Dream: Visit from the Alien Spacecraft

dream 20020305: Visit from the Alien Spacecraft

I’m sitting on the back lawn, but it’s not this house – the back lawn overlooks a slope leading down to a beautiful valley. The lawn itself is a smooth expanse of grass, no trees or flowerbeds. A sleek looking space craft appears, apparently from nowhere, and does some maneuvers in the air before settling to the ground. A door opens up, and I can see people inside, but then the door closes, and it lifts off and goes away.

Then another ship lands, but in a different place – I recognize this one as being a US craft. I go toward it as it opens – this one opens by the top lifting up from the bottom, and there are people inside. One of them comes out, and grabs me by the arm – he wants information on the other craft. I try to explain to him that it just landed briefly and I didn’t even hear any of them speak, but the man keeps wanting information. A crew comes out of the craft and starts measuring and marking where the alien craft had landed; it left a patterned brand mark on the grass that looks like a plan of the ship. Now it seems like it’s inside and not outside any more; there is a big crowd gathering around us, watching the men measuring and photographing the landing marks. I think it’s just a phase shift, though; I don’t think they covered the yard. There is a man here, and he asks me about how the Turtle Creek Chorale is doing; I tell him that they’re doing fine, just had a good concert season… he points a remote control at an area of empty space, and a screen pops down – there is a picture there of a young man carrying what looks like three paintings hinged together, but larger than a usual trypich. On the back of one of them, it says BMP3 – he’s apparently British Majesty Paul the Third. It’s like a news interview – he’s explaining that he’s giving this piece of artwork to America to help out; he says, “And because your plane got saudered and mine didn’t.”

Then the screen rolls up and disappears. The people are about to leave – I tell them that they had better do something to protect the land site if they want to keep people from walking on it – there is quite a crowd here, but they seem totally disinterested in the land site, they are just having a party. The guys from the US space craft place some little signs around the land area – they have “KEEP CLEAR” printed on them in block letters, and then above that is written “DANGER” – but it’s broken up, so that some signs have DA and some hav NG and some have ER, and some have just one letter. This part is written in black marker. They remind me of the signs that they use in the bin at McDonald’s to mark when food was prepared.

Dream: Waymark and Jupiter

Last night was an active dreaming night.

dream 20020305: Waymark and Jupiter.

This dream was hauntingly beautiful.

It begins as a sort of travelogue – I hear my voice, as if I am reading out my travel diary. I am traveling with someone – we sleep outdoors under the stars, and I can see our walking sticks silhouetted against the moon-bright sky. His is shaped like the sigil for Jupiter; mine is more like a serpent, or a sign showing curves in the road. I think that’s where I got our names; Waymark and Jupiter.

As I am lying beside him one night, drifting up from sleep, I lean over and whisper to him that Cuhullain has whispered to me in my dreams. It seems very significant to me, but he is very sleepy and doesn’t want to listen.

Then I finally return to my people. I realize that I’m a woman – long hair and a dress. We are a Goddess-worshipping folk. I am telling my people the tale of my journeys – and I tell about Cuhullain whispering to me. I am walking along beside a bunch of square holes, almost like soldier trenches, in the ground – I am banging my shield against them in a pattern, and I say something about how there was much banging of shields among the Saxons.

Then I lie down on what looks like the seat part of a picnic table. There are people sleeping on similar benches; there is stuff piled on the table parts. I have to draw up one knee so that the person who is sleeping at the other end has room; we both sleep in a position like the tarot Hanged Man. The person at the other end is my daughter. She is composing a song about my journeys, chanting it softly as she works. She says something about how Minerva had smiled on me, and how she was proud of me – I look up, and see a young woman with blond hair and a red velvet dress – I am suprised to be able to see the red glowing in the moonlight . The girl dashes off; I ask who it is, and my daughter tells me a name; it is just one of the children, but I think that I saw a vision of the Goddess in her for a moment.

Real World

Well, today was a good day. Woke up late, decided there was nothing crucial happening first thing in the morning, so went back to bed for a while… when I finally got out of bed (noonish) Chris got up and made these FANTASTIC chocolate-chip banana muffins out of a new book I got at Whole Foods… nobody would guess they’re wheat-free. He and I have both enjoyed reading that book – most of the books have been the results of people learning to cook and working around this weird intolerance – this one is what happens when a classically trained French chef turns her considerable talents on the challenges of gluten-free baking. Lots of meringues and nut flours and heavy egg treatments – I’m looking forward to trying many of these recipes. I’ve always had an impression that there are different realms of cooking… one for ordinary folks, and one for professionals. I’ve seen this stuff happen on rare occasions – like when my friend Christina made this chocolate-raspberry Velvet. Before that, I was a mere acolyte in the religion of chocolate – I didn’t know of mysteries like Ganache and Chocolate Pate’. I think that at a certain point, chocolate has a matter-density effect sort of like extra-dense stars… and you find yourself looking up from the event horizon, wondering if you’ll ever escape, or want to. This book explains some of the really intensive stuff in a way that I can understand. This woman must live next to a dairy farm and a poultry farm, though… I’m glad she didn’t list anything so trivial as fat grams. Whole Cream and Egg Yolks and Melted Chocolate, Oh My! Look out Raspberry Genoise, here I come.

