Madam Speaker

(Saturday, Valentine’s Day, 2015) Waning crescent moon Sagittarius / tarot: five of swords

I dream of the IASD conference. This time I am presenting, not just attending as a student and volunteer.

I walk through a meeting hall on my way to the podium, up the right aisle, through hundreds of pinkish-brown metal folding chairs. People are just starting to fill the chairs, entering the large, square room directly from the outside. Blue sky and sun are visible through the double doors.

There is a lot of buzz. The crowd is very excited to hear my talk. Maybe I am the keynote. I’m not used to that level of love and it lifts my spirits.

I walk past Ernest Hartmann. He shouts out to me. He wants to write my “character file.” This is a document written only for the inner sanctum of dreamers, a secret society. (When I awake from this dream I don’t quite recall the exact title of the document.) Rita Dwyer, too, wants to write for my file. Linda Mastrangelo waves at me from the opposite side of the room.

I am overwhelmed and do not know how to respond. My modest level of education makes me feel unworthy of such distinguished attention.

I arrive at the podium. A dark-haired older woman with glasses, whom I recognize from other IASD conferences, is waiting to introduce me. I notice a large black column at the center of the hall (dead center?). I express my concern to her that this structure will block the view of many people in the audience. She explains that the column moves in and out of our physical dimension. It’s a corridor for spirit beings. Perhaps Ernest Hartmann used it to travel from the realm of the dead. The pillar dissolves in front of my eyes.

Another woman is already seated in the first row, directly in front of the podium. She tells me she is there to offer whatever assistance I may need. I tell her I have throat / fifth chakra issues and public speaking often leads me to coughing spells. Does she have a cough drop? She does not!

I remember the Virginia Beach conference where I provided a throat lozenge to one of the speakers (Bjo Ashwill), so I wish to be prepared. I have a water bottle but it is nearly empty. My helper is able to direct me to a corner of the room where boxes of new glass water bottles are stored. The bottles have dual chambers with bent glass straws. One chamber is full of clear liquid, presumably water, and the other contains translucent blue fluid, the color of sapphires. This vessel provides me comfort and confidence and I walk back to the front of the room.

But once at the podium I am unable to locate my presentation in the pile of papers sitting on top of the wooden box. I shuffle through them multiple times to no avail. I should have posted the text online so I could read it from a laptop. It was a beautifully constructed piece, richly poetic. In deep frustration I look to the woman who is waiting to introduce me. She tells me not to worry and turns to the waiting IASD members. “Let’s go to lunch,” she says.

This gives me a window to travel back to my office in an attempt to retrieve my speech. Again I cannot find it. My Ergotron coworkers are all in the office but they barely acknowledge my presence. Too busy. The workflow has changed with time and there is very little left for me to do there, yet I am still on salary, a member of the team. A white #10 envelope, stuffed with a hefty paycheck, sits on the upper right corner of my desktop. I scoop it up and take it with me.

Once again at the podium, I have to admit to my spectacled hostess that I have not located the file. And I have no memory at all of the content of the missing document. So I will need to invoke the wily spirit of my Celtic storyteller-grandfather, Ellsworth Lloyd, to entertain the gathered crowd.

I turn to face the enthusiastic audience and begin my tale. My voice is strained and muted. I am unable to project in a trained, theatrical style. There is no microphone. I decide to walk throughout the room so everyone can hear me.

The first story I share is my remote viewing dream of Sabine Lucas’ house in Santa Fe. The crowd loves it! Smiles and cheers! I follow that up with my dreams of the blue alien beings and they love those even more. I continue on for many hours, relaying dream after dream. It’s a wonderful, warm, happy experience for me and for the listeners.

Day notes:

 

A dream of finding my voice. My creative expression. Finding my audience. A dream of acceptance by great teachers. Community and love. Moving from superficial work to work of the soul.

 

I wonder if my art piece will be accepted into the IASD gallery this year.

 

This dream feels like a new chapter in my life. Emotions both powerful and positive. A shout-out from Ernest Hartmann, very nice!

 

Another dream of straws, tubes. The water vessels are heart-like. Glass vessels are alchemical symbols. The Elixir of Life, the Grail. A crucible, a distillation vessel, has two chambers. https://jeanraffa.wordpress.com/tag/alchemical-vessels/

 

Synopsis: I am entering a new area of my life where I will no longer be the student but will be sharing my knowledge with like-minded souls. My time in the business world is coming to an end. I have powerful support from my spirit guides. Although I don’t have the documentation that gives me confidence in certain arenas (a degree, what Bonnie calls “letters behind my name”), I am able to improvise and tell my story in an engaging and entertaining way, in the manner of my Celtic and Indian ancestors. Speaking from the heart. In real life I am able to “throw my voice” (project my voice) but in the dream my throat is weak. Perhaps not “projecting” is a positive thing at a conference full of therapists! Weakness of the fifth chakra is about blocked creativity. Nonetheless I am able to share my story with honesty, artistry and intimacy. In the moment when I stand in front of the audience, paperless, I realize there is nothing else in life BUT one’s own story.

 

When I had a tarot reading with Marlene in November, she said I was coming into a prolific artistic period. I would find a way to guide dreamwork with groups of people. It’s hard for me to visualize that reality.

 

Last time I dreamt of Ernest Hartmann, Bob Van De Castle was in the dream, and unbeknownst to me, he had just passed away. It makes me wonder about Rita Dwyer. Why is she in the dream? Because she is a rocket scientist?

 

Releasing the past, the carefully constructed story. Living in the present moment. Speaking from the heart. Is it Sabine in the front row? She asked me, in our final meeting, if I was ready for this to be my final incarnation. How does one answer such a question?!!!!