Monster Moon Madness

This is an instance where what my mom dreamed is actually more interesting than what I dreamed.  I’ll tell her dreams first as they are more coherent than what mine were.

First she dreamed that I dressed up as a witch for Halloween. However, the only traditional part of the costume was the hat; the rest of it was a slinky black dress and a jacket.  She said I was a “high class witch,” which I find hugely amusing. She said I went to work, and people didn’t understand it, and I had to explain.  “High class” as in Level 5 and “high class” as in “classy.” I thought the first part was pretty perceptive of her; she would never identify me as a witch because she understands that through the stereotype, but she did recognize that I done a lot of spiritual growth, and I have progressed.

The second dream was about us, but she didn’t even realize it! I was so tempted to tell her, but she’s freaked out about us as it is, and she just wouldn’t get it. She said they were in a Catholic church for a wedding, and the processional had begun. But the bride wasn’t in line because she was off in another room to have sex with the groom. The groom realized it and ran away from the altar. Meanwhile, everyone was watching the processional and wondering where the groom went to and where the bride was. After they were done having sex, the two of them walked down the aisle together arm and arm, laughing and skipping.

Now, the first part of the dream immediately made me think of The Bridegroom vision from over a year ago.  And the walking down the aisle together was obviously from Processional. She’s never read my blog, and I’ve never told her those visions, so how could she have possibly dreamed them–unless they are real.

She knows intuitively what is going on with us. She actually asked me, last year, what a twin flame was. I explained to her, and she immediately told me that was stupid and crazy. That’s when I stopped talking to her about you, at least in any signficant way.  Shortly after that was the double-yoked egg incident, where she said she felt guilty eating it because she felt like she was eating twins.  Her higher self is trying to tell her what is going on, trying to prepare her, but she just wont’ listen. She’s just too threatened.

I joked about it. “Maybe the two dreams are related,” I said, teasingly.

“You would never have sex in a church!” she yelled. “Don’t be silly. It’s because I was thinking of your cousin’s wedding.”

And that very well could have triggered it, because they just got the wedding photos back and Mom got hers.

At least I know there is confirmation, and that what is happening is supposed to be happening; otherwise, why would she dream the same dream we did?

Oh well, on to mine. We are in a hotel in Chicago, but it isn’t one I recognize. I’m there for a business conference, and you’ve tagged along.  There is a window by the door, but instead of seeing outside, it’s more like a crystal or a mirror for scrying. I come out of the bathroom, and you are watching what is happening in the window as if you are watching something on television.

You are absolutely enraged. I have never seen you so angry!  Your face is bright red and the veins are bulging out of your neck. I try to get you to talk to me, but you jump up off the couch and walk away from me, yelling. I can’t make out what you are saying, but I do make out “Mom.” I’m confused. Are you mad at your mom? My mom? Someone else’s mom?  I try to make out what is in the window, but I can’t make sense of the images. At one point I think I see a shot gun, but then it’s a meadow, and then a skyscraper. It makes no sense. It’s like on Chuck when the intersect kicks in and he sees random images that mean absolutely nothing unless you have the key.

I’m torn. I’m worried about leaving you by yourself, but I have to go downstairs to the conference. You’re just stomping around the room waving your arms and yelling, so I think you’ll probably be okay and grab my briefcase and go.

As I get in the elevator, right smack in the middle of the cabin is a chair, and Michael is sitting in the chair. There are people around him, and they ignore him as if they don’t even see him. I don’t see him as Michael, but as a guy named Michael I went to school with.  He is annoying me by taking up so much room in that damn chair, and I’m short with him. He shrugs it off.

I get out of the elevator, and I am confused. I don’t know if I am in the right hotel for the conference, or if the sessions are in another hotel, or if they are somewhere else. Like in any dream, the city looks familiar but not familiar.  I go back inside to my right, where there is a big circle of carpet in an open area; they have set up a buffet there and beyond that area there is a door. I try to make my way across the buffet as I think the registration desk for the convention is probably beyond that door, but one of my profs from college is there, and she says I should join them and eat something, so to be polite I put a little something on my plate in hopes of eating it fast and then getting out of there.

Right before I wake there s a flash of a scene. We are sitting along the river, a ways back, under the trees. It is summer, and it is a warm and lazy day. The river is barely moving, and I smell magnolia and sweet honeysuckle. We are curled up in each other’s arms against a tree. It is so calm and peaceful. It is home.

Then, the next night, another dream. I am back at my college. It is Christmas time.There is a very large Christmas tree in the reception area. It is not decorated. It is also very old. It is one of those metallic trees they had back in the 60s. There are pictures in our album of my grandma’s; there was a light at the bottom of the tree and it cycled through different colors: red, blue, green.

This tree is just metallic silver. There is a man with me in reception, and he is screaming. He takes out a saw and starts trying to cut off one branch of the tree. But he doesn’t seem to think that he is cutting a tree; he keeps screaming that he is going to cut off his wife’s arm. I am horrified. Is he delusional? Or is the tree really a woman, and I just don’t see her as a woman but as a tree? I keep telling him to stop it, but he doesn’t. He keeps yelling and keeps hacking away at the branch.

