Posts Tagged ‘Dreams’

“A Deep Cleanse” Dream

This morning’s dream seems collective, so I’ll share it here:

1/17/2023
“A Deep Cleanse”

I was in a large, multi-storied house with a large group of people. At first it seemed like some kind of huge society party, but then I realized something else was going on here. Periodically, smaller groups of people would disappear from the festivities, and they’d go upstairs where we could just see them from kind of a mezzanine level.

While on this level, just barely visible to us below, people underwent a deep cleaning procedure, so that everything became purified. This occurred while wearing clothes. Everything just got a full blast of cleaning in a really posh setting. Then the people would return to the lower level and others would go upstairs.

This wasn’t a one and done situation. People needed multiple cleanings throughout the length of the party. It was loud with hints of excitement. People seemed eager to go through the cleansing process each time, like they knew this was a requirement in order to receive something really worth having.

I don’t remember much else. The main things were this deep cleansing process for groups of people and their excited, anticipatory voices as they went through the process with each other. The dream had an invigorating feel to it, and I awoke well rested and relaxed.

END of dream journal.

This feels like a collective dream and reminds me a little of the Gold Lamé Circle dream where groups of people left the circle and when they returned, they wore more and more gold lamé in their clothes until it reached their collars.

Instead of a golden circle, this dream featured a multistory building. Instead of turning into gold, people received a very deep cleansing, almost like every cell and every atom got squeezed and wrung out so that only the original and authentic imprints remained. Each cleansing process felt like a relief and the next step towards something wonderful.

I don’t have much to add, but it seems like an encouraging dream not just for me but for many people.

Gold Lame Circle Dream

This morning’s dream seems collective, so I’ll share it here:

1/5/2023
“Gold Lamé Circle”

I observed a large group of people arranging themselves in a circle. It’s hard to say just how many people were there—probably more than 20 and less than 50. The number varied because while most remained in the circle, at any given time, some people moved offscreen. When they returned, they would have a higher proportion of gold lamé on their clothing. The gold began at the feet, and it gradually, after several rounds of this for each person, reached up to their collars.

When I first awoke from this dream, for some reason, I thought it was just me processing whatever’s going on in Congress. There was a large group forming the circle, but smaller groups of maybe five or six at a time would leave and then return with a higher level of gold lamé moving up their clothing. I thought this represented backroom deals and bribes, like they negotiated things off scene and then returned to the circle enriched (metaphorically the shiny gold clothing).

I fell back asleep and seemed to dream this same thing again, and now I feel like the dream has more of a universal, symbolic meaning. The people were initially dressed in black and gray. Each one made multiple trips offscreen, while others held the circle in place. Gradually, this circle became more and more golden, as the gold lamé made its way further up their outfits. By the end, I noticed that everyone was covered in gold lamé up to their collars, and the collars were pointed like each person had rays of the sun around their neck. These were soft, not rigid, but each person’s golden collar formed a microcosm of the larger golden circle their bodies formed.

Their heads and faces remained in tones of a black and white movie—they had various tones of gray skin and black or gray hair. They were human, not ETs, and the collars had a Louis XIV feel to them. “The Sun King.” The overall progression of the dream felt like another “threshold” dream in the sense that I watched the gradual shift from grayscale to gold. I don’t know if the faces and hair would also turn to gold, or if they had finished their transformation. They were either done, or very close to done.

This echoed that series of dreams saying, “You are at the threshold,” or “This is the threshold,” or “You’ve crossed the threshold.” It wasn’t quite clear how far each needed to go, but in last night’s dream(s), the process took a long time and was either finished or nearly finished. It also reminded me of my 2001 dream about asparagus spears appearing around my head. People would pluck the spears and eat them, and then more spears/rays would grow back.

END of dream journal.

A strange dream! Here’s an image of Louis XIV that kind of reflects what the clothing became in the dream, but super shiny. The heads and hats weren’t gold yet, but everything else on every other person was, by the end of my dream.

I shared the asparagus dream from 2001 in a 2010 post:

I looked up and saw a brilliant white light which shot down into my mouth. I ate it like food and asparagus stalks sprouted from my head. They surrounded my face like rays of the sun, and people would pluck and eat the spears. The light fed me and the spears continued to regenerate as people ate them.

