i’ve been waiting to post any of this because it has a long story behind it, how my dreaming left and came back in response to the paths i seem to be guided to take (or not) but i’d rather not tell the details and without them it was all convoluted and hard to interpret, so…
the first night i dreamed of terrible storms coming, a tornado as large as i’ve ever seen. it came out of the west along a stark line of bad weather. here on my side of the line it was still clear but complete destruction was imminent and i had to get everyone together, get them to the safety of the basement. tornado has been the symbol of spirits seeking to communicate.
the second night i dreamed that i was wandering down the road to town. the tornado had passed and i was reviewing the destruction. there was no work or school as the counties were completely torn apart, roads impassable. the trees looked bizarre. they had large limbs torn off, thrown, knocked down all over. the weird part was the huge bite
marks on each side of some of the tree trunks. seeing them made me very uneasy. i saw a geodesic dome destroyed. they usually survive such storms but this storm had been unusual and the dome had been crushed. there was a wrecked school.
all these were in a direct line to my house, which was somehow still standing.
as i passed the school i dragged a hand along a brick wall separating it from the road. i got fresh, thick blue paint on my hand. i ended up with it all over my face, inside my mouth. i was completely blue as if i’d been painted.
the third night i dreamed i was in a fairly open woods by a stream. i found a pipe made of stone, some features natural, some carved. i knew this was my pipe, made for me. as i held it i began to hear voices and i closed my eyes to listen to them, rubbing the smooth, cool stone on my upper lip. i could hear two sets of indian ppl discussing me. i could sense that they sat around a fire and i could get a general impression of them but i couldn’t see their faces.
one group was telling the other about me, mainly thru my name, which described me. it was a long one. the first two parts were in english (i forget them) and the last part went on for some time. it was in an indian language and had lots of eeeees and oas another familiar foreign sounds. but the abundant es cracked me up so i was giggling too much to pay close attention. however, i did understand the language and i knew that some of my name meant “scurries under the underbrush like the raccoon”. my pipe was very important and they wanted me to know it had to be cared for, not sold, and that it had a spot where a stem could be inserted.
it was quite an experience. when my eyes were open, i was in the woods, when they were closed i was with the indians.
i came home exhausted, sleep was desperate, and i very nearly forgot the beautiful dream i had that afternoon. i’d been told some incredible stories on my adventure and these led to further questions on my part. i was told that spirits sometimes lend their energy to us for various purposes. i found that curious and wondered if i’d ever been a part of something similar and if i’d be aware of it if it were happening.
i dreamed i was back at university. i was in a big city with older stone buildings, some quite tall. i’d been between classes, visiting small shops and fellow students along the main street where the school held its classes. once i’d tended to all my work, i found myself sitting on something like a trampoline, tho it changed to more of a chair, then something more like a flying carpet.
i held onto the sides, but loosely. i didn’t fear falling off. i flew it quite fast over the street, up and down for blocks, making sharp turns, turning upside down, closing my eyes and trusting and thoroughly enjoying the feeling of flight and speed.
it happened that mr hats was a professor at this particular university. his was an outdoor classroom on the only empty site in the city. he’d stripped it down to the bare dirt and had wood, logs, and tools scattered about. i decided to visit him and buzzed his site with my flying carpet chair, zipping back and forth a couple of stories over his head. he never bothered to look up. he seemed to be very busy and concentrating.
as i flew, tho, i could feel more than the thrill of it. i could feel that i wasn’t up there all of my own accord. i was being given help, power, from an outside source. i could feel it coming into me, into the air around me.
when i do “right” i seem to be rewarded with wonderful dreams. when what i do is less acceptable, i get nothing.