Then after I got showered and dressed, I went to the Indian grocery (where I get my flours – it’s a bit of a trip, but a LOT cheaper than getting them from Whole Foods or the like) and then to Sam’s (for forty pounds of baking soda, and another book on dessert baking, which is also really cool) and then back home – then Chris and I went out to Sur La Table, down in the Travis Walk area, which has every cooking tool you could possibly want to have. Of course, they’re pricey… but if you just have to have a mini-brioche pan, or a springerle cookie mold, it’s your store. It’s beautiful inside, too… and they do cooking classes there, so it smells wonderful all the time. Quite an experience. Then we went to Williams Sonoma, and basically wandered through long enough to conclude that it has nothing on Sur La Table as far as cool cookery… then dinner, then home. Just baked off a batch of chocolate chip cookies – nothing gourmet, but sure are yummy! Chris is still too full from dinner to try them. We had Mexican tonight, but had ribs last night… Tony Roma’s is one of the places on my Safe List, as long as I choose foods carefully – and they had an “endless slab” special. Yum. Chris is sure that he’s still full from then.

It’s fast approaching bedtime, so if I have to get the kitchen cleaned up and sorted out and my clothes ready for tomorrow. Chris has a second interview tomorrow, so I’m hoping that this time next week, he will be coming home tired but happy from a New Job.

Miscellaneous, plus dream: Bees in the Greenhouse

Saturday morning – I wish I could say that I had slept in and was refreshed and delighted to be alive – but instead, I woke up early, came to work, and I’m kind of grumpy about being awake. Chris’s schedule and mine haven’t meshed well over the past month or so; he gets in from work late, and keyed up; he needs to read a while, watch TV, eat something… and I have to wake up early for work. He tries to keep it quiet, so I can sleep – but it’s tough. I’m hoping that he will get a “real job” soon and won’t have to work nights any more.

That said, I’m not entirely sure why I’m sitting here setting up a LiveJournal when I ought to be diligently filing or typing or spread-sheeting something – I guess it’s partly a reaction to not wanting to be here, or even conscious, early on a Saturday… partly just a general feeling of being disconnected from my work stuff. I love my job, and love the place where I work – but sometimes I get sort of sideways to the actual day-to-day stuff that’s involved.

This morning’s dreams were lost in a cloud of groggy disorientation, but the one from 2:30 when Chris came to bed was very clear:

Bees in the Greenhouse
I’m in an old house; I think that Chris and I have just bought it, or inherited it, or something. The walls and floors are wood, and there are several areas that are sort of rough-cut, like they’re in the process of being renovated. I walk through a down-stairs room – it seems like a basement, with a dirt floor, but at the same time there is no ceiling, and it’s open all the way up to the roof, which is very bright. My little greenhouse is here on the floor; I look at it, and somehow step into it (in reality, it’s way too small – only about knee height). I think Chris is here with me; I’m talking with him about the greenhouse. I realize after we’re inside of it, that a hive of bees has taken up residence in the greenhouse; they are set up in the top area where the lights go. I’m not afraid of them, I’m fascinated with them – I step on a couple, because there are so many, but the only fear I have is that I’ll crush them and hurt them. One or two sting my feet, but they don’t hurt much. We carefully climb back out of the greenhouse, and we’re talking about how the bees are living inside the house – I notice a little space in the trim of one of the windows where they’re flying in and out. I look up to the ceiling – and it’s glass, with vines growing around it; it’s very pretty. Now, we’re lying in bed, and somehow the greenhouse is half over the foot of the bed – I remark that it’ll be safe because the covers are thick enough to keep the bees off of our feet, but we’ll have to be careful not to shake the greenhouse and jar them. I have an image of taking apart a wild hive – lifting the layers of comb apart from each other. There aren’t bees on it.

(I think that in real life, my feet were falling asleep, and tingling somewhat – I was lying flat on my back, an unusual sleeping position for me. I think this was the “bee stings” I was feeling, translated into the dream.)

More later. I’m trying to figure out how to set up all the stuff that goes with this…