TheDreamstersUnion

(Thursday, December 29, 2016) new moon Capricorn / tarot two of swords

A night and early morning full of dreaming. The first dream I remember takes place in a large log cabin, very much like the one our family owned on Wahkon Bay of Mille Lacs, built in the early 1900s by three women. But my dream cabin seems to be located on our family lot in Fridley, overlooking the prairie field and giant cottonwood trees that once stood there. It’s dark, midnight, not the normal grey twilight I dream in. The interior of the cabin is dark, too, as old log cabins are. Dark but cozy. Lit by a warm fire.

It’s my house and Chris’ house. I am working from home, but taking a break in the main room of the cabin. Suddenly I hear geese honking. A huge gaggle of domestic geese are running together across the side lawn. I note the oddness of geese moving through the night, running not flying. Their wings must be clipped. Then I hear the loud, unified howl of a coyote pack, hunting the geese, and I understand what is happening. I am excited by the chase, and I alert Chris to the event.

When things quiet down outside, I walk into a wing of the cabin I use as my home office. Chris enters the room for just a moment and we have a flashing sexual encounter that is purely energetic, with no actual physical contact. Flame of desire. He leaves the room and I go back to my work.

As I rustle through some paperwork, I discover that I am missing a paycheck. A group of us had traveled to our office in the Netherlands and upon our return, as we exited the plane back at MSP, we were handed gold-colored paper checks. I didn’t take mine, I guess I was distracted, and now I head to corporate headquarters to see the head of HR to help sort it out. I meet Diane in a busy, well-lit hallway outside of her office, next to a wooden staircase. She is her usual kind and loving self. Ready to assist.

Day notes:

I wonder if I heard geese or coyotes last night when I was sleeping. I must have.

Chris is back to work, painting in his studio today, and I have been working in my clay studio. Working as a graphic designer is like having my wings clipped!

Coyotes are called “song dogs.” They yip, bark and howl. They create an auditory illusion called “beau geste” wherein two coyotes can sound like a pack of seven or eight. They are also called prairie wolves.

Trees, logs, wood and paper. Fireplace and flame of desire.

 

(Thursday, December 29, 2016)

I am with a large crowd of worshippers, moving in long lines to enter a simple, but beautiful, cathedral. The cathedral has a medieval air and a traditional structure: tall gothic ceiling, stained glass windows, wooden pews, stone floors. My progression of fellow devotees is at the back of the cathedral, near the baptismal font and not the altar. A gentle, holy priest stands in the midst of the great throng, helping us all find our way. Some of us are able to fly, like angels. The priest signals to us, reminding us of our gift of flight. I am one of those who levitate into place.

Day notes:

The priest in this dream reminds me of Father Keeffe, who was our priest after the 1965 tornadoes, when mass had to be held at the high school gymnasium. My first communion ceremony took place there. He was the founding pastor of St. William’s church, the progressive Catholic church we attended as children. He felt like a very holy man to me, as none of the priests that followed him ever did.

Today I looked Father Keeffe up on the web and found that he passed away in 2015 at the age of 93. I was surprised to see that he had once been the priest at St. Mary’s of the Lake, next to Wayzata East Middle School, less than two miles from my house. He is buried in Windsted, just a little bit west of here. Twenty-five years ago my friend Jana and I were biking along the Luce Line, which is a block from where I live now (then I lived in Elk River). Tornado sirens went off so we veered off the trail and took shelter in a restaurant in Long Lake. As we sat drinking coffee, I told her the story of the Fridley tornadoes and about how our church services had to be performed at the high school gym. As we chatted, I picked up a local newspaper (probably the Lakeshore Weekly News) and found a story about Father Keeffe! I often unnerved Jana in that way. She did not handle magical / mystical / synchronous events well.

Monday, January 2: We passed by St. Mary’s on the Lake parish on our way to the ER on Thursday. Yesterday Chris said, “The actor who played Father Mulcahy on M*A*S*H* died.”

(Thursday, December 29, 2016)

I am in my maternal grandmother’s humble but pristine living room. Guests are entering and more are on their way. My father has instructed me to vacuum, and I have been doing this with a hose with a brush on the end. My mother’s mother and my father’s mother were both fanatical housekeepers, so my father sharply criticizes my device and technique. He hands me a new vacuum hose with a tiny, tiny suction end that looks like a miniature firehose. He tells me to run the suction head along every single seam and baseboard in the room. I think he is being crazy, but I comply as best I can. The family party begins, and I head upstairs.

The upper floor of the house is completely open, with beautiful wooden rafters that peak in a pyramid. A sleeping alcove has recently been built for me, along the edge of the main area. It has a low ceiling with a very long bed. Chris is upstairs, too, standing in the main room. We have a conversation that has drifted out of my memory.