Dream in 4 parts . Water is emotion: saying goodbye to my teenage friend.

Every female in the dream is me. I don’t know about the male aspects.

Genetically I’m double X. I don’t have a Y in sight.

The dream begins with me traveling to the past specifically to tell my friend, J. , that he needs to practice his Gene Hackman impression.

So this I do. He says,”Thanks,S.”

End the first part.

The second part and the third part:

I return to north of the border. I see my life in the Montreal landscape. The city is not as important as it is in other dreams. The city is a common recurring symbol in my dream. I’m not sure what it means. It may be similar to the role of “an architect” as in the Christopher Nolan film, “Inception”.

In past dreams I do use lucid techniques to design an urban environment. Although I wouldn’t describe myself as a city-person. I would describe myself as a changing person, a curious person. Maybe I feel more comfortable in cities because it’s easier to meet people.

The 2nd and 3rd of the dream I have my independence. I’m lucky because I got it early. Earlier than most people my age. The images in the dream all support this. In real life I speak Spanish. In my dream life: I live half in Northern Vermont and half in Montreal. Don’t forget I also live in a dreamtime, a 4th dimension, just like you too. The realm of our Higher Self, the Akashic Records and A.Crowley’s, “Holy Guardian Angels” there is at least one for each of us. A topic for another time.

To improve the quality of one’s dream life: a good beginning, drink water, especially before bedtime. Your bladder, will make you wake up. Other people use programmed chimes, lights, music, sound.

I prefer water and sunlight. I wake before sunrise.  Let the cat out. Write down any dream fragments. Sometimes people use digital or audio cassette recorders. The more one writes, draws, creates, sounds,images from dreamtime the easier it is to remember. It also is a good introduction to alpha states (meditation, etc.)

It may be one of the most vulnerable of gifts to give. To share one’s dreams.

The last part of the dream, the 4th part. I am walking along a northern path. In real life J. Is a little shorter than me. But in this dream I’m younger and shorter than him. He has aged. He has become my father as well as an old friend. He is much older than me. Time took nothing from me.

It’s brisk wind. Cool. The bright Canadian sun falls upon us. On the west is a torrent of water. It is fresh and full of tree branches. Mostly the heartwood. No leaves nor bark. Looks like raw driftwood, without the sunbaked grey and salty bleach. The wood is wildcrafted, soft, and ready for tooling if one were to brave the fresh water rapids.

Writing this last part is difficult. Notice how it’s one of the few dreams I’ve shared where I am outside. I’m saying goodbye to my friend,J., he’s been like a father figure. But not anymore.

Below our feet is flat stones. Rocks the kind one skips. To the east are just a few saplings bushes, a windscreen of evergreen. Beyond, flat grasslands and swampland, the south is to our backs. It’s probably 10am. The light from the sun has risen so high in the east. Just enough to walk north without raising my hands to my eyes to block out the sun.

He thanks me for reminding him to practice his Gene Hackman expression. It brought him much success. I feel the enormous losses he has taken in his life to be old. Older than my own father.

I ask him how does he do it? How can he witness all this change and the breaking apart of friends and family without falling into the grip of fear. Frozen.

He says he inhales all the rage and pathos , all the shame and anger, the expectation and the loss of control. He inhales it with his breath, his lungs and when he is ready to exhale. He doesn’t. Instead he forms a diamond. It drops like a tear from his eye.

 

End dream

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Internationalism, Ipswich and the EU Referendum: Vote Remain!

Thanks. Reblogged. Thoughts are with you all. From the “People’s Republic of Vermont.”

Tendance Coatesy

http://www.ngw.nl/heraldrywiki/images/thumb/9/9c/Ipswichz1.jpg/350px-Ipswichz1.jpgTossed by the Waves Of Hate, but Ipswich Internationalists Vote Remain.

Internationalism, Ipswich and the EU referendum: Vote Remain!

All men are Brethren. Equality, Liberty and Fraternity. Heroic citizens – the thunder-notes of your victory have sounded across the Channel, awakening the sympathies and hopes of every lover of liberty….Accept our fraternal salutations and our earnest wishes that the French Republic may triumph over its enemies and become a model for the imitation of the world. Vive La République! (1)

A Republic for France: the Charter for England.”1848. Rally Ipswich Corn Hill.

Ipswich is an ancient town. Sited on the estuary of the river Orwell, whose upper reaches are called the Gipping, Ipswich is Gipperswich. The remains of a Roman villa have been found in the suburbs. The settlement itself is Saxon, the street plan of the centre remains the same as laid down in the 7th century:…

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Record Dreams and Reblog

I cannot think of a better way to heal than this. I filled my compadre’s email tonight. I need more pen pals, I said. I cannot keep up with the advant-garde of left journalists right now. I am very good at shamanic dreaming. It’s a skill bestowed upon me at age 4. Tonight I reblogged for the first time. It’s good to have the links at hand.

My blog is like dreaming. Disorganized fragments that make sense to a few. I can share, I mostly dream about willpower right now. I also dream cityscapes, terrain to find my family. Is it much different than the internet? Where a dream helps to problem solve and get through the day. The wordplay, the riddles, the music, the fun.

Pre-operation :Dreams

In a week I get an operation. It’s the second operation within the space of 14 months. The summertime is a good time to heal.

I have dreamt but have not recorded the images here. I have dedicated my writing time to letters. One stamp remains. I pause.

The operations are personal. They are meant for a bombed out shell of a life. They are meant for someone who lives past the age of 92. They are not meant for me. I am still young.

I live in a peaceful place. The pine trees claim terrains. Everyone I know is possessed with the heart’s calling: to object! Conscientiously.