(asparagus=sign of prosperity
circle, sun, spiritual food)

I can’t say exactly what each dream portends, but they seem like good signs. I will also add that I’ve noticed quite a few clients have suddenly reached the next phase of their long journeys. Whatever most important shifts I knew they would need to make in order to live the life they want to live–they have made, or are right at the threshold of making those shifts. The internal changes have occurred. The external shifts can now happen since they are ready to receive them. This also feels collective–like many of us have undergone long journeys, all synchronizing into the golden circle of my dream.

Dream: A Near Miss

I’m sharing this one because it feels collective rather than personal:

12/7/2022
“A Near Miss”

I dreamed more than I recall, but this part is vivid. I stood somewhere outside and saw two cars almost crash into each other. I didn’t know anyone in the vehicles, but watching the one almost barrel into the other still made me flinch and took awhile to shake off. The scene was one car coming way too fast from behind another car. If they hit, it would have been a total disaster, both cars destroyed.

The one car came so fast at the other car that this outcome seemed inevitable. I braced for impact, even though I was safe on the sidelines. Instead of hitting, somehow, the car from behind stopped with maybe 1 mm to spare, just as the front car moved forward. It took a few moments to realize that no fiery crash would occur. Not having the crash felt anticlimactic after all the stress of watching what seemed like a certain crash. When the crash did not occur, the anticipated jolt occurred inside myself.

I awoke briefly from this dream—enough to remember it—then fell back asleep. I don’t recall details, but I know I had two additional dreams with similar messages. I watched a scene that did not directly affect me, kind of like watching a movie, except more intense in that whatever I watched happened in “real” life (within the dream), and not too far away from me. In all cases, a crash or disaster seemed inevitable but at the last moment things moved just 1 mm out of the way.

Because of the tension while witnessing this seemingly inevitable crash, when it did not happen, my body still flinched at the moment of would-be impact. The near miss jolted me wide awake (within the dream). I looked around the world with new eyes.

END of dream journal.

This seems like a collective dream in that I had zero to do with anyone in any of the scenarios. I just happened to be standing or walking nearby. I just happened to see something about to smash. By every rational consideration, this crash would occur except at the very last moment, some kind of miracle protected the participants by literally 1 mm. The precision of timing looked like an invisible angel or divine providence moved the front car along just in time for the back car to avoid hitting it, even though the back car was careening out of control.

In many ways, this is like my life changing 1998 car accident. I was stopped at a red light behind two other cars. The light turned green, but it took those cars a little while to start moving. The woman behind me drove fast, saw the green light, and must have realized much too late that my car had not yet begun to move. Mine was in neutral, ready to start driving. I heard her slam on the brakes, heard the crash. “Wow, someone really GOT it!” I awoke to honking horns realizing that someone was me.

Her car dipped down under mine because she slammed on the brakes. My black rubber bumper was streaked on the hood of her car, so in my case, the crash occurred. The miracle was my car being in neutral and her brakes dipping under my bumper, throwing my car forward instead of totally squishing me. The resulting traumatic brain injury gave me four years of total disability and a totally new career and life.

This morning’s dream had a MUCH bigger miracle. Watching the events, there was NO way to avoid a massive crash, but something intervened at the very last possible moment. The anticipation and intensity of would be impact jolted me as a spectator even though the cars were fine. Again this feels collective rather than personal.

“Elevation” Dream

I’m not sure what to make of this dream, but it seems collective so I’ll share it here:

11/18/2022
“Elevation”

This dream had something to do with Kari Lake, but I’m not sure what. She was in the dream, though, kind of narrating or explaining things.

There was a large area of all white scaffolding. I think it was metal, but painted white. Everything else seemed white, too, almost glowing. You needed permission to enter the scaffolding, and I walked in through a doorway. Not sure if I was really “in” the dream or just observing. People kept lying down on their backs on something like a surfboard that exactly fit their proportions. They lay on their backs and crossed their arms over their chests like mummies, but they were clothed and still alive.

You didn’t know who this would or wouldn’t happen to, but for some people, when they lay on their backs, the surfboard/coffin things would levitate and go up, up, up. They seemed to have fishing line strings on them to raise the boards with the people on them, but not everyone’s could be lifted. This part reminded me of the Egyptian myth of Ma’at and needing to have your heart the weight of a feather in order to pass the test. It also reminded me a little of old versions of the Judgment card in Tarot where people are rising out of their graves.

I met an older woman, and I commented to her how “graceful” she was. She was a little person, and I couldn’t tell if she had always been this petit or if she had shrunken with age. She wore bright colors, including a bright lipstick, and she smiled at me. I told her again how graceful she was, that she moved like a dancer. She smiled again, and it seemed certain that when she got on the board, hers would quickly rise. This wasn’t my neighbor Sue but kind of reminded me of her.

