Catpaws Cafe

Random musings from my virtual fountain pen

Archive for the month “June, 2012”

Dreamtime parallel worlds

YESTERDAY I slammed back in the body from where/whenever I had just been thanx to hubbys mobile phone ringing, resulting physically in a sore body, stiff neck and a headache.  Why am I even writing about this?  Because the ‘’dream’’ I was having was no ordinary dream.

I no doubt came back after a visit to a parallel existence.  Here’s some of it:-

 

One of the first things I that impressed me was how clean and scrubbed everything was, like if no dust ever happened here.  We were all outside, a random group of people were making music, and there were people sitting at large round tables, big enough to comfortably seat 6-8, and heavy wood-like chairs.  As a visitor I was free to choose or move between the groups of people.  On the ground thick grass, to the north tall trees, pleasantly warm and no mosquitos.  After a while I had a walk around exploring and found an old LP cover pinned up on  an inside wall in what could only be described as a kind of open air museum.  I noted that I recognized one of the songs and found, somewhat surprising, I could not remember all the words or I could have sang it as a contribution to the 30 or so people gathered.

In this peaceful place I experienced two sunsets – or was it the same one twice? – and when the sun set, it was yellow and the same size as when we see it in the sky (and not as seen through the slightly magnifying lens of our earths atmosphere, pollution aiding in making it extra colourful, check with the Slooh scientists if you don’t believe me).  For the last minute or so the sun was beaming symbols  like a slow strobe,  not morse code nor hieroglyphs but very distinct none the less.

I remember pointing out to no one in particular that the sun was sending us a message in code.  At the time I was sitting in at a meeting taking place on the second floor of one of  the buildings to the left, and Rene (very wise and radiant and looking 10 years younger) said –Write it down so you know the first time you saw it, it might become important to know.  And I got the idea that not just for my own records but as proof of something one day.   

As a gift I was given a small gadget which told not the time but the date and month (no year).  The date was 9 April but the 12 April also showed as I tried to figure out how it worked.

I also looked into an other of the ‘’cottages’’ (not the right word but the best I can find to describe the wooden buildings, old both in age and style, think early 1900, but well preserved) where there appeared to be some kind of sewing workshop.  Again very clean, bright and airy (sky-windows) in the relatively small space, room following onto room, the brands of the machines unknown to me, models I’ve never seen (like the 2 tier one!)  The last room featured a large glassed in balcony that looked out over a rather narrow empty beach and what I knew to be the sea… Strange how the building appeared to be a portal; from the tables on the inside you could see none of the tall buildings set a little bit back the beachfront, nor hear the sea. 

I heard something about prisoners working doing the sewing, and to that I say I would not have minded working in such a nice place prisoner or not!  A few sample outfits were hanging up, all very well made and nice looking.

I also saw a man drown, and very peacefully die in the arms of his friend (another prisoner) both getting caught in a wave on the beach they were not supposed to be on.  On the seaside so much looked so grey, whereas on the other the colours were rich, even the white wood.

I went back through the (former) house (?) to the tables and the friendly discussions taking place at them, and that’s where I was when the phone went off.

 

When I entered the kitchen to make some coffee and write this down, our resident muse purred and chirped new cat words  in a whole new frequency I’ve never heard before…  curiouser and curiouser…

What got my attention occurred later in the day as I was scrolling through my fb newsfeed, as there was one of the ‘’symbols’’ having appeared as a crop-circle that very same night!  (17th June near Frome in Somerset, UK)  Later in the evening I came across a photo of another, this one a couple of weeks old and from Italy, on the page of an other friend.  And no, I do not pick friends on the basis of being interested in this particular topic.  I am not what you’d call a crop circle person, and altho I appreciate their beauty I have never experienced one first hand or had much of an interest in this phenomenon.

Generally speaking symbols and symbolism is a bit wasted on me.  I have little (read no) visual memory and I’m a word-girl, not an image one.  That said, when these showed up right in front of me I recognized them somehow.  Don’t ask me how.

I admit to have scoffed a little (in the relative privacy of my own head) at these recent and in comparison rather plain crop circles… ‘’easy to make with a plank and a piece of rope’’…  Now I’m not so sure, and even if they turn out to be man-made what is to say the inspiration didn’t come from the same source.  With all the solar flares, storms and general solar activity, maybe the sun herself transmitted the message.  Maybe one day we will know.

Dreams and other Worlds

I think my husband probably knows me better than anyone else.  He is my best friend as well as my beloved  and one thing that stood out from the beginning was that I felt completely at ease with him.  I know I described this to my friends  as feeling safe, but time has refined it to at ease.

