(Saturday, March 11, 2023) waning gibbous moon Scorpio / tarot five of pentacles
This dream has three scenes, all closely related. The sky is overcast with dark clouds and the atmosphere is dark, too.
Scene 1:
I am out in a field with several people in their twenties and thirties. They have legal tasks. One of their tasks is to observe others making a somersault over a long, shallow dip made of sand in a wide wooden plank. There are four planks connected in a large, open square, about 5 or 6 feet above the ground. Very odd construction.
I tell the young workers that I have osteoporosis and it is dangerous for me to roll over the sandy, oval-shaped gap. They allow me to somersault on a space covered in pebbles, on the ground in the middle of the wooden planks. I have no problem with my back, even though it rubs against the small rocks. I somersault twice and feel confident. My spine is strong and flexible, as it was in my youth. I tell them I can perform the physical requirement on the raised wood, but they say I’ll have to wait in line before it is my turn again. They are busy.
Scene 2:
I hike up a tall, steep bluff with the young workers. They are behind me. When I reach the top, I find a table that holds an old-fashioned photo album. It is mine, from my twenties or thirties. I open the book to look through the images I saved inside the plastic pages, so many years ago. All of the photos are portraits of people, but no one that I recognize. The style of photography is artistic and dramatic, not simple quick shots made with little thought. I deeply wonder who these powerful faces represent.
There is a road like Highway 61 at the bottom of the bluff, winding along the river. I warn the young workers against tumbling down the grassy knoll. That would be very dangerous for them.
Scene 3:
A woman named Biden is running for president. She is working outdoors, obsessively writing plans in her private notebook. As I leave the dream, I donate to her campaign box that sits on the ground. I give her two ten-dollar bills and two giant silver dollars (about 4 inches in diameter). I say, “This is you, twenty-two.”
Day notes:
Known in numerology as the Master Builder, the number 22 channels cosmic wisdom down to earth and uses it to turn incredible dreams into reality.
This is an old story, but as a child, I found two half-dollars from the nineteen-forties on my grandmother’s property, far apart from each other, but on the same day and same walk. I called them my angels because Liberty, wearing her beautiful dress, was on the front of those coins. I’ve been organizing some jewelry my mother gave me last weekend and found quite a few coins in the jewelry boxes I haven’t used in years. Yesterday I found a “lucky penny” on a walk to a local gallery on Nicollet.
I am thinking more and more about sculpting faces (“masks”) from my clay. All of the dream photo portraits face forward, like masks. I made a new, fresh batch of my red paper clay on Wednesday. Ready to go.
I have anxiety about submitting for unemployment in July (my legal application date). Also, I don’t have tax results yet, and a generous refund would ease some of my stress. The crashing market is significantly reducing my retirement investments. I’m no millionaire.
There is an ancestral energy to add to my clay. Mother Earth. Spending time as a child on the sand prairie, sensing the souls of the long-gone indigenous river communities, speaks to me right now. Loud and clear. There were burial mounds on my grandmother’s acreage.