TheDreamstersUnion

(Saturday, August 31, 2019)

In the last two days I have had a series of very lucid dreams, three to four per night that I remember upon awakening. My definition of lucid is a dream that feels like actual reality, full of intense visual and emotional details: a level of existence we experience in sleep. Hillman’s Underworld. I have been too busy with work and chores to be able to record them with the details that were still clear in my mind early in the morning.

(Friday)

1: I am moving in the dream from house to house, homes I have owned in my dream lifetime. There are many. One matches exactly the two-story house my Luther grandparents owned in Brewster, Minnesota. Another is a complex, flat-roof design that is undersized. My head touches the ceiling. It feels like the ancient pueblo dwellings in the mountains of the Southwest. Humans were much smaller then.

2: I am an East Indian woman of my current age, but my physical appearance is very, very old. My soiled teeth are nearly fully decayed. Those that remain are filled with black cavities. My skin is covered in dark, liver-colored age spots. My mood and persona, though, are energetic and extremely positive. I own a huge house occupied by many East Indian guests. We are working on a decorating project that seems to be part of a show on HGTV. We all group together for a team photo organized on multiple levels. I pose in the top row, nestled inside of a comfortable open box designed to keep people at the top safe from falling. The man standing at my left side is Brad, one of the men I met at Jill’s Healing the Ancestors retreat. His dream physical appearance is East Indian, like mine. Dream Brad is mildly surprised to see that I am at the same high spiritual level as he.

(Saturday)

1: I am writing my dream blog. Cullan is nestled next to me on my left side. In waking life, he just completed a software update for my WordPress blog. We texted back and forth last night for half an hour or so.

2: I dream that Chris has the angry, aggressive personality that appeared after his craniotomy. In the dream it is even worse (that anger has dissolved over the years). He is threatening to violently attack me. I travel with rapid stealth through the world to escape and be safe. I move into forests, vacant buildings, rivers, oceans. As I do, Lola is present in my mind. Who will feed her? Keep her safe?

3: I am standing with grade school children in a classroom, waiting for the first day of school to begin. There are quite a few empty desks and it seems the kids that enter the room will all find a place to sit. But more and more students continue to fill the room, including two bully boys. I head down the hall to the main office in order to grab more desks. I thought I was just another student, but I realize that I am the teacher. (Day notes: two male coworkers bullied me a bit on Friday. Irritating. I stood my ground.)

(Friday, August 23, 2019) moon third quarter Gemini / tarot knight of pentacles

A very long, detailed dream, also inspired by Lola waking me up in the predawn. Then I fall back to “sleep”:

Bonnie and I attend a retreat together on a large island. We are staying offsite at an Airbnb, not at the hotel where the retreat takes place. The rental is a huge, ramshackle, multistory house. It has the vibration of an old hippie commune from the 60s or early 70s. Nothing is tidy. Rooms are strewn with all kinds of treasures and trash. The furniture needs mending, and the building structure too.

We walk outside and head to the hotel. The island village is busy and populated. Bike riders are ambling everywhere. Pedestrians travel together on cobblestone walkways. Some people are catching the bus. It feels like Berkeley-In-The-Woods.

Our retreat takes place in a modestly-sized square meeting room in the hotel. We the participants, all of us female, sit on wooden chairs along the wall and are guided by Jill Purce. She has her own throne-like chair across from the meeting room door. This intimate space has no windows.

Bonnie and I are seated together, listening to all of the moving, emotional stories of our women friends. Bonnie’s narrative describes the heart-breaking, psychedelic-style behaviors of Paul as he sinks into dementia. I have experienced a similar tale in my life, but without the predictable, permanent fail of Alzheimer’s. I worry for Bonnie. At one point we move closer to Jill, just one or two chairs away.

Bonnie is very connected to everyone in the room. She is a medicine woman. She is rubbing her hands against my breasts, which in the dream confuses me, but when I wake up I think she is healing my heart chakra. My maternal instincts?