There was more to the dream, something about eating different types of food, but the main vision was all this white scaffolding, white floor, white partial walls, the almost invisible fishing line and the boards people would lie on with their arms crossed. I don’t know what happened if your board did not budge, but for the people whose boards did rise, it was a celebration. The ascension of the boards was called “elevation.”

END of dream journal.

Additional notes from my personal analysis after I typed up the dream:

If it has to do with the Arizona election, then I don’t know what to make of it at all. … The surfboard/coffin things seem eerie. Was this about Ascension? The Rapture? Having a light heart like for Ma’at? I just looked up Ma’at because I don’t know much about Egyptian mythology, https://www.worldhistory.org/Ma’at/ :

Ma’at (pronounced may-et) is the ancient Egyptian goddess of truth, justice, harmony, and balance (a concept known as ma’at in Egyptian) who first appears during the period known as the Old Kingdom (c. 2613 – 2181 BCE) but no doubt existed in some form earlier. She is depicted in anthropomorphic form as a winged woman, often in profile with an ostrich feather on her head, or simply as a white ostrich feather. The feather of Ma’at was an integral part of the Weighing of the Heart of the Soul ceremony in the afterlife where the heart of the soul of the dead person was weighed in the scales of justice against the feather.

I feel like the graceful older woman may have had a feather in her hat, or some kind of feathery outfit. Maybe she was Ma’at. I was definitely enchanted by her. On the surface, she seemed just like a little old lady, but she had power and embodied grace. More from worldhistory.org:

Ma’at is said to have been born of the sun god Ra (Atum) at the beginning of creation through the power of Heka, who was magic personified. Her name means “that which is straight” implying order, justice, and harmony. She is thought to have been present from the beginning of time when, from the primordial waters of Nun, the ben-ben (first mound of dry land) rose with Atum (or Ra, the sun god) standing upon it in the presence of the invisible Heka. In the moment that Ra spoke the world into creation, Ma’at was born. Her spirit of harmony and balance infused the creation and caused the world to operate rationally according to purpose. The principle of ma’at was the operational function of life and that of heka (magic) the power source which allowed for it. It is for this reason that she is considered more of a concept than a goddess with a specific personality and story like Isis or Hathor.

___

Anyway, just sharing here. It was an odd dream–the second one this week featuring some kind of behind the scenes all white setting. The other was this:

11/15/2022
“I Got a Gal”

There was way more to this dream that I forget. I was fighting for something behind the scenes—literally. It seemed more like an exhilarating fight than a stressful one, and I awoke feeling happy and relaxed because I had won whatever battle I fought behind the scenes. There were white panels, really nondescript, just plain [glowing] white panels that had been raised, but I kept seeing them just as they closed down to the floor. At one point, I managed to slide under a panel before it closed. That’s how I got behind the scenes to have whatever battle I had.

When I emerged, I knew I was victorious, and it didn’t feel like I just defeated some bad person but more like a difficult job really well done. I think I emerged the same way, by sliding under a white panel. In this case, the panel didn’t go all the way up but opened just enough for me to stop, drop and roll outta there.

Awoke with “I Got a Gal in Kalamazoo” playing in my head.

END of dream journal.

Some details have personal meaning to me, but both dreams feel like they have some kind of collective component: a battle and a sorting “behind the scenes.” Both dreams felt multidimensional.

Real Life Jumpsuit Tower Jailbreak

I wrote this up for myself on Monday, after finishing the poem that began from three email subject lines on Easter Sunday. I had not planned to share this in a public way, but a client/friend/colleague emailed to share recent breakthroughs and that my San Quentin jailbreak dream had triggered her own powerful dream. She finished her message by saying, “[N]ow you can add “Mystical Quantum Dream Spawner” to your CV,😊

I told her I wasn’t surprised she had such big breakthroughs and then said:

Too cool about the San Quentin dream spawning another one for you. I feel like I liberated my creative writing self from that tower. Yesterday was WILD with synchronicities and the poem I posted today just poured out of me. I had several revisions, but all in all, it was a very quick effort. I haven’t written a poem since maybe 2017?! And before that it was 2009. There was a time when I wrote lots of poetry. 

