Archive for September, 2007

Plane Wing


Hanging out with three friends. One is an herbalist, one is Martin Crane from Frasier. We get on an airplane wing, sitting two-by-two, take liquid pharmaceuticals and then ride into the evening. I keep my left leg from dangling by putting it up by the herbalist. The first time I have my shoes on and he can handle it. The second time, I have by socks off and he can’t take it–he really doesn’t like bacteria. This is quite a surprise, he seems like such an earthy guy. We all talk a lot. Later we’re in a living room and I ask Martin when he became afraid of water, meaning dreams. He’s behind a bookcase grabbing something and he doesn’t hear. Still, I like talking about dreams.

Wake: So, I am taking an herb class with 2 others and the teacher. I like it very much. Before bed, I asked brown bear and seed crystal where I should best direct my energy. Then I find myself with the herb group :). When I woke up Kevin said that I had been having an in depth conversation in my sleep–but he couldn’t remember the details. I wonder about what makes dreams different that one ends up talking out loud, and clearly or unclearly.


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Crystal Selenium Fish

I’m in a small booth/room, like part of a market or craft fare. I’m looking at crystals for sale. There are less than ten crystals, and that is all the lady is selling. The room is empty besides the card table and bed. The lady behind the card table looks like she leads a very unhealthy lifestyle. She is gravely and rough around the edges, but not unfriendly. The colors are golden in the room. One of the crystals is very large, it looks like part of a fish, like the middle part with no tail or head, but a fin along the top (it seems to be naturally occurring, not shaped into the form). The crystal looks like a geode in color—purples and clear and some gray-blues, but clearer than a geode. I think it is selenium. When I hold the crystal is it not just an intensified energy flow like a normal potent rock, nope, this is high voltage, like electricity. She tells me, “yeah, I get a little energy off that one.” I laugh to myself, “Yup, it has a little energy.”

This fish crystal is $175, there is another one that is the same material but is smaller and looks like a regular crystal formation, it is only $65. I mention to her that the fish one is a little expensive. When I look at it this time, it does not have the fin all the way across the top. She replies, “Yeah, but look at it.” Clearly there is no argument. The fish crystal is worth it, I am just not sure if I should spend the money. I look at it again and see that there are water pockets on the outside and little orange fish—the size of minnows—are swimming through them. There is one pocket on the fin that is the shape of a hand, and the tip of the middle finger extends to another hand shaped pocket on the opposite side. Fish can swim on either side of the fin. She explains that you can hold your hands over the fin pockets to warm up the fish. It is such a beautiful crystal, but I am not sure about the money, so I leave.

Coco, the dog, pulls on his leash to get me over to Kevin, where he is standing in the courtyard. He has a poem to show me. Well, we go up over a roof first (more direct by smell, I guess) and we could get there by going in through someone’s apartment. I open the trap door on the roof and see someone talking. Instead I take us down and around to the courtyard. Kevin is being bashful and has written his poem on a soft metal umbrella (tin I guess). It is so high up that I have to jump up and sit on a sculpture of a rearing horse in order to read it.

Later I am in a shop that he shares with another lady. Who is this lady? I don’t know. The colors are golds and yellow/golds throughout the courtyard and the shop. They are setting up the window gradually, but it will take a long time before it is all ready—months maybe.
I go back to the shop to buy the crystal. It is still there—I was worried that it would be gone. Unfortunatly the woman is gone, so I have no one to give my money. I stand there, unsure what to do.


First of all, the drawing: I know it is bad, but I just got this graphics tablet and I’m experimenting. I had a lot of fun with the gold fish pocket.

Secondly: Selenium, hmmm… maybe I need some extra selenium. I read up on it and found that it can be implicated in low thyroid…while it is very uncommon to have a deficiency, most of the sources are meat, and I am a life long vegetarian. I shall do some selenium experimentation. And I will also save a little money in case of a crystal buying emergency. (I had been thinking about my financial planning, and I never do plan for money for special crystals that I meet.)

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Unicorn Reflections

I put my Flying Unicorns dream up on the World Dream Bank. Wayan’s comments were helpful, they made me think about the dream more deeply and made me realize how much I miss being part of a dream group.

