TheDreamstersUnion

(From memory, date unknown, 2012?) I’m part of a group of college-age researchers. It’s summer; we have come to Cornwall to interview some villagers. I’m pretty new to the team, but I have a male partner who has more research experience in the area. He is the team leader.

He is running a little late. He’s fine-tuning the call-in messaging system used by our group. He and I share the same voice-mailbox, which is accessed with the numeric code 1980.

I arrive at our subject’s cottage alone and knock on the small, wooden door. The stone house is several hundred years in age, with low, timbered ceilings and windows made of thick, bubbly glass. Wildflowers, herbs and historic cultivars of domestic Cornish blossoms grow all along the front of the house, which is situated on a patch of land away from the rest of the village. Surrounded by waving seagrass.

A stooped, dark-haired woman opens the door. She is ancient but exudes a ferocious, electrical charge. I explain the official reason for my visit. She gruffly invites me in for a bit of tea. I have to duck my head to get in the door. She leads me into the kitchen, which is off to the right of the entry hall. We sit across from each other at a small round table, sipping our tea quite awkwardly. I take out my clipboard and start to go through my list of survey questions but she refuses to answer any of them. She stirs her tea silently, energetically, looking directly into my eyes with a dark scowl.

I am relieved to hear a knock on the door. It’s my research partner, a tall slender young man with dark hair. The witch lets him in. She is much more receptive to his inquiries. They have met before and have developed a warm relationship. She even agrees to let us inspect the upper floor of the cottage while she waits in the tearoom.

My partner and I walk to the enclosed staircase together. It’s a cramped, tiny closet with wooden walls, ceiling and stairs which smell of ancient tree sap and dust. Against the far wall runs a second set of stairs, fairy stairs. The treads are at least half the size of the human stairs. It’s tricky, but these are the stairs I choose to climb to the upper level of the cottage.

I open a wooden door at the top of the stairs to enter the attic space. The floor is covered in wide wooden planks and the rafters are very low along the eaves. One can only stand upright in the center of the room. My partner stands close to me, on my left side, his right shoulder touching my left shoulder. This feels warmly intimate and comfortable. I’m happy. He tells me the story of Edie (the name of the old herbalist): she is the village librarian, the keeper of all knowledge. We walk together to the right side of the attic, to a rectangular opening in the floor through which we can view the rows of bookshelves in the room below.

Day notes:

I had this dream before I read Sabine Lucas’ book. She and others, such as members of the School of Metaphysics, say halls with doorways, bookstores and libraries are symbols of the Akashic Records.

Interestingly, I had a later dream about a magical black sow. When I shared it with our dream group, Claudia named the pig Edie. There is a Cornish folk tale called “The Witch’s Pig.”

 

(Friday, July 4, 2014) Moon in Libra, first quarter.

I am downtown Minneapolis, near 10th street. There is a deep, square hole the size of a city block, such as is excavated when a skyscraper is being built. The hole is so deep it causes a strong updraft to rise from the earth. People have gathered to fly kites in the flow. I am flying a kite too, a bright red one, but have gained enough confidence that I will soon take the next step, which is becoming a human kite.

The man I met on the plane returning from San Francisco, Robert, is standing under an awning across the street from the kites, watching me. In my dream I wonder if he is a lucid dreamer and knows how to visit. Or if he has enough cyber-savvy to spy on me in waking life. Psiber / cyber. Ether way, his motivations seem born of a sense of affection.

(Thursday, July 3, 2014) Moon in Virgo, waxing crescent.

I’m in the sacred Black Hills, driving out of Rapid City. My children are in the back seat: a boy and a girl. The boy is Cullan at the age of 6 or so, and the girl is Jamie (my sister in waking life who is 6 years younger than I). We are searching for my mother-in-law Kay, who has dementia. She has left her room and gone wandering. Walkabout.

The road begins a gradual rise. It’s coated with a light layer of slippery snow. The car slides off the right side of the road, at the start of a low ramp that curves to the west (left), but I am able to regain control and steer my vehicle back onto the pavement. I decide to stop and park alongside a purple-red granite curb, walking down a gentle slope on the left side of the road into a large, open plaza made of white marble. At the (top) north end of the plaza there is a building made of the same stone. The structure is built into the hillside across from the curved ramp, like a druid barrow or dolmen.

I enter the building, a conference center. An event is underway. I look to my left and see the registration desk. Two men are seated at the desk, their backs facing me. As I approach them, the man on the left turns around to greet me with an enormous grin and sparkling blue/grey eyes. He is wearing a blue star-studded gown and matching tall, pointed hat on top of his brilliant white hair. Wizard’s garb. Merlin. My dream uses the word “sorcerer.”