When our group finishes our work together, Bonnie and I return to the Airbnb. We have to get ready for a next-day early flight and we are having trouble packing up our gear because of the chaotic ambience of the house. The windows are wide open: there was a strong storm while we were away and the rooms are rain-soaked and wind-scattered. A tuxedo domestic shorthair feline sits outside of one window, staring attentively into the weathered mess. He has the energy of a powerful psychopomp.

Suddenly, two gregarious gay men of late middle age come dashing into the foyer of the house. They have rented a separate space, which surprises me. I thought the Airbnb was a single dwelling. In the same moment, a threatening letter is delivered from the owners, accusing Bonnie and me of causing storm damage to the house by neglectfully leaving the windows open. They demand $7,999! This completely shocks me and I howl out loud, falling to my knees. Tears stream down my cheeks. My heart aches. I feel deeply traumatized. Bonnie contacts my ex coworker Dave S. for legal advice (he now lives in Colorado and is a “green” realtor).

The dream shifts. Bonnie and I arrive at the harbor to catch our water taxi. We have moved on from the lunacy of the nasty Airbnb owners. We have places to go. A fit young woman captains the open speedboat for us. I sit at the bow, watching the waves. Bonnie sits at the stern with a group of laughing little girls. All of our hair is waving in the strongly flowing breeze.

Day notes:

Complex messaging in this dream. Black and white Lola has become my psychopomp because of her pattern to wake me at 3:30 and 5 in the morning. I feel this dream confirms the karmic strength and wisdom of Bonnie’s work as a dream guide. She was a popular choice for members of the Hollyhock retreat.

Perspective from Bonnie (an email from August 24):

“Some things that caught my attention:  We are staying ‘offsite’ as opposed to ‘onsite.’  So something is not right. I am wondering about the reference to the era of the 60s and 70s – hippie, Berkeley. It was quite a transitional time. Anti establishment, lots of drugs, simplistic (all we need is love), yet good in how it shook up the status quo (personally as well as the culture). So a time of change? An upheaval (even more so with the storm). We are still in the woods and surrounded by water which to me is a positive. The house being ramshackle (love that word) makes me wonder if my life and/or my physical body is a mess right now. Everything up in the air (Airbnb)!

“All of us women meet in a square room with Jill. A more secure, stable place? And we are all emoting, cleansing our emotions. I love that we move closer to Jill. Are we moving closer to wisdom? I am rubbing your breasts. I would think that has to do with stimulating maternal energy. For who? You?  

“When we get back the windows are wide open. Does that reference being able to ‘see’ more clearly? I love the cat outside the window also witnessing. 

“Gay men? Some new energy entering the space. Maybe in reference to a more happy energy?  

“Threatening letter? $7999 adds up to 7. From the handout from the woman who did the workshop on numbers at IASD: Mystical, inner wisdom, healing, transformation.  Change, even for the better, is always threatening to our egos.

“And then of course, is our glorious get away. I love it especially with the wind in our hair. We should also all have our middle fingers raised!!“

(Thursday, August 21, 2019)

In this dream I am not myself. I am a woman who reminds me of my mother-in-law Kay. I am in my seventies, overweight, with an aging hunched posture. My personality is not that of a creative, but of someone who has managed other workers or taught children for many years. Organized, outgoing, methodical and not very feminine. Supportive but a bit predictable.

Chris and I have owned the sole house next to a cliff on Lake Superior for decades. It’s modest in size, but the view is inspiring. Being near the deep, deep water is important to me. I value the natural privacy too.

A member of the local government planning commission has sent us a message in the form of an earthenware pot filled with leaves. At first I ignore it, but then I take two of the oak leaves that are lightly coated with sap and dip them in the lake, swooshing them clean.

This alerts the planning commissioner that we are ready for a discussion. He comes to tell us that the property near our house is being rezoned. The new lots will be tiny and the houses will be very close together. In fact, our backyard will be bordered by a white fence just a few feet from our back door.

At first we find this a little disturbing, but as we ruminate on the new plan we become accepting of the change. We haven’t painted our house in many years, and we decide to paint it in honor of our new neighbors. The house will be cerulean blue, the windows yellow ochre and cranberry red.

Day notes:

We have new neighbors next door from Colorado. We haven’t met them yet.