BTW, I found the jumpsuit on Free People’s website — and ordered it — right before the initial poem lines arrived yesterday afternoon. I haven’t decided if I’ll write that up as its own post. It’s pretty funny. I realized I was dressed as Rosie the Riveter: “We can do it!” 

Then all these things unlocked.

LOL!!!

❤️ 

Laura

Her response convinced me to share the story in a more detailed way. It all happened as described, but much of it unfolds like a dream. (If you haven’t read the San Quentin dream or the follow-up, it won’t make any sense at all. One other note, per dream instructions earlier in the week, I did a three-day colon cleanse from Good Friday through Easter Sunday.) Here’s what I wrote for myself:

Before my TBI I was told to “quit my job, do spiritual work, become a landscaper and write poetry.” Perhaps I’m re-entering the poetry phase.

I now wonder if my Jailbreak dream was about freeing my creative writing self. I had a weird series of events right before I saw the three back to back emails. I got dressed in my “Rosie the Riveter” inspired jumpsuit and looked up a photo of that icon just to see if I was imagining things. It usually says, “We can do it!” but for some reason, I read it as “You can do it!” The only reason I wore the jumpsuit is because I thought I might try to find and order “the right Free People jumpsuit” that freed the woman imprisoned in the tower at San Quentin.

Before ordering a Free People jumpsuit, I thought I’d wear this cheaper one I already owned, just to make sure I liked the feel and look of it. I did, so I started scrolling through the Free People website and found a jumpsuit that seemed similar to the one in my dream. I then received notification that a different Free People package had been delivered. I had just gone outside to deal with recycling and spray deer repellent on my tulips, so I knew the package had only JUST arrived. When I picked it off the mat, the package was empty!

I didn’t expect anyone to be working at Free People on Easter Sunday, but I wanted to document this situation so they wouldn’t think someone just stole it while we were away for the weekend. It looked like the bag had not sealed properly in the first place, not like someone cut into the package. I tried to do an online chat and nothing worked. Then I noticed the fact that they supposedly man their phones 24 hours per day. I thought, “It’s a long shot, but maybe they have a few people working on Easter.” I called and got through pretty fast.

I expected an argument, so I had photos of the improperly sealed, empty package, but I didn’t need them. The woman noted that it had only JUST been delivered, and she took me at my word. She arranged to send out a new item, which shipped last night. What’s especially odd is that the item that slipped out of the package was a SAFARI VEST! I guess it went on its own, uncharted journey. Somehow, this seems significant, like it symbolizes my own detour from creative writing.

I just find it wild that I ordered a Free People jumpsuit that freed the woman in my Easter Sunday dream, and then I immediately got triggered to write the first poem I’ve done in years. I used to write a lot of poetry, but I’ve written maybe one poem (in 2017 or 2018 and I can’t find it) since I finished Schizandra and the Gates of Mu in July 2009. In addition to the poem arising, I feel like I made a huge breakthrough on [another novel] plot, which screeched to a halt when Tim died in December 2017. This cleanse has been really minor on the physical level, but it appears to be removing writer’s block.

____________

That’s the extended story. I don’t know why my dreams so often foresee clothing items or accessories that later show up in real life. Clothing is a powerful metaphor, though: identity, self-expression, creativity. Accessories, glasses — these also suggest other things. In part, I share these stories as demonstrations of how fluid reality becomes when we engage it in a playful, creative way.

I haven’t felt creatively blocked. I’ve painted lots of portals, designed a full permaculture haven, redecorated several homes, wrote guided journals and a LOT of blog posts. My intuitive and astrology readings are also highly creative acts. Yet my creative writing –in particular — has felt like it took a long detour.

In retrospect, I can see why. I’ve written several novels worth of material in the past four years. (Way beyond anything I’ve shared on this blog.) I needed to purge my own stories and bizarre details in order to do creative writing from a place that allows for full expression. No need to get hung up on what did or did not “really” happen. Having fully engaged my own life history and material, I won’t need to explore that through fiction and poetry. I can write what I’m meant to write, unclouded by a need to understand it through my own personal lens.

The creative process is non-linear. It varies from person to person, but some things coincide. I share my own unfolding to inspire others to relax but stick with it. To quote my Dream Guys: “In perfect love and perfect trust, perfect timing is a must.”

