Tag Archives: dreams

I Leave The Rabbit-Ears Running All Night, or, Precog In Dreamland…


There’s something familiar about all of this, even if the grass is lavender…

During the early morning hours of Wednesday, May 2nd, I had a dream about going to work. I drove to a library that I had never seen before– it was at the top of a very tall hill, and the road up was steep and winding. When I got to the library, I was greeted by some coworkers I hadn’t seen in quite awhile (because I’m a sub, I get assigned all over the place, and sometimes do not see staff at a particular library for six months or more). They were happy to see me, and they opened the front doors– large, and mostly glass– of the library so that I could get in.

The architecture of the library was rather interesting– it was built entirely out of cast concrete and cinder blocks–all gray– and the furniture looked to be dark oak with royal blue upholstery. The main part of the library was circular in shape, and sort of reminded me of a beehive, although there was plenty of light, both ambient daylight and from well-hidden lights inside the building. The colors that impressed themselves on me the most were the soft gray of the concrete (which looked rather stonelike) and the blue of the upholstery fabric on the chairs, and it all seemed very restful.

In the dream, I started helping staff with the daily delivery– reserved books that patrons had ordered from other branch libraries– and after I finished this task, I was asked to take some withdrawn paperback books out to the recycle bins for trash pickup. When I went outside, I ran into a woman I had worked for prior to being hired at the library– I greeted her cordially, and we wound up walking over to the edge of the parking lot where the recycle bins were. From this vantage-point, we could look down the hill all the way to the bottom, and we both saw that there had been some sort of accident far below us. We were trying to figure out what had happened when I woke up.

As I was laying in bed, thinking about my dream, the alarm went off– I have to call in on days I am not on the schedule, and even though the earliest I had to be to work that day was noon (our branch libraries are all open 12:30 to 8 p.m. on Wednesdays), I was still obliged to call in at 8:30 a.m. for my assignment. After I found out where I’d be going (the Linda Vista Branch Library, hereafter referred to as LV), I went back to bed for another hour, and promptly forgot all about my dream. I left my house at 11:30 to drive to work, and I was very happy I was working the early shift (noon to 5 p.m.) rather than the late shift (3 p.m. to 8 p.m.).

Now at this point, I had completely forgotten the dream, so I wasn’t comparing what I was doing with what had happened while I was dreaming. Because of where I live relative to LV, I am able to take surface streets all the way to work, but it is a bit of a circuitous route to get there, and I wind up driving between two large shopping malls and some outlying strip malls and restaurants on my way. As I came up to the main thoroughfare that I needed to take to get to the library, I passed a restaurant that I had been to numerous times when I was working for my previous boss– the woman I had seen in my dream, but I now did not remember I had dreamed about her– and I thought, “Wow! it’s been at least five years since I last went to this restaurant with everyone from Park and Rec… I wonder how everyone’s doing…”

At this point, I hit a rather bad traffic-snarl, and I began to worry about being late to work. As I turned onto the main drive, I saw what the hold-up was: someone had come off the freeway too fast and had run off the cloverleaf ramp, down a 50-foot embankment covered in iceplant, and their car was now stuck in a wide drainage-culvert at the bottom of the incline. A fire truck was on scene, and as I managed to work my way through the intersection, a paramedic ambulance also arrived. I made my turn, got into the lane that would take me further up the hill to the library, and went on my way, still concerned about possibly being late to work (and still not remembering my dream, either).

I duly drove up the winding hillside road to the library, and when I got there, I hurriedly parked, grabbed my stuff and went to the main doors, as I did not have a staff key for this particular branch. As I’m standing in front of the glass doors, I’m looking at the gray cast concrete and gray cinder blocks the library is made out of, and I’m still not recalling my dream. Staff lets me in the front doors, and I cordially greet several people I have not seen in at least six months. They are working on the reserve books that came in the delivery, so I stow my gear and pitch right in. As I’m working– taking the tagged reserves to the shelves where the patrons will pick them up– I notice that there is new furniture in the library since the last time I was there. Besides new chairs at all the reading tables, there are several great chairs in the central reading area, and all are made of wood that looks to be dark oak with seat and back cushions upholstered in royal blue canvas-type cloth… and, nope, still no dream recall.

After I finished the reserves, I was then asked to cull the freebie shelves, which is where we put all sorts of stuff that we give away to the public, like neighborhood newsletters and such. There were some new leaflets and flyers that had come with the interoffice mail, and they needed room for them, so I pulled all the out-of-date stuff, put the new items out, and chucked all the discards in the recycle bin… and still, no clue…

At 2:30, I took my half-hour break, and when I came back to the Circulation Desk at 3, there was finally a bit of a lull in the number of people coming in. I checked system emails for any computer-update or other flagged messages, and when I looked up from the computer, and cast a quick eye over everyone in the main reading area, I suddenly realized, “Hey… I’m in a completely circular room here…”

And then the dream replayed, in exactly the same way I had dreamed it in the early hours of the morning. I knew in a split-second that even though everything in the dream did not look exactly identical to where I was, I had dreamed all the major bits right– the accident at the foot of the hill, the winding road up the hill to the library, the circular main part of the library, the concrete and cinder blocks, the blue upholstery, people I had not seen in a long time, being let into the library through the large glass main doors– it was all there, including my old boss, because I had passed the restaurant she and her friends liked to go to on my way in to work.

