(Tuesday, March 19, 2024) waxing gibbous moon Leo / tarot Moon
I live in England, in a very old one-story red-brick house attached to others on the city street. I head out the rear door, to the cobble-stone alley. I look back at the tall, narrow windows. A thin, middle-aged man with blond, wavy long hair is impatiently waiting for me. I step into his vehicle and he drives me out to the countryside, dropping me off at a beautiful spot that looks like York, or perhaps Somerset. Wooded, not pastured, near a tiny blue creek.
I have anxiety about being far from my urban house: I don’t know the hiking path for my return. No map. People are ambling between the trees, and I meet a friendly, dark-haired younger woman who can help me find my way home. We walk through the forest and visit many pleasurable cottages and shops. After spending good times together, I notice I am carrying a moist (unfired) red-clay piece in my hands. It is the head of a woman. I give it to my new friend, who knows nothing about clay and sculpture, so she is a bit startled.
Day notes:
There is a 25-acre woodland in Somerset called Combe Hill Wood, close to where I stayed at Jill Purce’s retreat in Compton Dundon. Yesterday I talked to Denisea about her 60th birthday, and that happily reminded me of England. I looked up the Tor again today because of this dream and was reminded of the myth that the Grail is buried beneath it.
I woke up with joy to spend much of my night in the British Isles. The dream feels like a small fairy tale.
The tall hill where I could view the Tor and Compton Dundon. I walked here every morning.
The fairy house at the root of a tree at Lake Harriet, which has been there for many years.