A Potent Dream: “My Brother, the Artist”

This feels like a collective dream — like “my brother” represents much of humanity right now. Immediately after writing down the dream, I logged onto my blog and wrote the March 2, 2022 ~ New Moon in Pisces post. Since the dream feels related to today’s New Moon, I’ll share it here on the actual New Moon day. I’ve left this unedited, so please excuse the transcribed dream dialog, where I drop the f-bomb. The dream feels cinematic and potent. I didn’t want to diminish its power by altering the words. If this offends you, please feel free to skip this post. 🙂

2/27/2022

2:57 a.m.

“My Brother, the Artist”

Awoke from a dream that seems important enough to get up and write it down. I was one of several children — three or four — of a larger than life mother who seemed to work in the fashion industry.

We were all grown children, but maybe just in our 20’s and early 30’s. The mom was a little like Maye Musk (Elon Musk’s mom), but not quite her. She was pushy. There was some kind of convention going on in what seemed like a really high end department store — maybe Neiman Marcus, or maybe it was an actual convention. There’s more to this part that I don’t quite recall.

The woman/mom had a lot of authority and perks. She gave each of us a credit card sized card — some kind of pass, and we could use this to leave the convention. We needed to hold it up high enough that the guards could see it as we walked out. They might still stop us, but if we dropped her name, it should be alright. Then they tightened security, so we actually needed her with us in order to leave.

One of my brothers looked like Chris Hemsworth (Thor) or his brother (who looks similar but not quite so beefy). The mom kept handing us different things to carry in flamboyant ways. One was a bouquet of hot pink feathers made to look like flowers. This is the only one I remember, but there were more.

The ceilings were really high, and there were glass escalators and wide open space with glass walls looking outside. I went to a mall kind of like this and can’t recall where it was. I think it was in Chicago. Marshall Field Building? I don’t think it has stores anymore, but at one time it looked impressive.

In the dream, there was all this posh stuff, but it felt like a prison because of the guards and because we couldn’t leave without the cards and then, without our overbearing mother. My brother (Chris Hemsworth) started having a nervous breakdown. He said, “I can’t do this anymore” and tried to walk out. This made a scene because the guards wouldn’t let him leave. He didn’t even bother to flash the card. When they asked for it, he said, “I’m out of here” and had a determined, but unaware air about him.

Our mom realized this would cause a huge scene and create stigma for her, so she gathered all of us and said, “Get out your cards. We’re leaving.”

We got them out and lifted them up, but the guards wouldn’t let us leave without first talking to the mom. She convinced them to open the doors and let us out, and this brother ran to the middle of the parking lot, then home. I sensed he was one step away from being institutionalized, that I had one chance to save him from this fate.

When I got to his apartment, he was sitting on a large chair, kind of rocking in fetal position. He didn’t look up when I said his name, but we had had a close relationship all our lives. I knew he was really an artist and that’s why this fake world was so toxic to him.

I said in a very cheery voice, “You did it! You never need to go to that fucking place again. You’re probably banned for life. You did it! You’re free. Now you get to paint.”

He still didn’t respond, so I took one hand and arm and kind of wedged it between his armpit/arm curled around his legs. I shimmied one arm there and the other under his opposite knee, and I gave him a ridiculous hug. I started crying, empathing with him and trying to set a tone where he could have an emotional release. He was so checked out, just numb.

I hugged him tight and said again, “You did it. You never have to go to that fucking place again. You’re free.” That fucking place meant Northwestern University and academia. “They’ll never let you in again, and that’s a good thing. You can paint now.” I mentally sent him telepathic images of his artwork — past and future. He didn’t overtly respond, but I felt him engage a little when he saw the future paintings.

I continued to hug him and rocked with him as I said, “I’m proud of you. So proud of you because you did it. None of us wants to be in that prison. That fucking place is insane. You’re the sane one. You! You’re the sane one. Don’t ever let them tell you otherwise.”

I knew I needed to get him to paint again. If he was at work on a masterpiece when the people came to his place, instead of sitting in fetal position on a chair and rocking himself with vacant eyes — if he was engaged as an artist, I could keep the doctors at bay. If they saw him like this, in the chair, they would lock him up for the rest of his life. I wouldn’t be able to save him, and they would medicate him so far that he would never be able to find himself.

I knew all this but knew I couldn’t alarm him. The key was for him to realize he was an artist — that this was the reason he couldn’t play the game anymore. This was why he walked out — not because he was insane. An inspired artist has leeway. If he was hard at work when they got here, I could explain that he had had a sudden inspiration — “You know how artists are” — and that his abrupt leave taking was inspired, not crazy. Also that they needed to go, to stop interrupting him.

