TheDreamstersUnion

(Monday, December 16, 2013) I’m in a huge library (or book-store). Bigger than the Barnes and Noble I visited in LA. The books are shelved on blonde wooden bookcases, not on the metal racks one would expect in a public library. The lighting is brightly elegant and the floors are blonde wood too. It’s a beautiful, open space, yet I do think it is a library.

All of my Ergotron coworkers are gathered together at a far end of the room where the lighting is dimmer. They are happy to be together and get along well with each other and with me. But my time with them is over. I feel warmly toward them but have no regrets about parting ways.

I see my coworker Larry McGowan, who passed away in October from cardiac arrest, standing silently at the end of an aisle, along a main corridor. He is in the middle of the library, and I am quite far away from him, in a more illuminated space. I move toward him. He never speaks, but I can sense his diseased heart with my own heart. His is inflamed and enlarged and will shortly erupt in a massive, deadly heart attack.

In my dream I question why I dream about Larry’s death in the style of a precognition when it’s something that I have already experienced in waking life. My dream-self wonders if Larry is someone else in my life.

Day Notes:

I did have a precognition about Larry passing before we left for the Black Hills. Chris and I fought about smoking on Friday.

Is this an Akashic Record dream? Am I being given information?

Larry is in the main artery of the library.

(Tuesday, December 17) I received this email on Monday: “Today we learned about the passing of Mike Peters. Mike was well liked by all and I know many of us kept in touch with him after he left Ergotron. He was a true sales pro and I know many if us saw him frequently on the road.  Apparently he passed away of a heart attack while he was on the road traveling for Humanscale on Friday. Below is a posting on his Facebook page. Mike was a great guy. He will be missed.” Mike and Larry both had dark hair and wore glasses.

(Sunday, December 15, 2013)  I’m in my mid-to-late twenties. I run and leap like a gazelle into a workout room with wooden floors and floor-to-ceiling windows. I’m in peak condition: every part of my body feels very fit.

The space has the aura of the Friends Meeting Room. A blond boy, around the age of 12 or 13, watches me. An adult male voice in my head tells me, “you ARE an athlete.”

(Sunday, December 8, 2013)  I am giving my sister-in-law Kathy Day a tour of my house. The house was constructed before the time of power tools. The wooden floor boards are thick and roughly hewn (I can see the trail of saw blades in the wood), but the house itself is finely crafted with loving care.

We take in the rooms on the lower floor, which are flooded with light. I remember entering a black and white kitchen with large, square windows that look out on the countryside. The rest of the rooms have faded from memory.

We walk up an enclosed staircase to the second level, which is darker than the first. Our bodies seem to emit a glowing light, which is how we navigate the dusky chambers. Or perhaps a light follows us from room to room. Door trim stained in magenta and covered in a varnish that shines like translucent gold catches my eye. It’s more an oil painter’s technique than a carpenter’s trick. I tell Kathy this color is something I applied many years ago.

We walk into a hallway and find a porcelain-coated cooking stove stored against the wall. It might be from the 1920s. I tell Kathy I remember preparing meals on it. We turn a corner and find an even earlier stove, maybe from the middle of the nineteenth century, one I also remember. We move from room to room. At this point I must become lucid, because I realize that the number of rooms is infinite and that even the most ancient items appear new and luminous. This must be the house of my past lives. Or maybe the house of all my lives. I’m not surprised but I wonder why Kathy is with me.

Day notes:

It’s a simple enough dream, but the reason I want to record it is that the colors in the second level were multidimensional and shimmered in an exquisite way. The sense of loving craft was alive in the house.

My current kitchen is black and white and magenta, in a vintage late 50s style. It houses a growing collection of handmade dishes and objects by local and national ceramic artists.

Kathy and I have been mistaken for blood sisters. The last time she was at my house was when Chris was in a coma.