Dream Journal: 2014-06-01.01

Did not expect a long sit down with the Embroidered Man about Kabbalah, paradigms, tarot decks, customizing the tools and the paradigms to fit my personal circumstances, and why my (unmade) decision on where to hang the Emperor and which Hebrew letter to associate with it is the pivot about which my worlds will turn. (And the need to make that binding decision soon.)

There was further discussion about what was cut off of me at Dionysus’ request for sacrifice, why I willingly complied, and the ramifications of that decision on my skill as a tarot reader.

He touched briefly on Mathers, Waite, the Golden Dawn of their era, and of mine, and how certain public “discussions” don’t mean a damn thing to me so why am I allowing it to color my progress in my own eyes.

The discussion ended when tea was served. Would have been rude to continue.

ETA: Placed quotation marks around the word ‘discussions’, because that is the polite way to say ‘mud-slinging, name-dragging, slandering, overemotional, bullying, money blinded, attack of the ‘nads, unnecessary bullshit that serves as the public rhetoric now’. And make no mistake, the Embroidered Man said it in a very bitter and disapproving manner.

Interestingly, the diagram of the Tree of Life was on the floor when we discussed certain paths. When I asked if it would be better hung on the wall instead, he replied that until the frame is completed, meaning my decision on the Emperor card, it doesn’t have the integrity required to remain intact when hung.

The Path of Vau and the Path of Cheth was already colored in. But several wires were missing and I knew them to be the disputed paths considered for the Emperor and the letter Tzaddi.

Great. More homework.

Dream Journal: 2014-04-16.03

I know why I saw the Embroidered Man before as a male. He is like No-Man. Not male, not female, not gendered at all. But I required a gender to peaceably interact with “him” at the time, and male fit the bill for that role.

I bring up the gender, or lack of gender, because “he” appeared as “she” again. With a dress that Miss Frizzle would have heartily approved, the swirling paisley and teardrop pattern turned gently on the black velvet background.

We spoke a bit until I realized what was significantly odd about him. I could see his face. Kinda. Sorta.

Where before the face was always a void, a not-space, that I couldn’t focus on or even find a spacial boundary to, this time there was something to see.

Galaxies. Nebulae. Star clusters and supernovas. The depths of space moved within his face as if I was looking at a window to eternity.

“You’re staring.”

“My god, it’s full of stars.” I was smiling like a fool, but I couldn’t help myself. It was beautiful.

“There’s nothing new to see.”

“Sez the man with no face. This has been here all this time, but I couldn’t see it when we first met. I didn’t have the eyes to see then.”

He smiled. Of course, I didn’t actually see the smile, as there was only the sights of deep space in the area where his face should have been. “You see a little more, but you still see dimly.”

That wounded me. I’m not sure why. “But I still see a little more. Isn’t there some worth there?”

“You don’t see me.”

“I can’t. You don’t exist in three dimensional space. And I still use that framework even here. I don’t see No-Man, either. But I talk with him just the same. You are not what I see, or what I think I see. I know that. I understand that. You are not the name I first gave you, a name that is already in error because you are not a man, you are not male. And the embroidery on your clothes is just another way for me to recognize that part of you that you allow me to see. Dimly. Imperfectly. Symbolically.”

A star collapsed upon itself as I watched. In a breath, the shockwave passed through a dust cloud, disturbing it and creating a localized maelstrom. I blinked, and the maelstrom collapsed upon itself and ignited. A star is born.

I could sit here for eternity, watching eternity.

He smiled and patted my knee. “You have things to do.”

“Hey.” I grabbed his hand. “Years ago, at Club Kaaba, on opening night, you said I would never see you again. But you’re back.”

“The you I said that to, no longer exists. I spoke no falsehood. You are not the same person I said farewell to. Or you would not see what you do now.”

He slipped away and the ambient light darkened until only the light from the eternity of stars illumined me. He closed his eyes, and the void took me away.

Dream Journal: 2014-03-26.02

“So the bastard actually went on and hired me to make him a sex magnet! He got it alright! From the wrong gender! Now he’s begging me to turn it off! Ha-ha-ha!” She nudged me in the side. “Hey, you’re not even listening.” Her high-pitched voice was annoyingly cheery.

“Yea, no, sorry. I’m tired. There’s been some shit up my way.” I looked up at her and realized I couldn’t see her face. She reminded me of a person, but I couldn’t place who just then. I wasn’t afraid to see a swirling void where her face should have been. It felt perfectly natural and as plausible as her story.

“I know what you need. There’s a bakery a few shops down. Let’s get you something to eat. That will ground you.”

That sounded pretty good actually. I let her hurry me past indistinct stalls hawking indistinct wares to the small bakery counter.

“Hey, they have breads. I’m not really hungry, but a chunk of something wheaty and hearty sounds good just by itself.”

