The way this works is that one takes all the important symbols/people and becomes them. Speak from the "I am" perspective: "I am X, and I represent Y, etc."
So here are the dream summaries:
Dream #1: I was in what looked to be a big barn conversion with folks from work - it was light and looked like a fashion designer's room, actually, or the costume room at a play/production - and we were doing some kind of Christmas pageant at the party. X came in with an armful of dresses that looked medieval: long sleeved, full-length cream chemises with overdresses, something like this, but with a rounded neck and more velvety in texture:
They were also in deep jewel tones: red, blue, green. I asked X if there were enough - she said that yes, there were plenty. I allowed others to go first: P got a small, G a medium and then it was my turn, as I passed G & P adjusting their overdresses.
I flipped through the dresses with anticipation, but nothing in my size, or rather, a large in a colour I didn't want (or there was something else wrong with it). I went ballistic, at which point the barn went dark and I delivered an outburst that shows how little I really trust the world: "What the FUCK? You said there were plenty. NO ONE ever tells me what's really happening. Everyone got what they wanted. No one made sure there was something for me. There's NEVER anything for me."
I stormed out under the disapproving gaze of Y and the stunned countenances of all the others - into pure manure. Not frozen, not even dry - boggy manure that sucked your foot in up to the ankle. I was so angry, I was shaking and ready to cry. X followed me out, walking with me across the (interestingly, also indoor) manure and stood by me as I went over the stile and gate, trying to listen, calm me down and let me know it could be sorted.
Some pretty obvious stuff here, but it goes very deep, so I'll want to be:
- The dresses
- the manure field
- G &/or P, possibly
- the barn, I think
Then we'll work from there.
I was near Cape Town, having just been driven out of it along the highway by a woman I don't know IRL. Interestingly, we were driving on the right side of the road, which is wrong. CPT was to our left - she blessed it as we passed - and we pulled into a layby.
I was barefoot, and stepped out onto an asphalt walkway covered in broken glass. I thought about putting on shoes, but she told me to trust, so I kept walking, and looked up to see a two story peach coloured stucco house - something like this:
We went to the top floor, and there was a gorgeous room: part canteen, part game area, part shop area. but more generally all purpose room full of black boys and young black men. Our arrival turned some heads, but they kept on what they were doing: some studying crafts, some playing, some working the canteen - but all happy. There was broken glass being used ornamentally in the jet black tables, and clearly some used in the stained glass windows in the room.
I stood in awe, feeling electricity running through me as she said, "They were all orphaned and left to die, look what they've done."
My last thought before I woke up was that the friend I was in Cape Town with NEEDED to know about this.
Here, I need to be:
- Friend driving
- Road (why on the wrong side?)
- Broken glass
- Possibly the boys as a collective; the whole idea
- Possibly CPT itself: what did it represent, why was I there? This feels tied to a dream I had about the Southern Cross months ago.
Those will be the subjects of the next blog entry or so. Stay tuned.