TheDreamstersUnion

(Friday, May 10, 2013)  I am staying in an upstairs bedroom at my mother’s house. She has just moved into a modern-day mansion: new, clean and sparsely furnished. I’m observing my young self having an episode of sleep paralysis. I’m also experiencing the nightmarish feeling of the paralysis, so in this dream scene I have a dual consciousness. I can “see” the head of a grey alien at the back of my young body. The alien is wispy and translucent; it doesn’t seem to exist in the physical dimension. My young dreaming self tries to kill the alien with her mind. She is successful. The alien shrinks in size and fades away. My observing self is a bit alarmed at the girl’s viciousness and her sense of complete terror.

When I wake up from the dream within the dream, I see the bedroom has two closets, one with a black door (to my right) and one with a white door (directly in front of me). I open the black door to find lots of wiring. It’s an IT (Information Technology) cabinet. The white door opens to a simple clothes closet, completely empty. I toss my pajamas inside.

I dress and head out to my job. I work as a graphic designer in a large company. Louis Hall is my boss (as he is in waking life). I realize I need to quit this occupation, this phase of my life, so I hand him my resignation.

I feel free, but also regretful. I didn’t get any samples of the work I have been doing, which will make it nearly impossible to get placed with a creative agency. I admit this rather shamefully to the receptionist as I prepare to leave the office one last time. She smiles cheerfully. She has positioned an old wooden pew across the entrance/exit door, and I climb over it into my new life.

At this point in the dream I rest. I allow recovery and renewal to take place. It’s a blank part of the dream with no images, like being in a chrysalis.

Suddenly I am in New Mexico. I think I fly there, superman style. In fact, when I arrive I have the body of a young, dark-haired man. The sky all around me is a heavenly, vibrant blue and I gasp in pleasure. I drink in the sky. I can feel it in every cell of my body.

I land a job at Los Alamos National Laboratory. I’m a scientist working to contact extra-terrestrials (ETs). My co-worker is a young dark-haired woman. I call her over to my computer because an extra-terrestrial intelligence is sending me instant messages (IM) on Skype.

I am incredibly excited, which makes my dyslexia kick in: my spelling goes haywire. My co-worker’s analytical brain finds my typing errors exasperating; she pushes me aside and provides the secretarial function, the accurate keystrokes for the communication.

Day notes:

I woke up this morning (my day off!) to a beautiful New Mexico-style sky. It made me shiver; I am really feeling some strange vibrating energy today.

Sky, Skype

Letter codes. DNA sequencing has four letters (A, C, T, G). Changing the sequence of the letters creates genetic change. (dream letter codes: I’M IT, I’M ET, TIME, EMIT)

Instant Message / Direct Transmission / Shaktipat

From the web: Shaktipat or Śaktipāta is a Sanskrit word in the Hindu spiritual tradition that refers to the act of the spiritual energy of kundalini being conferred on a disciple or student, by a guru or spiritual teacher in whom it is already active. Shaktipat can be intermediated by the spiritually enlightened master either by transmission of sacred word or mantra, a look, a thought or by touch … Shaktipat can be transmitted in person or at a distance, through an object such as a flower or fruit, or via telephone or letter.

From the web: Anandi Ma has compared the process to lighting one candle with another that is already lit and glowing. When the teacher is fully realized and the energy is completely within his or her control, shaktipat initiation ensures that the student’s energy will remain active and stable. Dhyanyogi explained, “Electricity is present everywhere, but there can be light only when the switch is turned on. Similarly the true guru manifests the consciousness in the disciple through shaktipat.”

(Wednesday, May 2, 2013)  I’m walking up a sidewalk on the edge of a hilly street in Santa Fe. I take a playful skip-step and a group of 20-somethings in the crosswalk behind me do the same, laughing. The man walking in front of me turns his head back and smiles at me. We are all in a very joyful mood. I think to myself, this is why I am happiest in the mountains: the people I meet are open and friendly.

I turn into a restaurant doorway, Café Pasqual, which has the reputation for being one of the best restaurants in Santa Fe. (I met the owner when I took my first class at Santa Fe Clay in 2006. Anne and I ate there last year, and Cullan and I a few years earlier.)

It doesn’t look like Pasqual’s, though. It’s much bigger, with several dining rooms instead of one tiny one (the real café is so small that patrons who have never met are seated at tables together). The hostess greets me and brings me to a small square table at the center of the main room. I feel really lucky to get in the door, much less have my own table at this legendary restaurant. The smiling man from the street is seated across from me, to my left. He looks like Dr. Sparrow of the IASD (a lucid dreamer).

