TheDreamstersUnion

Friday, June 7, 2019

Cindy B. appears in my dream, a writer friend of my coworker Cyndi C., who passed over at 3:30 pm Monday, June 3. Cindy B. joined us as a temp during Jessica’s maternity leave this winter. She’s gone now too: from the office, not from life.

Cindy is showing me the brilliantly beautiful ceramic pots she creates. She works at the master level and her pots have a unique form that I have never seen before, a half-circle structure with thick outer vertical ribs, like very large, empty grapefruits. She coats the interiors with gold luster overglaze, and shows me how she does it. In the dream I call it “poin lustre.”

Day notes:

Most people misspell Cyndi’s name as “Cindy.” I think this dream is about Cyndi’s next incarnation, because, for me, there are two memories of Cyndi/Cindy in the dream. In her recent life Cyndi loved to make stone and tile mosaics.

In the dream, I think “poin” is French but it is not. I can’t really find it on Google in waking life. Maybe I am misspelling “poin.” Pain? Paint? Point? Pawn?

The pots are shaped like breasts. Cyndi died of metastatic breast cancer. The new Cindy lines the interior of the breasts with shimmering gold. That is an alchemical aspect of the dream, because luster glaze needs to be fired before it turns to gold. There was a karmic need for Cyndi to experience breast cancer?

Cyndi/Cindy: i and y change order. I, why?

(Friday, June 7, 2019) waning crescent moon Leo, tarot page of swords

I had two intensely emotional dreams this morning, full of detailed physical elements and storylines. The bulk of the second dream has slipped away.

Dream 1: My husband and I live in the most immense house possible. It is the size of a skyscraper, with an uncountable number of floors and huge, spacious rooms, devoid of much decor. I don’t remember seeing any paintings on the walls, but that may be because I am so profoundly shocked at the size of my dwelling.

The structure of the levels reminds me of a dream I had at least a year ago. None of those floors or these have a consistent geometric flow. Some rooms rest at levels halfway below the adjacent room, or halfway above. The striking construction feature is the infinite number of staircases that connect room to room to room, like a drawing by M.C. Escher, or the cover of the recent book I read by James Hillman, “The Dream and the Underworld.”

My spouse looks like an icy-cold version of Jerry Garcia. He has long, thick, curly white hair and his girth is a bit wide. An old hippy. He is busy with his own dry-bone preoccupations, completely uninterested in sharing anything with me, especially when I start to scream at the top of my lungs.

I have been searching for Lola with no success. My heart is shattered. I wail and wail and wail at sonic-boom volume. The usual quiet-me has exploded into the most vocal human on the planet. I have never experienced this kind of despair in my life.

I look down the staircase that leads to the outside, a cavern of steps with no visible bottom. Suddenly I see Lola struggling to rise. I see that the chiseled stone stairs are too tall, causing her aging body pain and tremendous effort. Still, she makes it to the top, causing me relief and joy.

Day notes:

When I wake up I feel the passionate pain in my heart inspired by the perceived loss of my beloved feline. I feel guilty that I have not refilled her Cosequin, an animal joint supplement.

Saturday, June 8, one day after the dream, I take Lola to Blue Pearl veterinary ER. She hasn’t had a UTI for almost two years but has one now. I brought one of her litter boxes upstairs so she doesn’t need to climb up and down all day long. She’s in too much pain for that stressor.

Dream 2: The fragment that remains is of me socializing and walking with coworkers. We seem to be heading to a large meeting or conference. I am surprised to notice that a tall coworker named John has a secret attraction for me. It feels like deep, subtle love.

(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.