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A Triple Goddess Dream

18 Dec

I dreamed that a mortal woman in her fifties, maybe 60s, visited three goddesses (probably Celtic) and at night traveled with one of them, the goddess who had bright red wings. They had probably three such trips. This goddess also owned a book that was red and gold, and the mortal wanted to read the book.

After the first two nocturnal journeys, the goddess with the red wings was sleeping on the wings with the mortal. They slept on a circular gold platform. But the mortal wasn’t asleep; she had the book in front of her and opened it.

Next, they were at the place, in the woods, where they went on these nighttime journeys. They took a path, and the goddess was sleeping beside the mortal, but the mortal was awake and stood facing an upright image on a pole.

They’d seen the image—series of images—on the previous journeys. They were pictures of goddesses, and though they were up on a pole, they were like a big picture book, with pages that you turned to see the various images. The images were maybe two feet tall, and they included what looked like a woman with a cape made of peacock feathers.

The mortal glanced over at the sleeping goddess and started flipping pages and knew what she was doing was forbidden. She flipped to a page and started to trace it, I think, and accidentally tore the delicate paper.

The other two goddesses suddenly appeared, and the first one woke up, and the mortal felt guilty and embarrassed and knew they’d punish her, so she was very nervous.

One of the goddesses was loud and boisterous, joking, all, “Well, what have we here!” She put her arm around the shoulders of another goddess and indicated the book with the torn pages. The mortal began to think that maybe they weren’t angry at her for touching the book and tearing the page.

Art, Buddhism, and a Kitten

31 May

I dreamed I was a tourist in San Francisco. A busy street had a building with a façade on which paintings by various artists were hung on nails. I had a picture I painted, but I couldn’t find the gallery owner responsible for this wall of paintings, so I ended up just putting my picture on an empty nail and walking away. The gallery wasn’t right there.

Strangely, San Francisco turned into Phoenix, and I eventually learned (perhaps from a business card) that the address was on Cave Creek Road. I went to a shop that was somehow connected to the gallery… and it turned out that one of the people who worked at the shop was the son of the couple who owned the gallery. (He was at least the second person with whom I spoke in the shop.) He was in his 30s and 40s, looked part Native American, had dark blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, and wore glasses. The shop was vast, and the counter was in the center of the room. He told me about the gallery, and I think he was the one who gave me a manila folder that contained info on it. His parents owned that gallery for forty years, and he talked about them. They sounded wonderful—and my trip was almost over.

Meanwhile, a few more (bohemian) people came into the shop, and I sat down at a table where people gathered regularly for classes, and a bohemian woman with dark hair (I think she wore a purple dress) handed something to me and explained, saying something about the Buddha’s love, I think. The items were a small Buddhist booklet and a homemade maroon batik cloth (patch?) with an image of a Buddha centered on it. I was impressed and said, “Thanks!” That’s how the dream ended.

This may have been an early part of the same dream:

I was staying with my brother and sister-in-law—though at some point it may have been my mother’s house, and I was feeling aversion because I found out that a certain relative was going to be there. I was in a back bedroom and was hastily taking down and hiding artwork I didn’t want her to see. I started making the bed in a strange way, cutting away at a mattress cover. At least one wall was covered with pictures/paintings. The bed had a section down below with shelving, and art hung from that, including one of the pictures I hid.

Later, I was in a very white interior house in Phoenix, there was a really large room that had doors to other, smaller rooms on the left, and my brother and sister-in-law lived there. The walls and floors were all white, and it looked somewhat like their real house.

Inside the house, there was a hallway that looked like it belonged in a museum or something. Much like the wall in San Francisco, one wall was covered in pictures hung up and painted by various artists. But there was a sheet covering part of the wall. I did something—perhaps bumped into the wall—and as a result, the pictures became crooked. My brother noticed and came over and straightened the pictures, while I felt very guilty and embarrassed.

Soon I was in the big room, and I think I was folding laundry or at last that sheet, with a laundry basket in front of me. Out of the sheet, I unwrapped a tiny black and white kitten with bright blue eyes. It was love at first sight.

The kitten got away from me and ran really fast. It somehow fit under a door that was closed. I knew someone was in that room, so I knocked before opening the door. It was a small bedroom, and my sister-in-law was lounging on the bed in a far corner. The kitten ran under the bed, but I managed to catch it.

Art—Buddhism—a kitten. These are all things that matter a lot to me.