6:00 AM: Visiting the Fort Worth Witches
I’m walking along a big creek or drainage ditch; I notice that there are blackberries, and I want to go down and pick them. When I do, however, I find that there are really just different berries in front of different jars and cans; this woman is trying a whole bunch of different kinds of jarred and canned berries and preserves, and she’s got a fresh berry of the different kinds in front of each one.
Then I’m talking to a pagan man from Fort Worth; he’s telling me stories about the group he knows there, and their various enmities, relationships, and adventures. It sounds like a complicated group; the dynamic sounds like it is very complex. He tells me about a woman who is using her sexuality to mess with people’s heads, and a man who thinks he’s more powerful and interesting than he is. He also tells me about how pretty the countryside is, with a lake and lots of open fields of flowers. I decide to go visit.
I am sitting with my friend now, in a small building – it reminds me of a small-town store, the back part where everybody comes to sit around and play checkers. There are about half a dozen people here, talking about events and people. A couple of different people come in – one I remember, his name is something like Hylathea; my friend picks on him because of his name, says it’s girly. He also says something about knowing him in a previous life. I eventually join in the joking and teasing; I feel a little self-conscious at first, but that fades, and I find myself laughing and joking with the rest of them. I don’t remember if the woman that he was telling me about walks in, or if we just talk about her and I get his visual image of her – she’s pretty, but not really nice, and she has screwed over several of the men in the group.
My friend decides to take me out to the lake. It’s a fairly long walk; we go through a long area of open fields with occasional trees, and lots of yellow wild flowers. As we’re walking along, I see birds swooping and landing in the flowers; I think one that I watch is a hawk, stooping on something in the flowers. I decide that is what I want to do – fly! So I just catch the wind with my hands, and take off, flying over my friend’s head. He doesn’t seem to notice that I’m flying; I wonder why he doesn’t. The sensation of flight is exhilirating. I fly higher and swoop around, enjoying the sense of the air; I see the lake ahead of us, and it has a large marshy area around it – he had mentioned something about that earlier. There are feathers of several different kinds of bird scattered around the margin of the lake; I think that I would like to collect some of them, because they would make nice flying feathers. My flying technique feels kind of strange – I am flying more out of volition than because of action, and most of my hand motions are to steer. I feel a little bit of a buzzing in my body, as if the wind is vibrating on my skin. There is a building, like a cabin, beside the lake, and I explore it while still flying. I am talking with my friend now, and he is just chatting along as if my flying while he walks is the most natural thing in the world. He is talking about the woman again, and how she would claim to be celibate for spiritual reasons, when she was really just using it as a way to control whichever man she was playing with at the time. My friend tells me that he thinks she’s unethical.