I feel a tremendous shock of electricity run through my body as our eyes meet. He is overjoyed to see me. “Hi, my name is Harry!” he says, as the other man now turns toward me and smiles. Both faces are beaming at me. The men seem to be identical twins, but in fact are one entity, split into two figures. This understanding sends another shock deep into my bones. The sorcerer’s energy envelopes me in a sensation of hyper-reality. This part of the dream takes place in a very magical dimension. I feel more awake than in waking life.

I think I am looking for Kay, but the sorcerer knows I have come to begin my apprenticeship. He takes me by my left elbow and leads me into the conference hall to my right. The conference is about lucid dreaming and much, much more. Jean Campbell and other characters from IASD are in attendance.

The sorcerer begins to recite a poem, a spell, from a small piece of paper. The spell is about the chakras of the earth. An animal is associated with each chakra and each line of the poem. There is a line about bulls and one about lions. I think the sorcerer is going to mention eagles next but he surprises me with polar bears. White bears. He shows me the poem so I can read it for myself. (I try to bring it with me into waking life but of course I cannot.) He then expounds with tremendous scientific detail on climate change and the implications of the loss of the polar ice caps, which is changing the ocean currents.

I am deeply sad and this reminds me of Kay. I remember, too, that I have left my children waiting in the car. They must be hungry by now.

I tell the sorcerer that it’s time for me to leave. He helps me scrounge some food for Cullan and Jamie. In our every moment together he is joyful and completely supportive. As I turn to go he holds me lightly, lovingly by my shoulders, looks directly into my eyes and says, “Hey, happy birthday!” I don’t think it’s my birthday but I smile at him anyway. Wondering what he means.

I walk the short distance across the plaza to the edge of the road where my car is parked, my arms full of treats for the kids. As I open the driver’s door and tuck my head to slide into the car, I brush the top of my wizard’s hat. Only at this moment do I realize that the sorcerer has placed a cap on my head made from the leathery, dried bell of a flower. Foxglove?

We drive to the hotel or residence where Kay has been staying. It’s a pretty white stucco building with ornate carvings on the silver frames of the large picture windows. Very baroque. I am immensely relieved to discover that Kay has returned to the safety of her room on her own.

Next door to the hotel is a clothing boutique. Kay and the kids and I decide to do some shopping. The walls of the boutique are lined with wooden shelves full of beautiful scarves and accessories. In the middle of the shop is an oval-shaped display stacked with fine linen blouses and dresses. I find a white blouse that I like but I am distracted by the many other exquisite, colorful pieces on display. It feels like every garment is designed exactly for me. At one point I pick up a small hand-tooled purse of brown leather. I’m tempted to buy it but all of my shoes are black so I would have to find new shoes to match the bag. I return to the spot where I left the white blouse. It’s gone, and some of the other dresses are gone too. It’s a popular shop, apparently, and I will need to make quick, firm decisions about my purchases.

Day notes:

From the web: “Linen signifies a spiritual body that can transition to the spiritual realm … only those wearing linen pass into this timeless dimension known as Heaven.”

I am reading a book I bought at the IASD conference, Carlos Castaneda’s “The Art of Dreaming.” Don Juan doesn’t use the word “shaman” but uses the word “sorcerer” instead.

Cullan drove Alea’s car today and it started breaking down. They called AAA to tow it to the dealership in White Bear Lake.

Another word for “plaza” is “square.” Nigel Hamilton discusses the number four and the square in his book but I have loaned my copy to Pat, so I don’t have a way to reference it at the moment. White is associated with the alchemical level of Albedo but also with levels above that (especially images of winter). In the language of graphic design, K (Kay) is black.

My grandfather had identical twin brothers named Harold and Harry, who never married and never lived apart. Kay’s father’s name was Harold, which means “leader of the army.” But I also think of “herald” which  means “messenger.”

“J’aime” is French for “I love” or “I like.”

I had the strongest possible feeling when I awoke from this dream that the sorcerer was a real entity. Not a dream character. It is very interesting to me that vital members of the IASD continue to visit me in dreamtime. The connections between dreamers are real, powerful and multidimensional.

The theme of wardrobe / closets / clothing appears in many of my dreams.

I had a dream last fall of old women stitching hats that looked like trumpet flowers. “Cloister and Trumpet Hats”

From the web: “The common name for foxglove is said to come from ‘folk’s gloves,’ with ‘folk’ referring to fairy folk. Rumor also has it that picking foxglove offends the fairy folk.”