With him there’s no pretense, I am myself wholly and unreservedly and that was a first in a romantic relationship for me.  My spiritual life, my introverted self and my crazy nutty side are all seen and accepted, as is the dreamer, the writer and the psychic.  The person who starts a lot of projects but finishes few, sometimes because I get bored, other times out of fear of failure.  The woman who talks to discarnates, animals and sometimes even plants but not very many humans.  The one who wants to help so much and cries sometimes because nobody wants what she has to offer.   The me who loves a quiet coffee with the cat upon rising while my body slowly wakes up too…

One (of my two) best friends growing up was Cathie (not her real name).  Our dads were best friends from their school days and about once a month (or sometimes more often) we’d get together for the weekend and a lot of fun was had over the years.  In the summer our families would sometimes go caravanning together for a couple of weeks too.  When we were old enough to write Cathie and I would exchange letters on a weekly basis and when I got a bit older I’d spend a week with their family during the summer holidays.

Cathie was the pretty and popular girl at her school ( a Piscean) while I was the odd one out  at mine; awkward, self-conscious, wise waaaay beyond my years, forever making things and writing.  We both loved reading, horses,  and dancing.  In a sense I recognize the two of us in the girls in the novel Beaches (made into a movie starring Bette Midler) but who was who is debatable!

Then I left home around 16 and for reasons unknown at least to me, we lost contact.  I invited her to come and stay with me in the big city for a weekend, to go shopping and to the cinema etc, but she always declined and stopped writing too.  We met once more, a family get together at their home and had a good time with some of her friends and boyfriend, but the connection between us was no longer there.  Soon the birthday and Xmas cards fizzled out too.

Their whole family was invited to my first wedding in 1995, but only her dad showed.  A few years later I heard via my dad that she was thinking about meeting up for a day in London, but by then I was simply not interested.  If she could not even contact me herself, why should I blow 2 months savings from my underpaid job for a couple of hours?  I declined and told my dad that after over 20 years of nothing she could start by writing (or phone) me herself.  Not a word, which was fine with me.

To me that incident  felt similar to when I first went to college and the in-crowd (who had ignored me for years and never even acknowledged my presence with a simple hello) suddenly wanted to be ‘’friends’’ and come and visit.  They all got politely turned down.  If I wasn’t cool enough to be friends with before, it was certainly not me they were suddenly interested in, just a place to crash for free on their shopping and clubbing outing.  My friends were always welcome.

Then last night, in a different time, world and space… with a different past, we met again for a weekend at some retreat with people we both knew.  We’d just turned 31 and 32 respectively.  I was married to my now husband (who I met when I was 40 btw).  Cathie and I were two of few people who were practically sober.  Some had gone to their chalets/cabanas, others were falling asleep in the common on the rattan sofas and beanbags.  We were sat on the back of her truck (?)  flicking through an old photo album with pictures from our youth, laughing and remembering.  Kodak instamatic days…  Once again we were long lost sisters catching up.  We’d been walking and talking for hours while the others had been larking around.

We picked up drinks and snacks from the open palapa style self serve ’’kitchen’’, and as I looked at the breaded chicken mini burgers,  said out loud that if I wasn’t already a vegetarian, after seeing those I’d probably consider becoming one, and  she laughed and said I was so funny.

She’d picked up her laptop (which was the same as mine but a different colour) and said she just wanted to check coz she’d posted a blog entry earlier on.  I was delighted that she had started writing and looked forward  to reading it.  As we walked up a path towards one of many curious little nooks around the estate to sit down and have our snack, we talked about consciousness and our blogs.  It was a very relaxed and easy conversation, a very joyous feeling of re-discovering who we’d become in the years apart rather than just telling our ‘’stories’’.

That’s when I woke up, still feeling that warm and fuzzy feeling that only a best  friend relationship with an other woman can bring.  Basking in the close feeling of it I kept my eyes closed for a few minutes.

It had felt as real as this life (of course), but in reflection it was interesting to observe the differences  too.  This Cathie had been an inch or two taller than me.  It was peculiar how the elements all came together in one place; the temperate climate, the midnight if not exactly sun so at least far from dark, the past and the present, 3 continents, the gentle supportive atmosphere, my husband and our friends.

It had felt peculiar to experience having a different set of memories and a different past, and how we’d both knew our way around the place we were staying.  Of course, the photo album does not exist in this lifetime, and I don’t know in what language we spoke.

For me, it’s the complete set of memories and a past quite different to my waking one that gives it away that this was no ordinary dream.  Like in a regression or spontaneous download of another incarnation, but with greater freedom to access the information of that other me.  Unusual also in it’s ordinariness perhaps, the absence of bizarre and crazy happenings and the rich sensory feast of real life.

I was not left with any residual desire to contact Cathie, nor any animosity which given the lack of closure I could almost have expected from myself.  I don’t like loose ends but I’ve come to accept them.  Our parts in each others lives had obviously played themselves out, given that it has been almost 30 yrs now of no contact.   Let the past stay in the past rather than try to resuscitate a relationship just because we have ‘’history’’.

It did however highlight how much I would enjoy having a close (female) friend living nearby again.  It’s been almost 5 years since I moved here.

So, whoever you are, wherever you’ve been [raises the iced coffee], cheers and know you are welcome.

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