dreams: Friday, July 20, 2001
Pathwork in our backyardThe backyard of 248 3rd St. is huge. There's a big gathering here, with tons of people. It is being led by Donovan & Susan Thesenga. John is good friends with them, and he's also a leader at this event. We're getting ready for it to start. I'm sitting with Susan. Streams of people are arriving in dark blue skirts/pants, white shirts and blue bowties (blue uniforms). I think they have a misunderstanding of what is going to happen here. Albeit the two spiritual paths are merging, this particular event is solely Pathwork. People are now sitting on the floor (of the shop?). I go join Sam Gottlieb.
an adventure with my sister Phoebe and I are participating in an activity with a camera. We are on a quickly-moving vehicle, getting directed to take pictures of the most beautiful subjects. We pass the small point-and-shoot camera back and forth. Now we are by ourselves, walking through a quiet neighborhood at dusk. I see a striking flower (rose?) that I photograph. We end up walking down to the beach. It's sunset. We wade into the water. I see dolphins near us. We are both in awe, speaking our appreciation out loud. Phoebe is saying that she sees whales. I can't see them at first; then I look out to sea further away and see their fins. She says that she often sees whales where she goes. She has a natural gift to attract them to her.
We then walk through an elementary school (or middle school?) that we used to attend. It's after school hours, so the halls are quiet but still well-lit. I see an open door. It's an office. We poke our heads inside. A black woman is sitting there, and she invites us inside. The shelves are covered with interesting books and things. She says she remembers us from when we went to school here; she says we lived close to her. I ask her what she teaches, and she admits that she's not a teacher (with a twinge of shame). She's in charge of the cleaning department. A thought runs through my head of how weird our society's employment mores are -- people like her should be paid a lot more. Some yearbooks catch my eye. I'm asking about teachers that are still here, and I want to see what they look like these days. I see the year written on one yearbook: a number with 30 (or 40?) in it. I suddenly realize how old I must be now. I went to this school decades ago. Time flew by!
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