Then I think, maybe I’m taking this too literally. Maybe this is a family tree, because I had that dream last month about my ex’s family tree written in the book. And maybe instead of cutting off his wife’s arm literally he’s talking about cutting off his wife’s branch of the tree?

While I’m puzzling this out, I suddenly realize I am in the Foundation office, and there is a girl named Chelsea there. I am supposed to meet one of the vice-presidents. She is chatting with me as I wait. Although it is an administrative office, there are university items for sale, including socks, which weirdly enough are not in the school colors.

Then I am in a high school, a very old one, and I am trying to find a restroom. It is between classes, and kids are running everywhere, and I can find the student restrooms, and the faculty restrooms, but I can’t find the public restrooms.

Then I am in the Arboretum at the Galt House, and I stand up from the sofa. I’ve just finished a coffee, and out of nowhere, you grab my hand and start to pull me toward the elevators. But then you stop and swing me back into your arms and we start waltzing through the Arboretum. I am slightly embarrassed; after all, I’m the girl who almost flunked Social Dance in school. I always trip over my own two feet. But you’re very good at leading, and somehow I’m managing to follow, and not one person in the place seems to have a problem with us dancing, or for that matter, seem to see us. They just instinctively move to one side or the other of us, as if they can feel us there but can’t actually see us with their eyes.

Mid-March Madness Dreams

No, not basketball. Just, weirdness. . .  .

We are in the physics lab. Before we have a chance to do much of anything, a scuffle breaks out in the hall.  I run outside to deal with it. Before I know it, I am in front of a history class–and, um, I’m naked. No one seems to mind, but when someone comes to the door, I sit down behind the computer console so that they can’t see me.  Someone has conveniently left the laundry there, and I pull on a khaki skirt and a brown cami.

Then I am in a meeting that is taking place in a limo.  We are all fighting.  I say, “I have nothing to hide. Let’s have the vote.” I don’t know if we actually do vote or not, because next thing I know, I am getting out of the car.

As I am walking  back to the lab to get back to you, I see a very large construction worker on his back on the sidewalk.  The paramedics had cracked open his chest and had done heart massage and then gave up on him.  I bend down and put my hands in his chest on his heart, and the energy starts flowing though my hands, and his heart starts beating again.  Then I chew out the paramedics; why the fuck didn’t they use the paddles? Stupid. Now I’m all messy. Are you going to be upset with me? I couldn’t just leave the guy to die.

In a tiny narrow cell, there is a monster. It looks like a cross between Frankenstein’s monster and the gingerbread people from that dream last year (see fifth dream).  He is so big and the cell is so tiny that he has to stand diagonally.  His eyes are so very sad. I feel bad for him and try to break him out.  I get him out of the cell but then I hear people coming.  I throw him on a couch with a bunch of coats over him (the room is a mess with clothes and papers everywhere) and lounge against them. A girl comes in and sees the cell is open–she runs out and I grab the monster and try to get him out through the door.

Then I am at the Greens’  house from Jericho and Eric is for some reason dancing through the kitchen doing jazz hands. There are several packages of meat on the table, and Ma Green is wrapping them in a fleece blanket to keep them cold, but wouldn’t that make them warm instead?

Then I am at an airport to catch a flight.  I’ve given a girl a ride. She has her check out papers from the hotel, but I don’t have mine. I don’t remember if I even went through check out! I am trying to talk to the service rep. It is Greg Gumbel. He is talking nonsense, and I can’t get a coherent answer out of him.

So I decide to go back to the hotel and double check.  I go to the service desk–and it is Greg Gumbel again.  He is making more sense now, but he tells me a copy of my receipt is going to cost me $50. I tell him like hell it is, and I go to the manager and complain. She says she’ll print me a copy.  As she pulls it up on the computer, it pops up on a screen on the wall behind her. I’m pissed because I’m afraid someone will see my account information and steal it. As I look at it, I notice there is a watermark on the page and it is the Blue Gillespie eye.

 

Quietus

Crescent moon, Jupiter, and Venus conjunction: 24.2.2012

I dream I am going to a committee meeting in another department, but the layout of the department has changed. It’s like a maze, and I have to pay attention to the signs on the walls to follow the path to the meeting room.  When I get there, the damn meeting has been moved–to our own conference room.

So I head back over to our department and, just like in the other department, everything has been moved around and the corridors are now a maze.  There are signs, but these are just print-outs from the laser jet that are scotch-taped on the walls; the signs on the walls in the other department are more like formal placards.

I go down the designated hallway to get to the conference room and notice there is a little nook in the hallway where a corner of a room juts out a bit. There is what looks to be a mail slot on the wall of that nook, but it is vertical rather than horizontal. It is about waist height, and I can get my fingers in to wiggle but not my entire hand.

Then I hear a voice say “Quietus, quietus.”

