Unearthing the ore
I went to what was billed as an "expressive painting" class last night. The teacher is an art therapist. She wasn't there to be a therapist to the class, so much as she was there to facilitate our creativity. I painted for more than 90 minutes. Based on last night's dreams, things were unearthed.
I dreamed that I went to a place where masks of people's faces--life masks, death masks--were kept. The person who ran the place, or curated the place, took out stacks of masks in twos and threes, and with them, loosed the ghosts that came with them. I was a reporter or investigator there to report on what went on there. I woke up when the ghosts became too intense, when it was too much. I was overcome by sleep, but for a few minutes, I lay in bed fighting sleep because I was too afraid to go back to that room.
Then I dreamed I was out with SA. We were bicycle riding in a city, maybe New York, maybe some other place. We stopped at a mind-reader/fortune teller. He looked at me and did a reading, telling me about where I'd been born, who my father was and what he did for a living. He was a revealed as a fake when he said that my marriage to SA was going to last and last. When I held up my hand to show that I wasn't wearing a wedding ring, he changed his story, saying that at this point, it was unlikely I'd ever get married. SA was upset by this and insisted on paying for the reading. I made him keep his money and paid myself, telling the reader that the next time he tells a woman she's going to be alone the rest of her life, he shouldn't be so gleeful about it.
We walked away. I was walking my bicycle. SA didn't have his. We passed a group of people milling on the side of the street. D was there, his beard grown out, his face smudged with dark stage make-up. I had this idea that they'd been to the theater. I knew he was coming to Seattle soon. When he saw me, he turned and walked away. I followed him. I end-ran him, caught him and said to him, "I hear you're coming to Seattle next month. Do you have time for coffee?" And he said, coldly, "No. Not ever." And walked away.
I went back to SA and we kept walking.
When I woke up, I lay in bed again, in the morning darkness. I felt someone tap me on the shoulder. It was very real, a very tangible pressure. Weirdly, I was not alarmed by this. It was almost comforting. My instant thought was that it was D. It wasn't either of the cats; Zeke was on the foot of the bed, and Sophie was in her cat bed across the hall.
On occasion, I've had a visitation from The Voice. I haven't had one in a long time. Maybe the tap on the shoulder was from The Voice. I understand what my dreams were telling me. I wish I knew what that tap was trying to say.
I dreamed that I went to a place where masks of people's faces--life masks, death masks--were kept. The person who ran the place, or curated the place, took out stacks of masks in twos and threes, and with them, loosed the ghosts that came with them. I was a reporter or investigator there to report on what went on there. I woke up when the ghosts became too intense, when it was too much. I was overcome by sleep, but for a few minutes, I lay in bed fighting sleep because I was too afraid to go back to that room.
Then I dreamed I was out with SA. We were bicycle riding in a city, maybe New York, maybe some other place. We stopped at a mind-reader/fortune teller. He looked at me and did a reading, telling me about where I'd been born, who my father was and what he did for a living. He was a revealed as a fake when he said that my marriage to SA was going to last and last. When I held up my hand to show that I wasn't wearing a wedding ring, he changed his story, saying that at this point, it was unlikely I'd ever get married. SA was upset by this and insisted on paying for the reading. I made him keep his money and paid myself, telling the reader that the next time he tells a woman she's going to be alone the rest of her life, he shouldn't be so gleeful about it.
We walked away. I was walking my bicycle. SA didn't have his. We passed a group of people milling on the side of the street. D was there, his beard grown out, his face smudged with dark stage make-up. I had this idea that they'd been to the theater. I knew he was coming to Seattle soon. When he saw me, he turned and walked away. I followed him. I end-ran him, caught him and said to him, "I hear you're coming to Seattle next month. Do you have time for coffee?" And he said, coldly, "No. Not ever." And walked away.
I went back to SA and we kept walking.
When I woke up, I lay in bed again, in the morning darkness. I felt someone tap me on the shoulder. It was very real, a very tangible pressure. Weirdly, I was not alarmed by this. It was almost comforting. My instant thought was that it was D. It wasn't either of the cats; Zeke was on the foot of the bed, and Sophie was in her cat bed across the hall.
On occasion, I've had a visitation from The Voice. I haven't had one in a long time. Maybe the tap on the shoulder was from The Voice. I understand what my dreams were telling me. I wish I knew what that tap was trying to say.