TheDreamstersUnion

(Friday, November 20, 2015) Moon: waxing gibbous Pisces / Tarot: ten of cups

Vivid, sensual dream: I own an opulent house with of an infinite number of rooms, all richly decorated beyond imagination.

My friend Jeanne C. has come to stay for an extended visit. We begin a long investigation of the manor, searching for the perfect room. We find an intimate corner with a small private sauna made of white porcelain, spacious bathrooms tiled in stone, immense sitting rooms with carved marble fireplaces and ceilings, bedrooms filled with silk and down.

I want Jeanne to have the best suite in the house. Her new lover will be arriving soon and they will be rooming together. I want her bedroom connected to a large, art-filled parlor. I have a particular room in mind, but I realize it is on the level above us. We need to find a staircase and continue our search. There can only be success.

(Friday, November 20, 2015) Moon: waxing gibbous Pisces / Tarot: ten of cups

In my dream, I wake up. I have been driving a vehicle many hundreds of miles, asleep at the wheel. The atmosphere surrounding me is thick and turbulent, filled with funnel clouds. The tornadoes are a light, foggy grey color, like waterspouts, and are nearly as wide at the bottom as they are at the top. One spins very close to my left side, near the driver’s door. I consider ditching the car and taking shelter in an office building on my right. But the sky is filled with vortices and so it seems futile to try to escape. Instead, I surrender to the nearest wormhole. It sucks me up into another dream, another reality.

I wake up in the living room of the house I share with Chris. There is a large picture window to the left of the entry door, the same placement as in my childhood home, and opposite that of our Plymouth rambler.

Someone has broken into our little house and stolen one of the speakers that Chris bought to use with the television. The bandits have replaced the tall black Klipsch speaker with a smaller, dummy device. I am surprised that Chris is completely accepting of this invasion and theft, because his stereo equipment is more important to him than almost anything.

I inspect the entire house and cannot determine where the break-in occurred. I decide to stay up all night, watching to see if the thieves return for the second speaker. In the living room, I notice a thin crack in the caulked lower left edge of the picture window. Suddenly one of the banditos stands in front of me and volunteers to demonstrate his technique. He slips his fingers through the small corner opening at the edge of the glass. The window begins to peel up like a clear fabric sheet. I notice that the cuticles and skin on the thief’s fingertips are bleeding. He explains the reason behind the burglary and I then have as much compassion for him as I do for Chris.

 

Day notes:

Meaning of the name “Klipsch” (so very close to “Krupp”):

http://www.sevenreflections.com/name-numerology/klipsch/

Television: viewing from a distance

Loss of speakers: not being heard, or not being able to listen

Last night in dream group I shared a fragment of a long dream I had on Friday morning:

It is dusk. At my right is a very long, berm-like hill. All along the top of the hill sit red brick chapels and temples. Each of my friends has chosen a sanctum and is climbing the rise to enter.

I, too, climb toward one of the churches. As I get closer I notice large, iron, cube-shaped frames at the entrances to the buildings. Beneath the open metal structures are gathered sculptures of the holy ones, normally stationed inside near the altars. The statues are of brilliant white porcelain and very lifelike. (In our Dreamsters meeting Bonnie asked me if the statures WERE alive and I realized they indeed may have been.)

The metal cubes are reminiscent of the pyramids and dodecahedrons at Peace Valley Sanctuary. As I was driving home from Peter’s last night, I felt the dream was telling me that the saints, guides and bodhisattvas have moved from the sacred inner spaces out into our three dimensional world. They are less hidden, more available. Ready to answer our prayers.

At lunchtime today I drove to Big Rivers Park. When I pulled into the parking lot at the edge of the bluff, I remembered the white porcelain statue of St. Francis I discovered there a few weeks ago.

Someone has been leaving bouquets of flowers at the edge of the stone wall that overlooks the Minnesota River near Oheyawahi, the Dakota sacred site. One day I walked over to inspect the flowers, hoping to find a card or inscription that would explain why they were there. Nothing. I peeked my head over the edge of the wall, gazing down the wooded slope. I was amazed to see a beautiful statue of St. Francis, facing the river and holding a wooden rosary in his outstretched hand.