Quest 2016 Goes Deeper
Calling All Dream Readers.
I am floundering with an inability to make any decisions: Reeling from both inner and outer events.
Last night I woke at about four o’clock beset with thoughts, all repetitive and unproductive. ‘Please help me think at a deeper level’ I shot out to whomever might be listening- my hopefully deeper source of wisdom, and as the dawn broke I fell asleep.
This is the dream that I had.
I arrive with my cello to join a new, rather ragbag amateur orchestra in a University hall with odd antechambers. The rehearsal is intended to cover two parts of a concert, one relatively simple with a break between it and the next. During the break I wander into an adjacent room, chat with a few and then when the second half is about to commence I say ‘This difficult half should have been taken first while we were fresh’.
When I return the cello is not to be found. I panic and go from room to room in search of it, trying to recall where I left it. I don’t find it, and inside something dies, but I still hope.
During this search I am hailed by a group of elderly, dread-locked hippie types standing on a raised dais, and called over by name.
‘Philippa we want to talk to you’ They then proceed to introduce themselves but I cannot see their features clearly, heavy hair, makeup, very layered clothes. One says
‘I ‘m holding a shower, mine is ‘white flour’. Another says his is ‘fabric scraps’, another seems to have piles of wool. I wonder what a ‘shower’ means. The only kind I know are baby showers, but these people are inviting me to receive their varied offerings. As I depart one gives me a bag of something.
I wander into a large hippie market hall ( many peddling varied tat like an open fete in Glastonbury), where near the entrance the bag given to me bursts. A pile of white flour lands on the floor. I realise that was the literal meaning of white flour, and I am stuck with the consequences of the ‘gift’. One peddler says ‘You’d better clear that up’. I have nothing to use except my hands and take a two handed scoop of flour (about half the pile) and walk out to dispose of it.
Outside I see a series of watercourses with clear clean water trained over a series of steps, falls, pools. I realise if I dispose of the flour there it will ‘cloud’ the clear water. But nowhere is clear of running water so I dispose where it will do the least damage. I then see a pile of thick rust coloured mud and take a large scoop of this intending to get it to soak up the remaining flour. When I return inside a peddler comes up, looks at the mud and says ‘Delicious. Have you tasted it?’ He rolls a small pellet and offers it to me. It is faintly sweet, but not unpleasant, yet I feel this is a kind of duping, persuading me that mud is ‘food’.
As I depart a Japanese man is embarking on a humerous ‘Act’ in and out of a straw African type hut. He disappears inside.
I wake up. This image captures what remains.
I have some clear ideas about this dream but before I articulate them I would rather hear from others (you?). I had such truly helpful suggestions about the ‘three fountains’ dream that I seek what might be called ‘the innocent view’ without corrupting it with circumstances that might skew your interpretations. I know it was a very important contribution to my current conflict.
By Farsee50 (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons
By Rept0n1x (Own work) [GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html) or CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons
PHI lippa. Letters of Love 