It probably took me about a minute to really process everything, feeling simultaneously weirded-out and elated that I had apparently known in dreamtime exactly where I was going to be working that day, even though the assignment wasn’t made until I called in that morning.

I also think that if everyone had more chances to slow down a bit, and had a bit more time in the mornings to try to actively recall more of what they dream, we’d find out that this sort of thing happens way more often than most people suppose…

The Moon-Hare Nibbles The Edges Of My Night…


My dream last night started with me standing on the sidewalk outside of my parents’ home. The neighborhood looked very much as it does at the present time, except for a couple of odd things. Firstly, although there was plenty of light, and I could see everything around me with a bright, daylight clarity, the sky above me was night-dark and filled with stars. Secondly, all the colors I saw were extremely beautiful and jewel-like; everything had a just-washed look to it, and although everything around me was somehow more vivid than usual, nothing was garish. Everything had the clear, crisp glow that one sometimes sees the surrounding landscape take on in the last bit of sunshine before a sudden thunderstorm descends.

As I stood on the sidewalk looking at everything, I turned towards the street, which in waking reality is a very busy four-lane thoroughfare with a wide center island that is, in the real-time present, planted with trees and shrubs of various kinds. In my dream, however, the street appeared as it did throughout most of my childhood when I was living there– the center of the street was paved and the island was marked off with double-yellow lines on the asphalt. The street, which is also almost always busy and full of traffic, was deserted and everything was very still and silent.

As I turned and looked across the street, I saw a man step off the curb on the opposite side and walk directly towards me. There were also people standing on the sidewalk across the street from me, and they too were watching the man as he crossed the quiet street. I could not see him very clearly at first, but by the time he was half way across, I could, and I also recognized him– it was Alan Rickman. He walked up to me, stopping about four feet away, and asked me if I could “please show him the way to get to the desert”. I responded, “Certainly. I know how to get there. You have to go over those hills over there, and then you keep heading east…” and I handed him a map. He said, “Well, can you show me exactly how to get there?” I said, “Do you mean you wish me to be your guide?” and he answered “Yes. I have to get to the deep desert as fast as possible.”

We started to walk in the direction I had indicated, and the dream skipped as we walked in a series of jumps, so almost immediately we were standing on a high rise looking down at a vast expanse of sandy desert. There were plants and cacti growing that made the place look somewhat like Anza-Borrego, but there were also dune-fields, and the sand was a deep russet-red. I looked down the slope we were standing on, and I said, “Geez! This place looks like Mars! Look at how red the sand is!”

The two of us began to descend the hill we were standing on– we followed the track of a deep ravine, and we eventually reached a flat area at the base of the hill. I said, “Well, you’re here. Don’t stay near where the ravine is, because if it rains in the foothills there will be a flash-flood through this whole area.” I bent over, and picked up a handful of sand, and I said, “I just can’t get over how red this sand is!” As I looked at the sand, I thought to myself, “Gee, I hope I guided him to the right desert…” Then I looked up, and I saw that there were about 20 camel-mounted Tuaregs ranged in a half-circle about 50 feet away. Alan was walking over to them like he expected to meet them, and I turned and started to walk back the way I had come.

At this point, the dream started to skip in a series of images– I saw the Tuaregs moving off, I saw a bunch of dune-buggy type vehicles driving around, and there was suddenly a lot of red dust in the air. I heard voices, and I saw people carrying boxes and bags of supplies, and I somehow got the idea that a camp had been set up somewhere below, but I couldn’t see it. I thought, “If they are making a movie, I can’t stay. I have to go, because they surely will not let me stay. Besides, I’m not even sure this is the right desert. I think I took him to Mars by mistake, and I think he might be angry when he finds out…”

The dream skipped again, and I was standing further up the slope. I was mixing some of the red sand/dirt with water from a canteen. When wetted, it had a clay-like consistency, sort of like overly thick ceramic slip. I pulled back the left sleeve of the garment I was wearing (which looked like a gauzy, pale robe of some sort), I dipped the first three fingers of my right hand in the sticky mud I had made, and I made three long, red marks with it up the inside of my left forearm. I raised my arm up to the sky, which was now a hot, clear turquoise, and I felt the clay dry instantly on my arm and begin to crack. I lowered my arm and looked around me, and it was like everything was moving in slow-motion– there were more Tuaregs hurrying past me on their camels, and one rider came right up to me, laughed, and rode away again.