I live with my parents. I am the only child to live this long. My elder brothers died in childbirth. I like horses. I like tall men with long hair who play electric guitar. I don’t agree with much commentary. Except I am a follower of Marx, Trotsky and Emma Goldman. Because my father once was in combat, he is anti-war.  Today’s politics are not discussed. Sometimes I inform my mother of the Right-Wing Branding of Europe and USA. Sometimes I share that M.I.A. is my heroine. Because #muslimlivesmatter .

I would do well to encourage people to buy stamps. Especially the newest Muslim holiday stamps. To reduce harm and increase empathy.

These are days in the USA when nothing is done.

What isn’t lost. Dreams of willpower.

This is a rough draft.

 

The moon is waning now. I may attempt again the forget lost love ritual. What is good , I was able break ground to understand recurring symbols. Namely, I am very close to pure lucidity in dream life. I can fly, levitate, time travel, pass through walls, become invisible. The dreams of the past waxing moon cycle were all about performing well at work. I worked at a sea side tourist destination. My job was to park the tour bus on the dock. The passengers would transfer from bus to boat. Usually my bus would fall off the dock. But with my will.. mind control… I brought the bus back up out of the water and placed it on the dock. Levitation, telekinesis, no hands. A co-worker chided me but I paid her no mind. It was a certainty I had skills that the employers wanted, however I was unsure what my specific skills were. “The dock is small.” I said. “It’s going to take practice to park the bus there.” The light was tinged grey blue and salty. A dream of the Atlantic.

Lastly, to share a dream about the theater, I met someone who I didn’t know however we had first met in 1560. My hair was long and stylish. A 1940s wartime look. Yet there was no obvious rationing of luxury. I wore fine fabric and lipstick. I liked very much meeting this person. There was an unspoken knowledge that the person was older than me , yet I was more powerful. If I meet this one again I will ask what to do with some of my day to day goals and likewise the artistic/spiritual pursuits with myself and others.

It’s a good time for love. That which is truly yours is never lost. I dislike possession. Yet P. is altogether apart. Because of some shamanism and results with me, J, B, R, S,M it was in 1994. Something happened. The name P. was offered to us. A little fruit of recognition. I speak vaguely. I know nothing.  It is simpler for me to adapt to the ways of dreaming than to current days of technology. I did write to P. P knows nothing about what J, B, R, S and M know. But besides myself, the only other person who remembers that blue night and the crisp days that followed is J. J often hopes that I will forget about the spooky New England revels. Because J.  wants me to be happy. I’m happy. There really isn’t anything much better than group dreaming up a name only to meet the name 9½ years later.

Waning moon, introspection, willpower, and letting go of the perpetual dance.

Dream to forget lost love

I went to sleep with the intention to forget P.

Intention in dreaming is a metaphysical practice taught by many, its techniques are accessible from writings from Carlos Castaneda and his work with Don Juan. For another perspective, Florinda Donner is good too. Ideally, intentional dreaming brings lucid dreaming. I have been trained in these practices by my mother and her teacher, Dhyani Ywahoo.

The timing is off for forgetting as the moon is waxing. I can reframe the thought to waxing a growing distance from the me of 10 years ago. It’s necessary however. P. did nothing wrong. I live in another state. There are many logical reasons to let go. I thought I had successfully let go autumn 2015. Then P. was in my dream and I must turn to a more applied sort of “good fairy magic” Pardon the magical thinking; it’s a clever mnemonic to get my emotional experience to better support my current needs. Lost love makes one gloomy. I’m not used to it. Love is surfing. I like to catch waves. Maybe it is impossible to write about. But at least I can record some of its ailments and procedures.

I set all my rocks out to sunbathe. I drew herbs Yarrow and Bittersweet. I burnt copal insence and anointed myself with rose and amber.

My dream brought me to the past again. I saw myself split into two. My twin stepped out of my body as one imagines an astral projection to do. I watched my soul observing me. A different friend came onto me. Someone I never dreamt of before. I can’t write it anymore than that. In the dream the friend was single and had no kids… but it was a lie. This is what the friend told me in hopes to get me into bed. I woke unrested and grumpy about monogamists. Surely, there is enough love for everyone to share.

 

John Lennon dream, recurring

I’m aware I’m from the future in the dream. I’m visiting the past. This time I am at John Lennon and Yoko Ono’s house. It’s similar to the house I grew up in, there’s paper except nearly all of it has been written on. I write down the lyrics to imagine for John. I sing him the song too. He hasn’t yet written the song.

Recurring Dream : P.

The past week the full moon waned. I had a few dreams mostly about my past and people who used to be my friends. 80percent of people with Traumatic Brain Injury lose all their friends. It’s a statistic one can find online. Walter Reed Hospital is a good resource. They are the home base for brainline dot org and military dot brainline dot org. (I don’t feel like linking the websites. Sorry) There are many useful videos on YouTube as well.  I want to get off this topic. It’s nice to write down about dreams and it’s nice to be Ilsa Bazaar, for what it’s worth. I can pretend to be a person who keeps a dream blog and sometimes, I digress. 🙂

When I type 🙂 that means I’m smiling. 🙂

 

The dreams had Ad. and T. and P. There was dad in a few. Mom too. I was walking back from the hospital again.

I was very surprised to have P. in my dream. I already wrote goodbye forever. I have not seen P. in years. I find it too personal to write about.

I haven’t considered what happens when I dream about people I don’t have contact with anymore. I often write to people after I dream about them. I considered writing to P. but I couldn’t do it.

Maybe the message is the dream. I still care about Ad. T. and P.  It’s their choice not to want to say hi. Not very friendly of them. But certainly, it’s most likely a blessing in disguise.