I wanted him to be painting like a mad artist when they arrived to take him away. Over and over I kept telling him from my heart, “I’m proud of you. So proud of you for walking away. You never need to go to that fucking place again. I love you. I’m so proud of you for leaving.”

As I said these things, I kept sending telepathic visions of his future paintings. At some point, he turned his head and looked at me. I said, “You have it all. The looks, the body. Oh, that probably sounds weird given that you’re my brother, but seriously, you’ve got it. Besides the talent — which you have in spades — you’ve got ‘it.’ You’re the real deal. You can do this.”

He looked at me again and asked, “Really?” He smiled through tears and looked a little dazed, but on the wonder side of dazed instead of the ashamed and overwhelmed side.

“Yes,” I said, “Yes.”

He hugged me back, and I knew that he would paint again. He was already a great artist, but now I knew that he would fulfill that calling. By the time the would-be institutionalizers arrived, he was hard at work on a giant mural. I shooed them away and said, “Get out of here. Leave. You can’t disrupt his genius. Can’t you see he’s painting?! Artists need to take their inspiration as it comes. Get out of here. Stop trying to interrupt his work.”

I knew my brother and I would live happily ever after because he would keep painting murals, and I could live with him away from our awful mother. She would never find us here. She didn’t even know where it was, and she couldn’t get here. We were free.

END of dream journal.

I shared this dream with a friend who commented on its cinematic qualities. I replied:

Yes, I also think it speaks to humanity in general. The people trying to foment world war are unable to create such things without a collective reality buy-in. Narrative is VERY powerful. Imagination is powerful. When enough people walk away from the crazy, reality will tip to something more beautiful and creative. I feel we are on the cusp of that. 

If you haven’t read the March 2 ~ New Moon in Pisces post, it flowed through me in one fast burst after I recorded this dream. You can read it here.

Dream Wisdom

For all the dreams I share on this blog, I have many thousands more. Sometimes these dreams come with elaborate plots and details. Other times, someone gives me a message, or I awake with a phrase or sentence in my head. This morning I was riding the exercise bike — where I often get waking downloads — and it occurred to me to share a few of the dream quotes. In no particular order:

“In perfect love and perfect trust, perfect timing is a must.”

“Delay leads to delight.”

“Wherever you are is where you live. Right here, now, you’re living, so this is where you live even if you’re only visiting.”

While biking, I started listening to Joseph Campbell’s The Hero with a Thousand Faces. I read this book in college and also watched the Bill Moyers interview series with Joseph Campbell, based on this book. I saw that series in the first few months after my 1998 traumatic brain injury, and it helped me view my entire recovery through the lens of hero’s journey and shamanic initiation. Now I have the book on Audible, and I love how much the narration makes the stories and dreams come alive.

Back in April 2019, I had an elaborate and life changing dream. At the end of the dream I met Joseph Campbell in the Meijer Sculpture Gardens. He gave me very personal advice, but he also said one other thing, which I could not for the life of me recall. It seemed important. This morning while biking, I heard Joseph Campbell (as the Audible reader) say:

“Birth is the only cure for death.”

I almost fell off the bike when I realized this is what he told me in that pivotal April 2019 dream. As the collective faces so much change and ongoing pressure to change, these dream memos seem helpful to share. Perhaps they’ll speak to you, as well.

Storm and Tunnel Dream

This dream feels bigger than just my own. It did not feel fearful — just a portent of massive change ahead:

7/8/2021
“Storm and Tunnel”

Some of this reflects an actual thunderstorm with hail (I think) happening while we slept. I don’t know how much of this was me lying awake in bed listening to the storm and having visions — or me dreaming with the storm amplifying the dream.

I lay in bed and HUGE crashes of thunder rumbled then shook the window and walls. We have blackout curtains, so I couldn’t “see” the lightning, but in the dream I could. I lay there almost shivering like an animal under the covers.

This felt like the end of an era storm, apocalyptic. I watched epochs split and move apart. I sensed that nothing would ever be the same again. This felt solemn and inevitable, like the heavens decreed the change, and then it poured forth.

At some point I thought I was awake and had only been dreaming. I wandered out to the kitchen and opened the curtains above the sink. There was a massive tunnel from our tree line to the house, with a large, round hole in the ground about six feet in front of the evergreens. I instinctively knew a groundhog dug the tunnel and that we could do nothing to save our foundation.

The yard buckled, kind of dipped towards the tunnel and then rose up on either side like a bird in flight with the body lower than the wings. A combination of the storm and this super groundhog had done this. I called David to the window where I stood with mouth agape in awe.

