the scenes are more intimate than video. When I awake I realize these are recordings from the Akashic record.
Lauren from the IASD is presenting in her distinctive, humorous and passionate way. She wants to show everyone how radiantly happy I am. She shows scene after scene of me with wide, heartfelt smiles on my face. Seeing my own emanating energy of bliss makes me surprised. Peaceful. Lauren goes on to compliment other aspects of my soul. Her charm and creativity is infectious. I feel loved and appreciated by an incredibly wise woman.
At the same time, interesting and psychedelic events are underway. A woman has a glass orb that when lit with a special kind of light reveals a rare, exotic plant inside of it, just beginning to bloom. A 12-year-old girl is working on an experiment. When she balances a robin’s egg on a silver spoon, the experiment will be complete.
The dream shifts to the outdoors. I am seated on the front lawn of the retreat center, inside a small spiral hut made of leaves and other organic matter. It is shaped like a snail shell. I have just had a fresh shower and I am wearing very little clothing. A cool breeze blows through the side opening of the shell. I am enjoying sitting on the moist ground, inside my simple, musky nest.
A tall, lithe man peaks his nose into my hut. His physical appearance is astonishing. He looks like the manifestation of The Fool. Shamanic. Absurd. He is lightly clothed in coyote fur, but he is not indigenous. He looks like a lanky Londoner wearing ancient hunter-gatherer gear.
The trickster element of his personality shines like a laser beam. He greets me and begins to tell a tale of Bette Midler. A part of me reminds him of Bette’s fiery uniqueness. He has known Midler and hundreds of other musicians over the course of many decades. He dances off with a grin that reaches deep inside of me, to my innermost being.
I am so affected by his presence that I go back into the center to ask about the musical shaman. One woman tells me that his name is Cinny. Synergy?