One thing Wayan said, was “I wonder if Lily is the unicorn, pulled out of her art-making heaven and forced down to earth by a job that sounds about as fun as cancer treatments. Grounded!”

It is true that I have been sick (not with cancer) for the last 4-5 years, and the sickness forced me to get grounded. The sickness made it hard for me to do anything, including my art. Getting grounded and reconnecting with the earth energy has not only made me feel a lot better physically, but is also leading me deeper into my art practice.

Cancer is something that comes up often for me as an archetypal illness in dreams, etc. It’s hard to say what it means for me. The energy of cancer is hard for me to deal with—no problem on an individual level, but very hard for me to say, go on a hospital floor full of cancer patients for any length of time.

Another Wayan observation: “The unicorn with cancer coming to Earth for healing: is the dream hinting she’s stoic, doesn’t care for herself properly because she doesn’t want to be a bother? She says “Oh, I’m fine” but seems more relaxed with the blanket on. Is there a message here?”

The unicorn says she’s okay without the blanket. The blanket doesn’t address her illness, but it does make her feel better. Similarly, this summer I finally allowed myself to be adequately treated with Synthroid for my Hashimoto’s thyroiditis. The pills don’t address the underlying autoimmune disorder, which bothers me, and I am not a fan of taking pills for the rest of my life, so I tried to get by on as little as possible until a few months ago. For the first time in years I feel mentally competent and am no longer suffering from chronic minor, yet thoroughly aggravating physical problems. Thank goodness! While I still hope to turn over the underlying problem through natural medicine, why not feel human during the process. Apparently it will take a miracle for my immune system to stop attacking my thyroid, so really I have nothing to lose. The blanket is pink, a color I enjoy, but associate with candy coating and artificiality–further confirming this parallel between the blanket as a treatment for cancer and my pills, comfort measures.

Wayan: “The dog-nail needed to make the unicorns’ gift work. The biggest one doesn’t fit; the best is the nail from the next-to-smallest. The equivalent of our ring finger? Mysterious because it’s so specific. Just “size isn’t everything”, or something more? Lily doesn’t mention if she has a dog, or a wedding ring, or anything else that’d make that particular finger/toe symbolic. But I wonder.”

I identify this as being the same as the “old black glove” from a prior dream. The old black glove was a dream I used for my last installation of Fly Awake. (Insert Picture.) Both the gun and the glove refer to a mudra, or gesture, used to focus energy. I often use this mudra in meditation, and it does remind me of play guns. The dog nail? I do have a dog, but the nails were not like his. I associate dogs with loyalty—faith in the mudra perhaps. I associate nails, with correctness—as in, “hit the nail on the head”—obviously different kinds of nails, but still that is the association.


One thing came up recently in regard to the second to smallest finger. I was reading about the use of silver. In His book “Gem Elixirs and Vibrational Healing, Vol. 1” Gurudas says, “Where silver upon either small index finger.” I was very perplexed by this…which finger is the small index finger? Perhaps this is an answer to that question–the ring finger.
Lately I have come back to the “old black glove” mudra, but for a while I was mostly using my hands to connect with the earth—get grounded. While I find that I really like using the mudra to focus my mind, now I am more connected to my energy, and the Earth’s, making the mudra not as necessary.

Thanks to Wayan for making me think more about the dream. Stop by the World Dream Bank—it’s getting bigger and bigger. Add a dream or just enjoy what others are sharing.

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Art Show, Mud, Good Vibes

Dream: I walk into my art show with Ben. I can’t believe how big the space is. It’s amazing that I filled it, and really filled it too, not my normal minimal style–there are pictures everywhere. I am kind of glad I didn’t have to face it as an empty room, much less stressful to see the final presentation of my work than worry about installation. Most of the stuff is paintings and drawings, watercolors, oils… It kind of surprises me, because it is just not like my current work. Well, actually it is all the sketches behind my current work. There is another (small) room. I look in and I apparently have filled that room too. The images are smaller (like the room). These images are like the sketches for the sketches you could say. Some of the pictures I recognize as mine, others, not yet.