We could not fight this. It was too big, above AND below. There was no remedy.

Then I was back in bed and realized I dreamed that part. It was still dark and the storm was moving on a bit — not so intense. I must have fallen asleep and dreamed the sequence again, because when I awoke with David getting out of bed, I asked if he was getting up.

He said yes, that his alarm had been going off for 20 minutes. I hadn’t stirred because in my dream the thunder remained loud. I told David there was a huge storm last night with what I thought was hail. He had heard none of it, but confirmed possible hail and thunderstorms were in the forecast.

When I eventually got up, it had clearly rained a lot, but I don’t see hail. I heard it — whether in real life or the dream, I don’t know …

Bible verse calendar: “Reliable friends who do what they say are like cool drinks in sweltering heat — refreshing.” ~ Proverbs 25:13

END of dream journal.

A client talked with me about pocket gophers yesterday, so that might have played some part in the dream imagery, although it was much bigger than a pocket! I’ve also been listening to Rising From the Plains while I bike. Maybe some of the creation of mountains found its way into my dream imagery with the buckled yard.

That said, this felt like a significant dream, not just a rehash of the day’s stimuli.

The Next Phase and a Collective Dream

From a couple emails I sent this morning:

We have entered the next phase. Our birch tree confirms it. The top of it fell over in last night’s storm. The little wren keeps hopping around on the fallen branches, trying to make sense of it all. I have had several external markers this morning indicate a huge shift into the next phase.

I decided to share most of yesterday morning’s dream here, because — while personal — it also seemed collective, even at the time I had it.

6/17/2021
“The Cliff and Bag of Bread Epic”

This was a long, four-part dream. I recall almost nothing from the first three parts, but the last part is clear.

I was in some kind of resort, and Stuart (from Artists and Aliens) was the bartender. He was very busy, just working efficiently, but nonstop. At some point he handed me a large, square bag of bread and asked me to donate it to the delivery truck for recycling. It seemed like if the bar didn’t go through enough bread, then they could donate it to the delivery place and possibly get some sort of credit.

I don’t know the arrangement. Stuart just tasked me with donating the bread. I looked out the window and saw the truck below, turning onto a side street.

I ran fast down the hill with the bread but suddenly found I had overshot a cliff. By a lot. I looked down and realized I was nowhere near the side street and about four stories higher, looking for somewhere soft to land, but there was nothing but asphalt far below.

The cliff had rock face you could maybe climb, but I wasn’t on ropes. Everything was also a little wet and mossy, like it had recently rained. The cliff, even if I could reach it, would be slick. Even if I managed to somehow swing myself to the cliff, I would probably smash my head open. I looked down again and calculated that a normal person would die, but realized I would not.

I knew that fall would hurt. Bad. It would take years to recover, very painful years. No options seemed good, yet here I was kind of floating in suspended animation, four stories above the asphalt, holding a 3×3’ bag of bread.

The delivery truck was long gone, and I continued to scan for somewhere soft to land. I could not believe this would happen to me, that I trusted Stuart about delivering the bag of bread, and it led me to this impossible situation.

After awhile, I realized I should have hit the ground by now. I became curious how I had not fallen anymore. I just floated by the cliff in suspended animation. I kept scanning and scanning for somewhere to land, but there was nowhere. I realized I was powerless to control the situation at all.

After a very long while, I realized I was slowly moving backwards. When I turned around, I saw that the street so far below had raised in a gradual hill as I was moved backwards. I saw a fence with very pointy pickets and thought, “Oh, no, that is NOT a soft place to land. I had this miraculous recovery only to land on very sharp points?! I don’t believe it.”

Whatever force moved me did set me down on top of the fence, but so gently it didn’t hurt. There was a boxwood hedge almost as high as the fence, right next to it, and I managed to climb down quite easily. I still had the bag of bread.

I walked for what seemed like years — a very long time anyway — back to the low spot in the road and figured out how to get back to the resort at the top of the cliff. I think I walked on a road, not climbed the cliff. I only recall my arrival. I briefly debated finding the delivery truck since I had not completed my assignment, then realized I couldn’t find the delivery truck even if one still existed.

Stuart seemed slower now and maybe more of higher management, not the bartender. Tania and Courtney Geyer were there. Courtney asked if I wanted her to complete a painting we talked about a long time ago. I realized I was ready now and said, “Yes, that would be perfect.”