I look around and don’t see anyone. It’s creepy hearing a voice out of nowhere, and I know this is not my intuition speaking to me–this is someone else speaking. I don’t even know what this word means, and I’m a bit spooked by it, but I shake it off and keep going.

Obviously, this is not the door to the conference room although the sign would imply that it is. The door has to be somewhere near, so I go down the corridor and look to my right: there is a hall running perpendicular, and off to the right I see the door.

I go through the door.  The layout of the conference room is different from our conference room. There are two large rectangular tables, their long sides facing the door. The committee members are sitting at the first table. However, these are people I don’t know (in other words, although this is supposed to be a committee I am on from work, none of the people in the dream are the real people who are on this committee in real life).

There are other people sitting at the other rectangular table, and along the walls there are chairs where people are sitting. The ones along the wall are pretty young, interns I think, and one guy in particular catches my attention–I don’t know why because I don’t know him and he does nothing in the dream but sit there and observe.

I sit down with my back to the door, something I ordinarily don’t do. It’s really hard to concentrate because someone in the room is smoking. That’s a violation of company policy, and I don’t know why someone isn’t calling the perpetrator on it. I don’t know why I don’t bring it up as I’m allergic to smoke. It builds over the course of the meeting, huge billowing waves of smoke from off to my left where the young guy is sitting.  I’m  trying really hard not to be sick. It’s difficult to concentrate on what is going on as the smoke is giving me a raging headache, and I think I should be saying more and participating more, but I’m so miserable I just don’t care.

There is an older woman sitting across the table from me who is dominating the the conversation. She is one of those big, barrel-chested women, and she has a really aggressive personality, like “I’m the only one who matters and you’re going to do what I say bitch.” Everyone is just letting her go on and on because we know it doesn’t matter and she’s just going to keep bellowing on anyway, so we let her get it off her chest.

Then the meeting is over, and as I am walking into the hallway, I hear again, more insistent: “Quietus, quietus.”

Suddenly, I’m back at my university, teaching a class in the history department. The class I am teaching doesn’t seem to be a history class–I’m trying to explain to the students a very long, complicated process. I have a handout with step-by-step instructions, front and back, and I’m reading it to them and explaining as I go along.  About two-thirds of the way through the first page, a girl raises her hand. I call on her and she asks a question–basically asking me to tell her all over again what I just said. She hasn’t been paying attention, and the girls around her giggle.

I take a deep breath and go back to the beginning and start all over again.  When I finish explaining the handout, I let them go even though it’s early–I’m so frustrated and disheartened.  How can I teach these kids if they don’t even try to listen?

And that girl. It’s almost as if she is proud of her ignorance.  I shake my head. She’s going to end up taking the class again, I just know it.  I can tell the signs. But at least I won’t be teaching it again next time–I’m done here.

I leave the classroom and walk down the hall toward the stairs, still shaking my head.  As I start to walk down the stairs, I hear those damn words again: “Quietus, quietus.”

What the hell is “quietus”? What is this, the freaking raven? What does it mean? And how do you make it plural? “quietuses”? “Quieti”?

I’m deep in etymological musings as I walk down the path back to my department building. As the path starts to curve over toward the trees, you walk up to me from the parking lot to my right. So many right angles in all of this, so many lines and squares. You don’t say anything, just fall into step with me, so close that our shoulders occasionally brush. As we walk under the budding trees, you simply walk beside me. You know I’m upset and frustrated, and you’re just there to support me as we walk down the path.

Definition of quietus, from Merriam Webster Online

Fears

You have your demons that haunt your nightmares.  These are some of mine.

My dad was a drunk.  We never said he was an alcoholic; in those days, alcoholics were the ones that got sent to the nuthouse, no rehab back then.  Nowadays in the time of global internet, researching family history, I see stories again and again and again from people with our name: hard drinking, hard smoking men, brilliant but intense, who burn out and drop dead twenty years before they should.  Hell raising, boozing Scots.  That’s us.

My earliest memory of him must be from about three or four.  I say that not because I have a clear sense of myself but because the television was on, and because I remember the series that was on the screen.  It was a Saturday night, and that was comedy night.  I loved to laugh.  And sitcoms back them weren’t trying to be hip and cool and self-aware. They were silly, goofy things that kids even as young as I was could understand.  I wanted to watch the next show.  I had a crush on the actor and thought he was “pretty.”  But I was scared.  It had been dark several hours, and I knew Daddy was going to come home soon.  But Daddy scared me when he came home after dark.

More Silly Weird Dreams

Things have been quiet on the dream front for a while, and I’ve been glad of it.  After the scary weird stuff from the end of last year, it’s been kinda nice to just black out when I go to sleep.  This last week or so, though, I’ve had some more silly and weird celebrity dreams.  Silly and weird are much better than scary and weird, so for the record: some of the Torchwood boys showed up, Keanu caused a big problem, and Adam Baldwin pulled a John Casey. Then there’s one that’s just weird.