TheDreamstersUnion

(Wednesday, December 16, 2015) moon: waxing crescent Aquarius / tarot: Mother of Blades, the North Wind

I have moved into a new house. I am the second owner. It was built a few years earlier by an older couple with several small grandchildren. Lola is with me as I explore the nooks and crannies.

We walk down the stairs into the unfinished basement. The walls are poured concrete and very tall. The whole house is well constructed: the original owners spared no expense.

There is a short wall of wooden studs in the middle of the room. Hockey skates and other sporting goods hang from nails. A stack of adult and children’s bicycles lean against the wall.

I notice a floor to ceiling opening in a remote area of the basement. A rough wire gate spans the opening, attached to the cement wall with a rusty, bent iron hook that does not stay fastened. A small, muddy animal pen is on the other side of the wire gate, enclosed by a second, sturdier wire farm fence that is also gated. A black sow sleeps inside the pen, deeply mired in the mud. More black sows, her sisters, root on the hillside outside of her pen.

A young, tall, handsome woman stands near the first gate, inside the basement, meeting my gaze. She has straight, shoulder-length brown locks, an oval face and strong facial bones. She is fit, energetic, silent.

I hear visitors arriving so I head upstairs to the kitchen. I open the white wooden door and look outside. The view is that of my grandmother’s farm, before the land was put under the plow. Wild, endless prairie.

I am hosting a dream group (all women) which is being led by a stern elderly woman with curly grey hair. Her technique is to gather physical items and place them in the center of the table. Jung’s archetypes. I have rolled my fingers against my furrowed brow, peeling away layers of skin and adding it to bits of my shed black hair. For some reason, the wooly cylinders of skin and hair are bright green.

The dream boss won’t accept any items with as much emotional content (sorrow) as my skin and hair. Too much like voodoo or shamanism for her taste. Everything on the table looks like a small charm or game piece from Monopoly and is made of crystal or silver.

I relent and head downstairs to grab a bicycle. The handsome young woman is still in the basement, which perplexes me. She sends a telepathic message: she has lived on this land long before the building of the house. She is an elemental, shapeshifting from fairy to sow and back again. Lola is very happy on this level.

As I rise up the stairs the bicycle transforms into a small silver charm, and I add it to the pile of dream archetypes on the table.

Day notes:

Last night I watched a video of Susanne Van Dooren (IASD) interviewing Ann Baring. Ann’s book “The Dream of the Cosmos” is one of the deepest, best books I have read in years, but this is the second video interview of Ann I have seen and she comes across as very cerebral. Not warm. Like the guide in this dream.

Yesterday Bonnie and Paul’s Christmas card arrived in the mail. Bonnie wrote that Paul was putting up drywall in the basement.

Today I went to an area of Oheyawahi that I did not know existed. It is the precise area of the ancient sacred site. One can see the confluence of the Minnesota and Mississippi Rivers, both cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul, and Fort Snelling. There are two large medicine wheels made of colored gravel. There is a circle of stones with the names of the original Minnesota tribes carved onto each one. The interpretive sign is written in both Dakota and English.

As I finished writing this dream, Lola began to growl and ran downstairs. I can hear chimes chattering right outside my window but I don’t know why. I don’t have any wind chimes in my yard. My neighbor does but they are not at all close by. Perhaps the wind is carrying the sound.

A dream of the feminine! No males in this dream at all!

A sculpture of a black sow that I made a couple of years ago sits in my basement clay studio. 

(Monday, December 14, 2015) moon: waxing crescent Aquarius / tarot: Dreamer (Fool)

I enter the lobby of a large gymnasium or sports arena filled with people. I have wrapped myself in a scarlet silk comforter, and I am bare-breasted beneath the blanket.

My idol, the poet and musician Patti Smith, is talking to a small group of small, brown women, all of whom are very excited just to be in her presence. As am I. Patti turns to me and shares a few minutes worth of her brilliance and wisdom, the memory of which I have lost. I love the deep vibration of her warm voice. I love the power of her heart energy. Her humility.

I move on into the gym, which contains stacked wooden bleachers like a high school basketball court. I climb up to the very top row and sit next to my lover. He is famous among the fans in the arena, but in my dream I am not sure why, though I wrack my brains about it. I feel his affection for me. I should know who he is, but I don’t know who he is.

I am a bit anxious about my full, bare breasts, even though I am covering them with the comforter. The generous blanket also embraces an infant cradleboard, which lies at my feet. Like the comforter, the cradleboard is wrapped in scarlet silk, giving it the distinct appearance of a birth canal.

When I first peer into the cradleboard, I see Lola’s shiny black face and beautiful turquoise eyes. A bit later, when my lover and I look into the cradle, we see our baby’s little bald head deep down in the wrappings. Baby is fearful. We understand that our papoose needs to emerge from the cradleboard into the world, without fear and anxiety. Gradually our infant finds calm and courage and is able to rise to the top of the cradleboard. Our luminous, joyful bairn.

At this point I step down the steep bleachers to a locker room or dressing room on the main floor. Walter B from IASD is there, teaching a small class. We greet each other. We are good friends. I find my bra and clothing, dress myself without shyness, leaving the room, leaving the dream.

Day notes:

I have started reading a book by Joseph Chilton Pierce, whom I love. I read his book “Magical Child” when Cullan was an infant and it profoundly changed my ideas about mothering and babies.

One of the most amazing experiences of my life was seeing Patti Smith at First Avenue with Chris. I will never forget it. It was like she was channeling the most powerful possible energy through her frail body. We were right next to the stage. Chris and I recently listened to a podcast that Patti just published on iTunes. It made us both so happy.

The word “gymnasium” in German means high school.