This can annoy many people, especially when accustomed to city sounds. Not me. For today, this very morning, I understood. They sang about the core of the mind of fruitful exploration. Every chirp was jumping over my eyelids.
Wake up.
Wake up.
Tell your dreams.
It is rather personal, sharing your dreams with others. Dreams meaning your goals and aspirations, or the nonsensical vapor that fogs in colors and sounds, living and breathing within your essence.
By now it is no secret I use Chrysalis Tarot on a daily basis. Twice a day, in fact. I do a daily draw for lessons and goal setting in the morning. (And, still, to further acquaint myself with its loveliness and wisdom.) I also draw at night, for dreaming or inspiration.
Last Friday night I dreamt the beginning of an epic journey, spanning over three nights. It has taken me a little while to share because, again, as usual, it is personal. All I could think of for the past few days has been this quote by Mercutio from Romeo and Juliet written by William Shakespeare.
"True, I talk of dreams;
Which are children of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy;
Which is as thin of substance as the air,
And more inconstant than the wind, who woos
Even now the frozen bosom of the North
And, being angered puffs away from thence,
Turning his side to the dew dropping South."
Basically, he is saying he does not believe in dreams. This is an opinion or notion of which many other people seem to agree. However, I want to share these dreams and this process with you.
And while the wind is, in fact, inconstant and He can absolutely woo and/or become angered and storm off, He is real. He is part of my life; ever shifting me to another road, a different (better) plan, some foreign burst of ideas that conjures positive movement because movement is just that, positive.
As I fell asleep, falling deeper and deeper to whatever dimension I drifted to at that time, I found there was a high rise at midnight; a monstrous, rapid machine, like a collection of buzzing hives, filled with business people. Only this setting was not flowing with pollen or nectar or life force. It was purple and bitter, passing expressions filled with barking cries of apathy. I could see the charcoal-blue dome through long windows of sparkling glass, erupting with stars. This was the only sign of true beauty in my surroundings.
I was out of my element, though the setting was incredibly familiar. Once I noticed the attire and mannerisms of the people in this dark community, I realized I could "talk" my way out of there. I say this because it was "understood" in the dream, a feeling or theme running through me, that I was somehow captured. There were guards everywhere, almost like the sheriffs patrolling every door at the courthouse in my waking life. I noticed each citizen needed a badge to leave the building. I could see a grand escalator on the other side of the glass walls, outside. I knew if I could ride it, I would reach the sky. Somehow I also knew this was where I would find my boy, who I longed for and felt was in need of rescue.
I pulled an ash-red lipstick out of my bag and applied an extra layer. I blackened my eye makeup and approached the receptionist at the information desk with confidence. A swarm of nervous individuals circled her. She looked like a China doll with a blank glare of heartache on her face. I smoothly began to commiserate with her about hierarchy, personnel and anything superficial I could pull to the surface of our conversation. I told her I really needed to go out for a smoke. (A habit I gave up years ago.) She chuckled and rolled her eyes toward some "Suits" in the corner, sympathizing with me.
I earned my pass with ugly, empty chatter.
As I made my way to the exit, walking along the bank of elevators, I felt the form of a tall man behind me. I could not see him. I believed he was wearing an invisible cloak. A swoosh of rhythmic vibration encircled my head, like a halo level with my eyes. A voice filled the halo's circular flight.
"I will give you the answer for the help you need along your journey."
He took my right arm in his hand and I could see a ball of gold light (energy) bloom from the space between us. He placed this "answer" in my forearm and I felt it swim through my entire body until it reached my heart. Then he scoffed and chuckled like a whisper to my neck.
"That isn't what you want at all, is it?"
His "answer" was so frustrating. However, I knew he meant well. In this orb of energy that pumped through my veins and body, came the description of a man I once loved with great fire. His name was David. We met while I was in court reporting school and we loved hard and fast and cosmically.
He was an attorney for a major law firm in the city. He was young and successful and lived in the artsy part of town. He often spoke of astral travel (the first I ever heard someone speak about it to me) and Tom Robbins. I thought he was nuts, and he would tease me by asking "What would Jesus do?" Then I would want to kill him. But we would read the same books and discuss them over the weekend at dinner. We shared an identical love affair with music; so much so it was almost a sort of language we developed. And the pillow talk in the middle of the night revealed dreams of him writing a screenplay and me a book of something -- anything; just some purge of words that were overwhelming my emotions most of my existence.
We did crosswords on Sundays and made drinks on the deck. We met each others' friends and families. We accepted and embraced the nagging things that can nag at 25 and 30 years old. We encouraged each other, and then . . . we didn't.
It was hard for me when it was over.
We remained friends throughout the years, all these past 12 years; concurrent with my relationship with my Ex. David would drift in and out of our timeline, always leaving me with the hope we may have a future at some point. Then he would vanish off into oblivion under the guise and title of "Good Friends." But I allowed this, always. I, too, take responsibility.
This realization made my heart's orb crackle with heat.
"No." I reiterated. "I don't want that comfort or help. I don't want to go back. I may as well stay here if I do."
My Guide understood, and I rushed out the building with happy strides and a cool grin.
I made it to The Grand Escalator. I wondered why no one was riding in front of or behind me. I could still feel the sense of freedom bursting in my bones, and the golden orb flexing in my lungs.
My true fuel and fire was the love for my son. The "answer" was always my choice. With all these emotions erupting, I turned to laugh at the citizens below who were waving fists, angrily toward the sky. And I lit a match, so thick like a sizzling Morning Glory, and released it from my left palm, laughing at their expressions as the flare signaled my escape.
(The night I had this dream, I drew Elpi ~ The Star ~ )
When I woke, I sat in complete surprise over the fact that David made an appearance, even by mere topic of him, in my sleep. Why in the world would he ever be considered an "answer?"
Then it dawned on me as the sun rose on Saturday. I've often hoped to find the good qualities he possessed, one of being his proclamation of him always being "my biggest fan" (in terms of his perception of my "soulful" writing) in another companion. However, just like a snap of my fingers, I knew I had idealized him for way too long.
I was believing my self-imposed illusions. This, My Friends, finally educated me on the core of such illusions. It was one of my biggest "a-ha moments" thus far.
Now that I know, I can begin to chisel away at all the rest.
I know it sounds cruel, but it also felt good to know I hadn't loved him with that great of a fire. Or maybe I've just taken back that part of me which I gave away in great haste.
I know I probably mimic an older version of Taylor Swift, always writing about ex-boyfriends. But many of these stories deal with patterns and cycles. It's been somewhat mind blowing to see, with true focus, I can pick and pull the formulas, and hopefully come up with a better equation for myself for healthy living.
Please stay tuned for the following entries which continue over the other two nights:
Part II of The Dream Boat entails me reaching the top of The Tower of Seven of Mirrors. Herne arrives, smashing things to hell and leading me through a harvested vineyard, where we chat amongst crushed grapes in our stained garments, enveloped by the setting sun.
Part III of The Dream Boat concludes with the soft moss of Green Man sponging over my hands and his hazel-mint eyes speaking directly to my soul.
I hope you will see it through with me.
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