TheDreamstersUnion

(Saturday, July 25, 2015) Moon: waxing gibbous Scorpio / Tarot: Chariot reversed

Second dream.

I’m at a dream event at someone’s home. I am part of the outer ring, not the inner circle. I see Arthur from the IASD, a founder of the organization.

To pass the time, I go to the kitchen to see if there is anything to eat. Someone has brought a two-gallon glass jar full of miniature dill pickles. The pickles are accessed through little glass drawers on the side of the jar that one pulls open with a tiny silver handle. As I try to open a drawer, it pops off the jar, landing on the linoleum floor.

I get down on my hands and knees, searching for the small piece of glass, with no luck. Of course I feel guilty, but there is nothing to be done. The drawer is nowhere to be found, at least by me.

I walk back into the living room, with the intention of moving on, leaving the meeting. Walter B. is seated at the end of a long table, facilitating a group of dreamers. As I pass by him on my way to the door, he grabs my right hand. He turns to me and says, “Please sit, I would like to talk with you when the meeting is over.” His demeanor is warm and gentle. Very supportive. I feel loved. I sit slightly behind him, to his left.

Day notes:

I had a lovely parting experience with Walter in Virginia Beach. We came down into the hotel lobby at the same moment. I gave him a big hug and he was fine with that. He thanked me for “my presence.” I thought he meant my presentation, and I said, “but I didn’t give a presentation.” He made a swirl with his hand, like he had done when he was describing a crazy New Age woman he had dated to Bonnie and I at lunch one day. But he was very serious and respectful. “Your electrical presence,” he said. 

My second dream of Walter in a couple of weeks. In the first dream he was a Trickster figure. Pickles seem like Trickster food.

Arthur ended up not being able to be seated at the table his partner had saved at one of the IASD lunches. She had offered chairs to Peter and I but then Rachel’s friend showed up a bit later and took Arthur’s chair. With no sense of guilt whatsoever when he showed up with his plate of food.

(Tuesday, July 21, 2015)

I’m on a walking journey with my two sisters. We reach our ancestral lands (Wabasha) and part ways. I remain with the ancestors.

I am looking into the bedroom of my Irish great grandparents. I see the bed, but no walls. My father and mother, my godfather Marvin Murphy and my aunt Mary Murphy are placing medicine cups of different sizes on the bed. My father seems to be in charge of this ceremony. There is one cup for each chakra of the body. The cups are plastic, like dosage cups from a medical clinic. Each cup holds a different colored elixir. The medicine is for me. I walk on the bed but the cups do not spill.

The scene changes and I am traveling with my grandmother to what I think is an outdoor bible camp, an evangelical gathering. But rather than being seated in folding chairs, people sit at round tables, which gives the event the feeling of a funeral service: church basement, with no walls. People are very somber.

Grandmother Lenora and I circle around to the back of the crowd. We peer in at the group from far away; so far away, my grandmother can no longer see them as living, human forms. For a moment, I share her vision: the people appear as tall, thin torches, with flickering flames for heads. Gold, orange, red. Perhaps this is her funeral at St. Mary’s Catholic Church in Minneiska, Minnesota. 1984.

There is a second service in this open field. My funeral.

(Wednesday, July 8, 2015)

Not much left of this dream, but it felt very lucid, sensual, real.

I’m in my house, in the kitchen. It has the feeling that I have begun to ascribe to memory. Not dream.

The pantry is a large room with thick blue-green stucco walls to the right of the kitchen. On one of the countertops I find a thin book that is made of parchment-like sheets of wood.

Impressions are left on the wooden surface from a wooden stylus. Layers and layers of scribing. Runes. I know that the language is an early version of Danish.

Day notes:

I checked out four books on runes from the library last week. One was a first edition from 1968 signed by the author. It felt like a treasure. I am interested in runes because I have wondered if the book in my dream “Yoga Couple” might have contained runes, since the writing was illegible. I am hoping to create a small book based on that dream to submit to the Rolduc art show in 2016.