I have a few tarot cards wrapped in silk in my left hand, which I place on the left side of the wooden tabletop. The waitress comes up on my right to greet me. (The entrance is at my back and the register is to my right, near a large bank of windows. I can see another row of windows in front of me.) I look up at her and begin to place my order. When she moves away, I gaze at the cards and notice that the stack has increased in depth; it appears to now be a full deck. The waitress returns, coming up from behind me this time, and silently places a tarot card, face up, on the right side of the table, near my right hand.

The top edge of the card is torn off. It’s a minor arcana card that depicts a woman standing alone, wearing a long, draped dress. When I awake, I don’t remember which card it is, but the only Rider options are the 8 of swords and the 9 of pentacles. I drew the 9 of pentacles this morning in my meditation, so I have to suspect it was that card.

Day notes:

Yesterday Bonnie sent me a photo of the card spread from our birthday party.

The form of this dream is the same as the Puma in the Meadow dream: a square shape (dining room/walking path) with a dream character in the center (me/puma). The character of the man on the street looks back at me, as does the puma. The terrain of both dreams is rolling hills; both dreams have kitchens that feed many people.

Pasqual: Easter child, Passover

9 of pentacles: self-discipline, ability to mother yourself, to give birth to a good life for yourself

(Tuesday, April 30, 2013)  The Dreamsters Union has arrived for an overnight stay. I have plenty of rooms for everyone; no need for anyone to share. Each dreamer’s room is on its own level, built on a concrete slab, giving it the feeling of a step/steppe. The house is narrow but deep and all the bedrooms are at the back. Step back.

The visit is unexpected. My rooms are not ready for guests: bathroom vanities are full of make-up and sundries pulled from the medicine chests. Beds are unmade; blankets and sheets are torn loose from the mattresses. But we make do.

Claudia is the first to wake up in the morning. She hasn’t slept well and feels a little ill. I realize I must go out to find breakfast for my guests. I prepare to depart with my sculptor friend Anne-Francois Pattis (from Provence, in the south of France, by way of Highland Park, Illinois). I leave my infant daughter behind in the care of one of my visitors. Baby can’t speak yet, but I give her a big hug and promise to bring home an M&M muffin. In my mind I see a fat, fluffy muffin covered with colorful, happy candies.

Anne and I start walking to the shopping district. I tell her there is a lovely bakery just a few blocks from my house. Being French, I know she has extremely high standards for pastries (and everything else!). But we walk and walk and walk. We end up in a large retail store, Macys in St. Paul. We hurry through the store so we can continue our search for the neighborhood with the tiny boutique shops. I begin to grow anxious. I’m lost and Anne has a short fuse.

I decide to circle back toward the house. In frustration, I burst through the alley door of a small shop, stumbling upon the arcade full of boutiques, completely by accident.

It’s a fabulous experience. Each emporium is exquisitely decorated and stocked. One room is particularly beautiful, with rough plaster walls the blue-green color of shimmering Lake Michigan on a calm, sunny day. The proprietors are equally handsome, attired in Bohemian garb, delightfully serving each customer with theatrical panache. It could be 1991 at the Loring Bar, or Paris at the turn of the last century.

Even Anne-Francois is enchanted. We notice the petite French pâtisserie in the farthest corner of the market. We head back to see the pretty, dark-haired woman behind the glass bakery case. She shows us the most gorgeous delicacies, including a lacy, curled-up waffle full of fruit that melts in my mouth and caresses my nose with a heavenly perfume.

It would be scandalous to ask for an M&M muffin! We fill a white paper bag full of pastries and return contentedly home.

Day notes:

Monday night I shared my dream of the house with 53 bedrooms with my fellow Dreamsters.

I was reading an article in the IASD magazine about shamanic dreaming. The author said that counters and other types of barriers can signify the border between worlds. Hence someone on the other side of the counter could be an ancestor or visitor from “the other side.” This barrier, the bakery case, is glass: transparent.

A stern, dark-haired woman has been a recurring figure in my dreams for 30 years. Dream-Anne is like the stern, dark-haired dream woman, but Anne is grey now.

This dream and “Puma in the Meadow” both have the action of leaving a house, walking out into the world with a female friend, then circling back. Both dreams end before I re-enter the house.

The dream plot: Very special visitors arrive, inter-dimensional visitors (dreamers). I am unprepared. Part of me is newly born, but I must trust the care of that part of me to the dreamers. I leave my home to search for bread. I don’t need to go far, but in spite of that I get a little lost. I can’t find what I need in the Big Store, in Big Business. My treasure is in the Small Store of the Handmade (Hand Maid). I have a stern guide who is nevertheless delighted when I find the beauty and sweetness I am looking for.

Claudia sent me an email this morning asking about the hypnotherapist Eric Christopher. She has to fly to a wedding in California and she is feeling anxious. It’s activating her flight phobia. “Claudia is the first (dreamer) to wake up…” Wake up spiritually?