Yesterday the Dreamsters site was hit by a ‘bot, probably trying to hack the server. An artificial post and email was created called “HOW To share In addition to the FORMAT An elementary Informational Paper.” Cullan had me change my password and he added a captcha piece to the login.
Chris and I have been watching the TV series called Mr. Robot which is about hacking and “the one-percent of the one-percent,” sometimes known as the Illuminati. Edward Snowden likes the show. We watched the first DVD and the second arrived last week. I love the dark edge: it reminds me of my favorite show, Breaking Bad.
A few months ago we lost connectivity to our CenturyLink login, which was “Snowden Was Here.” We had to recreate it with a generic login, CenturyLink4242. Suspicious about that! “Snowden Was Here” is still visible on all of our wireless devices but doesn’t connect to the internet.
(Saturday, April 23, 2016) moon: waning gibbous Scorpio / tarot: queen of pentacles
Shakespeare’s birth-death day / Google quote: “We are such stuff as dreams are made on.”
I have a long dream that fades into a more memorable one. The faded dream is about work, tedium. I stand in a dark warehouse space on a concrete floor, talking to a coworker or my boss. The conversation is not very engaging and I become aware of a tiny dog lying behind me in the middle of the room. He is unnaturally small, weighing maybe only a pound, with short black and brown fur. His huge, sensitive brown eyes are full of pain. I think he is dying. As he weakens he seems to almost melt into the floor.
I am horrified and want to find a way to heal or help this pup. My tall, blond cousin Pat Murphy walks swiftly into the room, on some kind of mission. His attention is distracted, he is a bit terse with me, but says not to worry about the dog. He knows the name of the dog and the family to which he belongs. He repeats the names of the canine and the humans several times but I can’t hang on to the information. My brain feels foggy, probably because of the emotion I am experiencing. I call the dog Ben Ben Singh, which is close to his real name, but not precisely so.
My cousin Pat waves his arms widely, motioning for me to follow him. We travel through halls that resemble my old high school. We are both moving very rapidly. My soles barely touch the stone floor, I am so light on my feet. But people sharing the corridors with us cannot perceive the quickness of my travel.
After several right-hand turns we enter a dimly-lit room with metal lockers. A dog pound. Pat shows me Ben Ben Singh’s locker. The name of his East Indian family is posted on the door. Inside the locker is a big bowl of fresh blueberry yogurt that the family has left for Ben. Apparently Ben likes to take off on long journeys away from home, and always ends up at this particular pound. Safe, sound, hungry!
Day notes:
What on earth is this about? Such a silly dream.
Dog pound, dog that weighs a pound. Dog that eats blueberries! He must not be Hindu, since he is eating yogurt. I suppose the yogurt could be made from goat’s milk.
Maybe “my cousin Pat” is Pat from our dream group, (impatiently) showing me the way in this dream?
(Thursday, April 21, 2016) full moon Libra and Scorpio / tarot: Hanged Man
Prince Rogers Nelson passes at his Paisley Park “compound”
I arrive in my vehicle at a dusty, unpaved parking area surrounded by a rough-hewn timber-rail fence. Western style. The afternoon sun shines golden in a calm sky.
There are two ranch-style homes on the property, a family compound which covers many acres. The house nearest the fenced pen is “the kid’s house.” A boy and a girl are running outside of it, laughing happily together. In this house I sense the connection, the presence of Alea’s mother and stepfather, who own a house in Jackson Hole, Wyoming.
I walk across a small field of wild prairie grass to the home that faces the kid’s house. It has a connection to my mother and father. It is the small ranch-style tract home where I grew up. I spend some time inside, conversing with my parents and doing little chores.
The back side of this house is connected to a large earthen dolmen. At first I assume it is just a hill that cozies up to the building, but when I step outside for a few moments, I notice a square hole cut into the sod. A window of another much older house is visible inside the dark square.
I return to my parents’ house and discover a passage to the dolmen house. At this point in the dream everything becomes finely visual and profoundly real. Not dreamlike at all. Is this an aspect of lucidity? I wish I knew.
The house is constructed of square-cut logs that are weathered and grey. The fibers, the grains of the wood are very sharply detailed to my eye. Handmade, heavily varnished wooden tables near a stone hearth are etched with images of horse heads. Almost like branding-iron icons, roughly carved with a knife, then stained. Flaming kerosene lanterns populate the great room, casting a warm light. The room is lived-in, but empty.
I know that this is a horse ranch somewhere out west, and I know that the time period is around the turn of the last century, perhaps as late as the 1920s. I am able to verify this by two souvenirs from my parents’ house that are perched on top of a bookcase. The souvenirs look almost like detergent bottles, made of clear glass or plastic, and are printed with lists of names of people famous near the first World War: Bertrand Russell, Gertrude Stein, T. S. Eliot, Georgia O’Keeffe. The bottles are filled with deeply colored liquid, purple and blue. Elixir.
I have had enough of these dreams now that I know for certain, while still dreaming, that this is a past-life memory. Within the dream, I experience the emotion of satisfaction and peace around this growing awareness. When I awake, I feel blessed by the power of the dream.
Day notes:
The kids move into their house next week. Alea’s mother and I both made donations to help cover closing costs.
Interesting to me that Prince passes on a Scorpio full moon (culmination), and I have a powerful past-life dream the same day. I do breathwork in the Salt Caves in the evening and feel very connected to the sorrow of all. Minneapolis has lost artistic royalty, our dancing muse.
I have quite a few dreams of dolmens, an ancient funereal structure. Dream dolmens lead to magical spirits or to past-life memories. Liminal space. The dolmen that was Sabine’s house was the size of a mountain.
The prevalence of wood could be a reference to the Tree of Life or family tree.
West in the medicine wheel is autumn, black, the womb, the cave. Also home of the cleansing Thunder Beings.
Horse: driving force, vitality
Why Bertrand Russell? “The world is full of magical things patiently waiting for our wits to grow sharper.” He said.