There was an earlier part of running a t-shirt through a color photocopier, along with a check, like a bank check. All the sides of everything managed to print at once, and this t-shirt was colorful in its designs. That’s from one of the earlier parts I don’t recall, but it had something to do with the recent event of my running off the cliff and then floating to safety, then journeying back.

I was a new person when I returned from the journey. Not everyone understood that, but it was true. This dream felt epic in scope and also like it tracked with COVID lockdown and disruption of normal life — like we are getting towards the end — not there yet but pretty close. Nothing will be the same [and some people will be angry. That’s their issue; nothing can be done about it.]

Bible flip calendar today: “We can rejoice, too, when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they are good for us — they help us learn to be patient. And patience develops strength of character in us and helps us trust God more each time we use it until finally our hope and faith are strong and steady.” ~ Romans 5:3-4

END of dream journal.

I’m just posting the photo and dream here in case either speaks to anyone on a personal or collective level. I omitted some of the more personal parts of the dream, as well as my interpretation. Just sharing because when I awoke yesterday, I thought, “This is also a collective dream.” As so often happens with me, parts of the dream then appeared in waking life later that day.

It feels like lots of tiny gears all moving together like clockwork. This, in turn, reminds me of two dreams I posted on 2/06/2020, before COVID lockdowns began:

Synchronously, before listening to this, two dreams this morning featured “Time” as a topic, including a wall of dozens of circular clocks, all synchronized, all being kept warm by a “hot plate wall” behind them. The message was one I keep getting, “high vibe and filled with life force energy,” a theme that keeps showing up in dreams about death, mud or dusty wreaths filled with seeds. This particular dream implied that we could “eat Time” and that this time banquet was being prepared and kept warm by amazing cosmic time chefs who knew exactly when and how to serve the right moments as a feast.

In the prior dream, I was in a clothing store, second story, somewhere in Idaho. The female clerk told me that in order to find what I wanted, I needed to cross the street. I went downstairs and began to cross the street, which turned into an intimidatingly wide street.

I crossed at a crosswalk, but the light went through several cycles as I made my way across the street. I was wearing high heeled, intricately carved wooden shoes, which I realized I could not continue to walk in. I took them off, and my bare feet couldn’t continue walking on this road, either. I was already in the middle of the road with cars on both sides. I dropped to my knees, kneeling, and “walking” on my knees across the street.

I worried that no one could see me so low to the ground, that I would get run over. Then I realized that none of the drivers of the cars seemed to notice the lights had changed. Time had either slowed down or stopped for them while I made my way — safely — across the street. When I arrived at the other store, traffic resumed. The store had exactly what I wanted, even though I didn’t know I was looking for it. I left wearing the new clothes.

Wishing everyone peace and love as we undergo another collective shift.

Happy Earth Day!

In honor of Earth Day, this post somehow wants to go up again. I’ve already reblogged it, so I’ll just include the link here.

“The Sunflower Saga, Synchronicity and the NAPC” is a long, involved, twisty-turny post I shared in August 2014, yet somehow it seems especially relevant today. It speaks of people being detained for respiratory issues, Minneapolis, intuition, precognitive dreams, synchronicity and protecting the Earth.

The more I revisit periods of high strangeness, the more I find they ripple throughout time. In the post, My Very Own Technicolor Dreamcoat, I mentioned feeling led to get a Bible verse flip calendar:

[S]ometime in 2020, dreams and synchronicities led me to order a little calendar that features a Bible verse a day. I keep this on the coffee table where I record my dreams into my dream journal and later type them into my laptop. It doesn’t always happen — but it often does — where flipping to that morning’s Bible verse either confirms my dream interpretation or provides additional context about a less clear dream. I use it as a synchronous, Biblical “gloss” for deeper dream analysis, and it works uncannily well.

This morning, I awoke from two dreams (or one complex dream) that seemed to include messages of patience and the idea that “delay leads to delight.” Some details in the dream were very personal, while others seemed to mark this as a collective message, too. When I recorded the dream(s), I glanced at the Bible verse flip calendar for today:

“I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten … And you will praise the name of the Lord your God, who has worked wonders for you.” ~Joel 2:25-26

On this Earth Day, as many empaths, animal lovers and children of our Great Mother Earth wonder what can we do? How can I help? , I share 2014’s The Sunflower Saga, Synchronicity and the NAPC, because some things are easier to explain by way of Story.

Wishing everyone a blessed Earth Day!