We walk around, everyone is happy and smiling. There are lots of people there. I sent out five packets of my work to different galleries, and got at show at this one. It seems Ben helped me out too, maybe by his art world influence. Ben walks me over and introduces me to this middle-aged man sitting behind the desk in the gallery. He is the one who curated my show. He looks unimpressed (it seems to be a constant state for him), he tells me, “I’m in charge of women’s art”. As in: this is what he curates. I wonder if that is the reason he picked my stuff, which seems to be a little lamer than just liking my work a lot. Then he walks away, slightly stooped, slightly potbellied, gray hair, holding a paper cup.

I am ready for some air. I try to fly to go outside. Partly I just want to fly and partly I want to show off a little. I feel a little bad about this motivation, but no one notices my efforts anyway. It is hard to fly because I am so tired–I am not sure I am going to make it, but I do. I get out doors (it’s a night time opening) and try to land on an electrical wire. Instead I just hit it with my back. It doesn’t shock me, I guess because I am not touching anything else/not grounded. I land on the ground in the mud, and decide to lay down and rest there–get grounded after the party. Ben comes out and I am worried for a minute that he will think I am immature for laying on the ground like this. (I think I am wearing my white dream dress from my photos.) He smiles and he says, “you are everything I could imagine.” As in: love. He lays beside me and holds my hand. I move my head closer to his and at first he thinks that I am trying to get more space and he moves his head away. Then he realizes what I want and he moves his head closer to mine. We lay there happily for a while in the cool night.


What is up? I have no idea what happened to get such cool dreams the last couple nights. All I have been doing is working too much, poking people at the hospital, over and over again. Blood, complaints, some chilling, but work nonetheless. Actually my work is interesting, because more and more I see how peoples reactions have so very little to do with what/whoever they are supposedly reacting to. For example, I will walk into two patient’s rooms and inform them that I am going to start and IV, one person will say “That is so great, I am so glad someone who knows what they are doing is here–thank you!”; the other person: “Oh my God, can this night get any worse? You’ll never be able to get my veins.” Sometimes I still get annoyed by the not so pleasant people, but overall it is making me not take either extreme very seriously.

Back to dreams: anyways, I guess with all this work I have been really bumming about not getting to do art. For a while the creative juice wasn’t really flowing the way it used to. Now the ideas are coming I just don’t have time to do much with them. These dreams are wish fulfillment–facilities to do art, time to do art (another dream last night where I lived in an art house with Kevin), and space to show my art. Also, today is a galactic activation portal, and I usually dream more exciting dreams at those times. Galactic activation portals are part of the Mayan calendar system, they are times when you are more likely to be open to receiving information from higher/other sources. Also, Monday was my Guru’s Mahasamadhi–when he finally gave up His body and merged more completely with the universe. Days of spiritual potency often bring more intense dreams for me. Basically I feel like I have been very lucky and I can’t wait to dream some more and work on my art in all my spare moments.

The art in my dream is my old style: My goal with my dream (art) work was to bridge the more abstract and often channeled work I used to do in painting and drawing and the very refined minimalist work I do in photography. I do think its working, and maybe that is part of what the dream is saying. That it is presentable. Even if it doesn’t all look perfect, like I like my photos to look, it makes up a great big show. Hmmm…

And, Ben: Well this is someone from my past, an art person that I had a crush on and worked with. But in the dream he really acts as much like Kevin (fiancé) as he does himself, for example: the perfect response to my internal worries, smiles and handholding. But Ben does mean devoting your life to art and that is something I would like to dream up a lot more of in the waking time.

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Dream:  I am sitting  in a grassy  open area  on a hilltop with two friends.  We are watching the flying unicorns. It is a blue sky with only a few white puffs of clouds. There are three unicorns. They prance around in straight lines like they are on the ground (someone points this out). Sometimes they have small white parachutes on and they float up and down. They come nearer to us and then go far away. I focus inward and really hope that they come close. The unicorns come back and land on the Earth–much to my surprise and delight! They sit and talk with us. Part of the reason that they have come down to Earth is because one of them has cancer.