I felt disappointed, because I kept thinking I would have liked to have seen the movie that everyone was making, but I kept feeling that I wasn’t supposed to be there, and that I would make people angry if I stayed to watch. I hurriedly rubbed the red clay off my forearm, and as the crumbled bits blew away in the wind, I found myself back standing on the sidewalk out in front of my parents’ house. The sky was once more deep black and filled with stars, although everything seemed lit as bright as day when I looked around me. I turned my gaze up the street, towards the hills I had pointed to at the beginning of the dream, and as I did so, I again saw a man walking towards me.

It turned out to be Alan Rickman again, and this time, he walked right up to me. He took my left hand in his right, turned it upwards, and placed something in my palm. As he curled my fingers over the item, he said simply, “This is for you to keep.” He stood there while I opened my hand and looked at what he had given me– it was a sterling silver pendant on a chain, made in a tapered triangular shape that was vaguely claw-curved, and on one long side of the triangle, towards the wide base-end, there was a small, faceted peridot set in a circular silver bezel. I looked up at him with the intention of thanking him, but he just smiled, shook his head slightly and put a finger to his lips, so I stayed silent. I looked back down at the pendant, and when I looked back up, he was gone.

The last thing I remember in the dream was looking across the street at the people who were standing there. They all had their heads together and were talking amongst themselves, as apparently, they had all watched Alan give me the pendant. I heard them whispering, and I knew what they were saying wasn’t particularly nice, as they kept shooting me nasty looks. I heard someone say, “Who does she think she is?” and someone else said, “What makes her so special?” I felt momentarily bad, but my eye caught on the pendant again, and I looked at it and thought, “I know this means something– it’s supposed to be something, but I can’t think what…” and then I awoke.

I realized the very instant I came awake what the pendant was, and I jumped out of bed going, “Holy Sh*t! He gave me a Thorn! That’s what the pendant is! It’s a Thorn, and the Peridot… is green (my favorite color), and I know it has something to do with healing energy… Oo-oo-ooh, I gotta go check my gem-references and online…!!!”

At this point, I think I should mention that my Thorn-moniker has many deep associations for me, one of which harkens back to a time in my very early childhood, when I was around four years old. Back then, our family shared a duplex-type house with a family who had a single boy-child named Robert, who was a year older than I, and who was a complete hellion and bully. I have many bad memories of him– of being kicked, punched and having several dearly beloved toys wantonly destroyed– and I also came to the realization when I was much older (and in therapy) that both my parents, but in particular my mother, had not defended me at all in the face of the bullying behavior.

One of my “peak experiences” with Robert-related mayhem involved an ambush laid with thorn-laced rose-cuttings– Robert had come into the yard where I was playing and had called me names to get me to chase him. I was barefoot, and in the process of running around the corner of the house after him, I wound up stepping on several cut rose branches he had artfully arrayed beforehand across my path, so I would not be able to avoid stepping on them as I came around the corner of the house. I wound up with several superficial cuts and scratches on both feet and a thorn imbedded in my right big toe which was finally dislodged by the expedient of my father pinching my toe hard enough to make the blood build up behind the thorn, which shot forth– to the accompaniment of my heartfelt screams– like a bullet. My wound was then dosed with merthiolate (which stung like hell), and I was admonished to “just ignore Robert from now on”.

The net result of this episode was that although the physical thorn was long-gone from my toe, a spirit-thorn remained firmly in place, and it was not pulled until I took an up-close and very hard look at a long history of parental non-protection. In re-parenting myself, I made the thorn an emblem of the protection of the rose of my child-self, that would now be put to a good use, creating a no-nonsense boundary between my cherished, vulnerable bits and the Roberts of this world. In short, the Thorn of my wounding became the sign of my innate Power to protect both myself and others.

At present, in my day-to-day life, I find I face a rather emotionally-hard situation with respect to my parents’ care-giving, and because of my own moral compass (along with my parents’ deteriorated physical and mental condition), I feel an obligation to assist and protect those who protected me far less well when I was a young child and in need of them. While I share care-giving chores with two other family members and a paid caregiver, it still sometimes really sucks to realize that I parent my own parents far better in their dotage than they parented me throughout my entire childhood. One of my regular care-giving days with them was yesterday, so I am not surprised that I dreamed last night about standing on the sidewalk outside of their house, nor am I surprised I dreamed a Thorn, or that Spirit should remind me that although I am in the desert, I am also a Guide who knows something of the ways of the desert, like the Tuaregs on their camels, even if that desert of dementia sometimes makes it seem like I’m on Mars.

I am also thankful that the stars stretch over my head in both the Dream-world and the real one, that I have some Peridot beads to hand with which to make a bracelet to wear while care-giving (Peridot is one of those Stones that ‘heal the healer’), and that I received such an exquisite astral gift from the hand of so charming a Dream-messenger. It also need surprise no one that in one of my internet searches today, I found a vendor who makes sterling silver rose-thorn earrings and pendants cast from a mold she made of a thorn from a rosebush in her own garden. Naturally, I ordered one of her pendants–I think it will make a completely kick-ass amulet– and it comes with a little card, hand-lettered with this old Persian proverb:

“Who craves the Rose, must respect the Thorn.”