TheDreamstersUnion

(Saturday, March 8, 2014) I remember Peter talking about one of the sessions from the 2013 dream conference. Evidence was presented that short dreams differ from long dreams (those with a narrative structure). Short dreams are usually not metaphorical but are often precognitive or telepathic.

I thought of this last weekend. I went to a breath work session that was supposed to have been held at the Aslan Institute but was rescheduled at a church on Snelling in St. Paul instead. We all laid on yoga mats on the floor, covered in blankets and propped up on pillows.

The feeling of lying in bed brought up my white lion dream. When I awoke from that very simple dream, I immediately understood the core message was “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.” Even though I had never read any of the Narnia books by C.S. Lewis, I knew I was the witch. But I did not understand why I was sharing a bed with the lion, Aslan, until last weekend at the breath workshop.

Dolphins are associated with breath but lions roar. One of the exercises we do in T’ai-Chi is draw breath from our bellies and then roar like lions.

(Friday, February 21, 2014)  I dream I am in a room with my coworkers. Cyndi and Rick are there, others. The room doesn’t feel like an office but more like a living space, with an ambiance somewhere between a hotel and an apartment building. Not unlike my real office, which is personal and comfortable.

Suddenly I realize I am supposed to be having lunch with my friend Amy. I look at the clock and am very anxious because I am due at the restaurant already. Amy is a kind and punctual person. It upsets me to be disrespectful of our time together.

I try to call her on my iPhone. I can’t get the keypad to show up on the screen. I fumble through all the different apps on the phone with no luck. I have no way to contact her. My level of stress and frustration keeps rising. I feel terrible. I can’t believe I would let this happen. I ask Cyndi and Rick to help me with the device but they can’t get it to work either.

Day notes:

I am having lunch with Amy tomorrow.

I worked from home today. The company servers had reached capacity and I kept getting bumped off of email, Skype and the graphics drives. Mid-morning we were sent an email from IT asking people to delete as much data as they could from the corporate drive.

(Saturday, February 15, 2014)  I’m a widow, perhaps. Single, at any rate.

I’m with a crowd of people haphazardly running around a square athletic track. Or maybe it’s the street surrounding a village square or plaza. I see one of my coworkers, Jorge Juarez, and a few others. There is at least one gentleman who interests me, but I can’t get his attention. Not even my coworkers notice me. I feel invisible.

Dejected, I walk through a thin line of trees to a second, adjacent field. It mirrors the size and shape of the first square, but the street around it is completely empty. I seem to be the only one who knows about it.

I start to run. I am extremely surprised: running is effortless. I have the easy, rhythmic stride of an Olympian. I make several passes around the square without becoming even slightly winded. Being in such a fit and well-trained body is wonderful.

I head to the locker room at the nearby gym to change out of my running clothes. The room is brightly lit, made of concrete block coated with shiny white paint that amplifies the light. Again I am alone. But I hear my friend Jeanne Cowan’s disembodied voice directly behind me. I’m startled and don’t catch what she first says to me.

“Jeanne, is that you?” I cry out.

“Yes!” she says with her characteristic cackle. I turn in a complete circle but she is nowhere to be seen. Her voice seems to come from the other side of the concrete wall.

“You won’t find a man until you go to the southwest,” she says.

I’m baffled. Where in the southwest? Southwest of what? Do I move there or just visit? What kind of man: mentor, friend. lover, shadow? When does this meeting take place?

Jeanne is silent. These questions seem to come as I transition from dream to waking reality.

Thoughts:

I am on a different track than my coworkers. It’s a thin border between their world and mine. I’m moving onto my natural path. I am fit and ready. The road less traveled. My true field.

The square is a recent theme in my dreams. Ceramic tiles and now the village square, which was a feature in my puma dream.

There is an article in Ceramics Monthly about a sculptor who works very large (he has to climb ladders to finish the top of his pieces) in stoneware paper clay (as do I). His work is inspiring. The last two issues of the magazine included interviews with two artists whose sensibility feels kindred to mine. I find that very motivating. Ceramic sculpture helps me move up the ladder? My New Mexico magazine that arrived Friday featured the Coronado Kiva State Monument.

The second dream in as many days with a disembodied guide.

 Two dreams of widowhood.

I had a dream over a year ago that included a grassy, green athletic field and Jorge Juarez (from Mexico). I called that dream “Nina the Artist.” Green square, like the green tiles in my recent ladder dream.