(I did not make the marbled paper. But I'm going to learn how to do that.)
It's been years since I've kept a dream journal--though many dreams (mostly about the dead) have been blogged about here. I'm taking a class about dream journaling where we make the journals and learn some tips about capturing the dreams. The process has surprised me. In the past three weeks I've learned that I'm still processing the end of my marriage, that I'm often trying to please people or to get something right in my dreams and not quite succeeding at it. I've had several dreams of the future with new iterations of current everyday things, and I dream of a future Earth with rising water, intense heat, mounting corruption, and shrinking resources. It's as if I am dreaming the dreams the Earth herself might dream. One night last week, I dreamed I had lung surgery, and the next morning I read an article about the burning of the Amazon in which the Amazon rain forest was described as the lungs of the planet.
I've also had two classic actor's nightmares and a naked dream which fit well with the kookie idea of making books out of paper bags with secret compartments where you can hide a troubling dream and maybe even glue it or sew it inside.
I've learned techniques for delving into dreams.
And there's something good about forcing one's self to write first thing in the morning. The co-ordination of eye and hand, the exercising of memory and beginning the day wondering what all of those midnight workings of the brain mean.
When getting dressed choose to wear a color that appeared in the dream is one of the tips from class. I meant to do that this morning but forgot.
Today I went to the gigantic Minneapolis central farmer's market and couldn't take my eyes off this plant.
I was wearing a green raincoat in last night's dream about a bicycling trip wherein I pulled a little trailer with all my gear. In the dream I was maybe 30, and I was traveling with good friends. In my waking life I don't know these friends, and I find that detail fascinating.
The plant is called "Mother of Thousands. It's easy to see why. Whenever it catches my eye, I say a prayer for the Amazon.
|It's in the candleholder that was in Dan's bedroom.|