We are all sitting around in a circle. The unicorn with cancer is lying on my left. I cover her up with a pink blanket, even though she says she is okay. Still, when the blanket is on her she looks more comfortable. We talk for a while very comfortably. Then we have dreams where the unicorns come and visit. In mine they tell me that I am having trouble cleansing at night because I am eating snacks too late. We wake up on the hill and we all say how we dreamt of the unicorns. I ask them what their dreams were to see if they were different or the same. One of my friends explains that in his there were chickens.  Ah! So the unicorns had a special message for each of us.

I am in a car in the passenger seat. I have been given a present by one of the unicorns. I unwrap it. It looks like an orange/red plastic toy gun. The tip of the gun is missing (in a sawed off kind of way). The instructions are to put a dog nail (paw nail) into the slot. I have five nails on the ground at my feet–these are complete nails that almost look like there is a little bit of paw attached. I think the biggest one will be the best so I try that first. It ends up that the second to smallest is the one that fits.

I point the gun ahead of me and it supports me, protects me and makes me go faster where I want to go.

I sit on my blue asan, and point the gun forward. I speed past many things. Then I slow down and I can’t get it to go faster. I look and see a team of police officers coming my way. I realize if I had still been speeding I would have been caught by the police officers. Once I get past them I am able to go fast again.

I don’t have the gun anymore, and I don’t see where I left it. I find that I am now able to direct things with my hands. I don’t know where I am going, but my hands allow me to get there fast and easily. I finally stop inside a building, right outside a darkroom and printmaking studio. It is very run down and I don’t have my supplies with me but I am going in and going to get to work–I miss it so much. There is a man there–in his thirties with long curly brown hair. He manages the studio. There are three used iPods hanging on the wall. He doesn’t really look at me, but he picks one and offers it to me to use while I work.  Just what I needed.

I am talking to someone. I am in different clothes–dressed nicer, in some pink sweater. It must be different day, but still at the studio. I tell them I used to do printmaking and photography for the beauty of it, but now it is different.

Wake: Now it’s about telling a story/sharing an experience.  Before the images needed to look totally complete individually, now they should look incomplete without their companion  images, stories, and sound.

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Chandra shows me the secret passage to the underworld. You have to go through the tiny panal. It’s about the size of a fuse-box, but I slip through easily. You cannot go through the larger door next to it, that looks like a dresser, you may only leave through that door. Inside it is like being the base of a giant tree, or maybe in the earth. Across a space about as big as the average bathroom, with roots hanging down is the doorway to the actual underworld. Before you get there, gray ghosts that have a physical presence will confront/attack you.

I leave and tell some people about this secret passage. I go back to try to make it all the way into the underworld. All the people I’ve told rush past me and many enter through the wrong door–the dresser like door. When I get inside I am alone, except for the gray ghost mirror image twins that are my chihuahua Coco. He keeps bothering me and getting in my face. I try to smash the two heads together and beat him off of me. But, in the underworld you have to be very direct and say exactly what you want in order to get through. I tell him he is being inappropriate and to stop jumping on me. He stops, but I wake up before I get across the way and into the door to the underworld.


Ah! Clear direct communication comes up again in relation to the underworld.  What is the underworld? Our dark shadow self, with all the uglies rearing their heads. Who are the physical ghosts? Neither black nor white, these are beings that will listen if we communicate directly, are they just excuses we use to not face the hairier parts of ourselves. The other day I was wrestling with Kevin, he was tickling me insanely. I tried to equally harrass him to get him to stop. It didn’t work at all, but finally I got so pissed, I yelled “Stop it!” And he did. Clear, direct communication. Not getting what you want? Are you even letting the world know what it is that you want?

Also with manifestation. I use visualization a lot. Usually I do this when my worries are getting to me. To counteract my fears, I will visualize a favorable outcome. Lately I have been trying saying clearly what I want, along with visualization. It seems to be working all the better. So maybe that is what this mysterious 5th chakra of communication is all about! So obvious, yet easier to theorize than to say it appears!

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