(Black Friday, 2016)
Claudia shared a dream on Monday of flying in the spirit plane. The vessel was a cargo plane with a clear bottom. Military cargo planes often fly overhead when I walk at Big Rivers park, and they are always a soft medium grey. There was also an underwater spaceship in Claudia’s dream that she said was a soft medium grey. Soft. Medium. Grey. Grey is a medium? Unformed. Un-manifest.
My aunt Mary Murphy passed away on Wednesday evening. Chris said he awoke abruptly in the night. Steel-grey light was shining in the bedroom window. He knew immediately that Mary had transitioned, and he prayed to his mother Kay to help Mary navigate.
Western culture tends to equate grey with depression and mental fog. But when my dreams take place in a field of grey light (I call it twilight), it seems to indicate transition: sometimes between life and death, sometimes between dimensions. My Jacob Wetterling dream transpired in twilight.
I did not dream of Mary’s death. But on Tuesday I drove to the nearest mailbox to drop off a card for her. The postman was retrieving the mail and putting it into his little white truck. I handed him the envelope and thought, “Just in the nick of time!” Which it was, because the card arrived on Wednesday morning, hours before she departed the physical plane.
I chose a meditation for Claudia’s dream called “Morning Flight.” Mourning Flight.
