Dream: Pixie Flying Dust
Dream 20031126, 2:00 AM:
There was more dream before where this starts, but I can’t seem to get back into it.
I am in a large, almost half-outdoor room. There are several people that I know, and I remember walking up to one woman and hugging her enthusiastically and talking with her. Another person that I know, a fat man with a beard and longish hair, comes into the room, and I don’t feel inclined to talk to him. I hear him say something to someone else about how I’m ignoring him. I feel bad, and walk up to him. I start to pick up a pillow to put between us when I hug him, but decide not to and put it back down. I hug him, and ask him how he’s doing. He is crying, and I know that means that things have been rough.
Then, I’m at a Renaissance Faire type scene with a bunch of people. The people I’m with are in a long stretched out group, as if they’re a parade that has just stopped and begun to hang out. Apparently, it’s time for us to move onward, and I run to gather up a big bunch of feathers and other things on the ground so that the horses won’t step on them. I take the feathers to the lady that they belong to, who is some kind of gypsy woman. She is beautiful and kind of mysterious.
There are a few small things in the bundle that don’t belong to the gypsy woman, and I take those to their owner, who is a fairy woman – but it’s Kathleen K! She is sitting on the step of a wagon which begins to roll forward with the group. I jump up, and hand her the stuff, which includes a small antler (like a two-prong) with runes carved on it, and some other small items. She asks me if the gypsy woman is my favorite now; I say that she’s *special* to me – she’s very beautiful, and, *you know*, gypsy MAGIC. I say it like there’s some erotic aspect of the gypsy woman that I am enchanted with; I don’t feel at all embarrassed, but the sensation is akin to a blush.
Kathleen says that all she can offer is some Pixie Dust; she takes out a powder shaker, twists the top of it, and shakes out a little bit of dark green and burgundy powder onto us. It makes me feel like I’m rushing – kind of sparkly. We begin to zoom forward, seemingly without the rest of the caravan, or even the wagon we’re sitting on. I take off into the air, and ask her if she wants to go flying. She follows me, and says that she really doesn’t, but here she is doing it anyway. I just almost catch the dream nature of the situation, but don’t become lucid. I explain to her that situations like this, the Renaissance Faire, make me especially prone to suggestion, and something like the Pixie Dust is more likely to have an actual effect on me here, than in a more realistic setting.
We fly along, and find ourselves in an alley or street in front of a wall of stone. We are talking, and it’s something about her past. I notice that the walls are covered with something; it looks almost like snow, although it’s the color of sand and sticks to the walls rather than drifting at the base. There is a mark in it that implies texture or writing on the stone beneath. I ask what it means, because I know it is significant to her. I reach over and wipe the snow away with my finger, and can see a name carved in the stone; it’s something Jewish sounding, and I tell her I know what it’s about, that he didn’t just (fit her shoes?). She is crying. It seems like she told friends in school that she was going to get her shoes (or whatever it is) fitted, when she was seeing this doctor, who treated her as a child for severe psychological problems. I hug her as she cries.
Then, we’re sitting at a table outside, like a sidewalk cafe. There are white umbrellas above the tables, and an older Jewish woman is talking. She explains that nobody was willing to believe that the famous doctor (she uses the same name that was on the building, but I don’t recall it on waking) was molesting her; they told her she was lying. It seems like several people have spoken out now, and it’s finally being recognized and addressed. *end*
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