(Wednesday, October 23, 2019) waning crescent moon Virgo / tarot 5 of wands
The spectacular ending to a full night of dreaming:
I carry a seven-month old baby boy in my arms. We share deep love between us. I cherish holding him so close to me. We walk through the entryway to the Minneapolis College of Art and Design, heading toward an escalator sheathed in ice.
But before we make it to the central escalator, we turn to the left and enter a military infirmary full of young soldiers who are victims of a pandemic, the Spanish flu of 1918. In the dream I am aware that baby and I are time travelers. Every detail of the room is potently real: layers of blankets, woolen stockings and caps, wooden paneled partitions. The young men watch us carefully as we pass through each aisle. They seem astounded, perplexed by our presence, yet say nothing. We walk past the nurses’ desk and return to the MCAD lobby.
The pathway to the escalator is long and dangerously slick. At my age I do not trust my balance. I’m afraid the trail will cause me to topple with baby. I get down on my knees and hold baby up under his arms so he can do a little toddle-walk. I crawl, he walks.
Once we reach the steps, after slow and careful movement, we are unable to mount the escalator. The handrails are covered with thick stones of ice that shatter and fall when touched by my palms. It’s like trying to climb a glacier. Impossible.
This causes me deep, deep sorrow. I want us to experience art school together. We have visibility to many of the floors and studios, but we cannot reach them.
We move to the right, to a second lobby with an even higher escalator. It’s the Minneapolis Institute of Art, hurrah! Excitement returns.
This escalator is easily accessible. I hop on, cuddling baby, and he blurts out his first word: “Clay!” I am astonished. I am in ecstasy. I know of no infant who began talking at seven months. I am even more pleased that his first word is one of my passions in life, the art of ceramics.
He adds a few more random words to his story, experimenting with language. Then he digs in and creates complex, beautiful sentences about art theory and the details of exhibits at the MIA, particularly ceramics and sculpture. He points energetically at the subject matter of each exclamation as we rise along the escalator. An experience of rapture for us both. Joyful baby genius.
Day notes (Saturday, March 21, 2020):
I had this dream when my grandson Wyn Franklin was four months old. It was curious to me that he was seven months old in the dream. When the coronavirus hit Wuhan, Wyn was seven months old. At the time of the dream, I thought it was a past-life memory of the 1918 Pandemic, which it very well may be, but now I also find it prophetic of COVID-19. Wyn started walking at seven months, needing just a small amount of support under his arms.
In the dream, I have no access to the Minneapolis College of Art and Design. All schools and universities in Minnesota shut down in early March. Museums, including the Minneapolis Institute of Arts, closed a little later (MCAD and MIA campuses are adjacent to each other). Being a member of the MIA, I received an email after their closure promoting their online galleries, which in a subtle way reminds me of viewing the galleries from an electronic escalator.