“Don’t be silly. Man does not live on bread alone.” She intoned the words with severity. When I looked up from the counter to give her stink-eye, she laughed with glee. “Don’t be so serious all the time, sheesh!”

I returned my attention to the case. “Don’t quote the Bible at me. You know my grudges.”

“Curmudgeon!” She nudged me again. “Excuse me, cashier! What breads do you have today?”

“No breads. Sold out. All we have are cakes and slices of cakes.” The cashier was annoyed at having business and even more annoyed at having to answer questions. Can’t we see with our eyes?

Well, now that his attitude mentions it, no, we can’t. The front of the case is filled with wax representations of baked goods so people can place their order today for tomorrow’s deliveries. Which is a shame. Because there was a small round wheat loaf with tomatoes and basil that would have really hit the spot. “Well, what cake slices do you have right now?”, I impatiently asked.

He huffed the way entitled forty-year-old teenagers do and make a great show of checking the refrigeration unit beside him. All the cake slices he had were very sweet, very intricately decorated, and very lacking in nutrition. All of them would do nothing good for me in the state I was in. “Right. Thank you for checking.” He mistook my sincerity for insolent mocking and slammed the door closed. To be honest, even if there was something nutritious in there, I wouldn’t want him to serve it to me.

My companion ordered a slice of something with raspberry and chocolate for herself and managed to sweettalk the cashier into divulging which of the slices would be less of a sugar dump and more of something to hold me until dinner. I didn’t catch what he recommended. He started to ring up our cakes as two separate purchases, waiting until the transaction was finalized before retrieving the cake from the unit.

I didn’t catch what my companion’s slice cost, but when he mentioned the cost of my slice, the association it triggered pulled me fully into lucidity.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that. How much is that slice again?”

“Five nineteen.” Once again I saw the association in my mind’s eye. I looked up at the cashier. He was wearing a black ski-mask over his face. He kept moving around avoiding eye contact with me. He had the physical appearance of a lanky nineteen-year-old, but the glimpses of his pupils kept shifting the glamour hiding him. This was no mere boy.

“Don’t tell me you forgot your money! Here, I’ll cover it.” My companion started for her wallet, but I grabbed her hands. Turning back at her and her faceless void, I realized who she reminded me of. I raised an eyebrow in silent recognition.

To her amusement, I spoke calmly despite my increasing awareness. “No. I have money. However, the cost of the slice is not in currency, fiat or otherwise. He said ‘Five nineteen’. Any money I hand over to him will transform into the fifth card of the major arcana, and the nineteenth card of the major arcana. He doesn’t want my money. He wants what the Hierophant and the Sun card means to me, how those cards manifest in my life. And like fucking hell am I passing over another fucking leash.”

I released her hands and told her to watch mine. I pulled out my wallet and retrieved exactly five dollars and nineteen cents. When I made the motion towards the cashier as if to hand them over (but still out of his reach), the money transformed into the Hierophant card and the Sun card of the Universal Waite deck. I pulled my hand back, and the cards remained present. “Five. Nineteen. Sorry, no. That cake is a helluva lie.” I placed the cards back in my purse with my wallet. “I’ll eat when I wake up. Or when I find a goblin market. At least there I know what I’m dealing with.” I walked away from the bakery.

My companion gave the cashier a very evil and very severe glare before falling quickly beside me. “Right. Glad you caught that. I keep forgetting there’s more of you elsewhere.”

At that I came to a full halt and turned to face her. Staring her in the void that was her face, I had no fear. “Knock the shit off. First the seal returns. Then the wand. Then I’m getting personal with angels again. What’s next? I wind up back at the Club Kaaba again? I’m being pushed to walk the Path of Cheth, after all. I was kicked out of the ceremonial magician club, remember? You personally handed me over to Ravenwoman, Embroidered Man. Now all this shit is coming back, and I want to know why.”

She smiled. I didn’t see her smiling, but I felt it. Her dress swirled with color until it was the vibrant moving kaleidoscopes of paisley and curlicues the Embroidered Man wore on his vest. “Walk the path and find out.” Her voice had lowered to the androgynous alto/tenor range that the Embroidered Man spoke so melodiously well with.

I said nothing. I stood there for several minutes until the lack of food prompted a headache I felt into the Waking. I turned on my heel with a perfectly martial about-face, lifted my arms above my head, and strode away from her and the dream with both middle fingers striking the air leaving visual obscenities in my wake.

Dream: Ravenwoman

I had fallen asleep with my headphones on. Intentionally. I had trouble falling asleep lately and using music as a backdrop for light meditation was very helpful in downshifting my mental gears. The plan was to focus on the music until I had gotten my wandering thoughts into a single force of will, then turning off the music and turning over to go to sleep.

We all know what happens to the best laid plans, now don’t we. Continue reading “Dream: Ravenwoman”