Doing some light reading and coming across multiple references to St. Cyprian again. While I expect to find references with that book and that author, it has been a crescendo of unexpected references this past month to the point where I am about ready to defenestrate the next person, place, or thing, that makes another reference. “That shit is all fine and good”, I mutter, “but I’m fucking apostate. Doesn’t that disqualify me?” Continue reading Dream Journal: 2016-12-03.01
I don’t know where it came from. Don’t know what bundle it fell from. Don’t know whose hand had cut it. Don’t know what plant had sprung it. Don’t know why it was there.
But there it was, in the middle of the hall, right in the middle of my path where I had walked not even five minutes before without the obstruction being present.
It wasn’t much of an obstruction.
Just a stick, really.
The length of my hand from tip of the middle finger to a few knuckle lengths past the wrist. As thin as my pinky and just as (not) straight.
One end had been cleanly cut through a knot in the branch not too long before I found it. The other end had been snapped in between sprouts of twigs.
Just a cast off stick that fit so very neatly and playfully in my hand.
I had picked it up with initial intention to discard it because some of the residents are light enough and uncoordinated enough that stepping on the stick posed a very real hazard. But as I carried it down the hall towards the first available trashcan (in the bathroom), I found my heading altered into my office. Where I promptly placed the stick in my purse.
Don’t know why.
I guess we’ll see.
Hail Mary, Queen of Heaven.
Holy Light, cloaked with stars.
Sustaining Love that warms fading embers.
Hail Mary, Queen of Sorrow.
Holy Tears that purify the waters.
Mourning hands washing my heart clean.
Hail Mary, Queen of Hope.
Holy Mother, holding my hand.
Sweet encouragement lifting me with the sunrise.
I only remember three scenes from the dream. It opens with me standing on an exposed mountainside. Continue reading Dream Journal: 2016-11-29.01
Dreamt there were two brothers who were determined to become immortal. The elder had devised a scheme to transform himself into a demon, and then begin conquering the spirit realm to make himself even more powerful. The younger had tried to talk his brother out of it, but wound up going along in hopes that when the elder realized how much shit he was getting into, the younger could lead the way back to safety.
When I entered the dream, the elder had already completed his transformation. There was nothing left of his body but ash. The newly created demon spirit looked at me and mocked my inability to physically harm him. Continue reading Dream Journal: Demon Brothers
“Don’t worry, I’ll save you!” My guardian and I turned to watch the well-meaning villager attempt to charge uphill on the rocky path in ill-fitting armor. “Her foul magics won’t work on me!” My guardian and I looked at each other. There was no one here but us.
“Begone, evil beast!” Out of curiosity, we waited for him to get closer. He underestimated both his distance and his speed. I’m surprised his clumsy swing didn’t snap his wrists from the bad grip. However it was clear who he was trying to attack.
He pitched forward and fell harshly on the rocks at my feet. My guardian turned her head to hide her chuckling. Huffing and puffing, he used the long sword as a cane to help himself back up. The poorly hung pieces of armor swung wildly, eating up the momentum he was trying to build to take another swing at me. Continue reading Dream Journal: 2016-11-26.01
Early morning meditation. The vehicle isn’t so important this time as the obstacle I encountered.
A ginormous single horizontal line appeared, stretching even into the edges of my peripheral vision. An eye opened and focused on me as it emanated waves of indignation, rage, and a desire to commit harm upon me if I did not submit immediately. Continue reading Dream Journal: 2016-11-25.01
Remember my suspicions that “my” [Merciful Mother] Mary was something else wearing that face so I could interact with her and without fear?
All the clues about her identity was written publicly. It just took sifting through two years of scattered shitposts to put them together. (The final clue was her insistence I meet her husband atop the burning holy mountain.) Continue reading Dream Journal: 2016-11-23.01
Harlequin dragged my ass back to the night club. When I realized where I was at, I found I had already claimed one of the upper floor booths to sulk in.
“Come down! Have some fun! You need to lighten up a bit!”
My response started and ended with two familiar words. “Fuck you.” Continue reading Dream Journal: 2016-11-21.01
It was a surprise gathering of “spirit workers” from all over the world and representatives of otherworldly entities. They all came to Harlequin’s nightclub but I was not yet lucid to recognize this. No more than any given two or three people knew the same language. When it came to spiritual matters, each had their own personalized language that could not be translated.
But we all knew rhythm. Continue reading Dream Journal: 2016-11-20.01