dreams: September 8, 1999
We're doing an informal D. work in someone's home. It's night, very relaxed, in a dark living room with soft, warm lighting. I'm tired. People are curled up in blankets on the floor. We're passing around a bong, sharing the Santa Maria. Mariana P. passes it to me, holding it while I inhale. My inward breath is very, very long and deep. I keep inhaling for a long time without having to breathe out. Someone else gets it after me, just taking a quick little hit. It comes back around to me, and I take another looong draw. Everyone's in awe of the length of my breath. I watch the bright orange embers in the pipe light up. I feel high. But I don't really like it. We've been doing this all night. I question the practice of my religion. I feel spent, scattered, and wasted. John is here too.
my breath exceeds expectationsThen I'm looking at old photos of Vivi's house. The rooms are much better now; they used to be froo-froo flowery and overdone. I'm hungry. I try to get some yogurt from a refrigerator.
Then we are at our house, in the living room. Sue Bouman is here with her family. They're all part of Padrinho Alfredo's family. They've been staying here temporarily, and now they're getting ready to leave. I'm giving each of them a special present. Sue and I are dancing around the room together. Everything is pure love and light.
I'm at a potluck at Rochelle's house. I sit down next to her, near a group of other fardados sitting around a table. She is absolutely radiant, golden and full of light. Her skin is bright. I know I'm in a divine presence. We talk for a moment. Then I go sit down on the other side. The meal is getting ready to begin; it's a brunch, spread out on a cloth on the floor. I'm so hungry that I go ahead and eat a piece of red pepper, dipping it in ranch dressing. Jonathan is here. Dogs or some other type of domesticated animal are hanging out here.
Rochelle's potluck
I'm in a big store looking for flip-flop shoes. I choose some: a shiny, plastic blue pair for $8.99. Phoebe scorns my choice. They have silly cartoon characters on them. I'm looking for a cheaper, simpler pair. Everything is tucked away in boxes here, stored under the tables. I'm searching. I finally find some cheap flip-flops locked up in a glass case. Jordan Gans-Morse is here.
I need cheap thongsThen I'm in the front yard of the house. Greg B. and his family are returning from a long trip. We go inside the house. I'm sitting in the living room with his brother and parents. He is in the kitchen fixing himself something to eat. (It's the old kitchen, with the high dividing counter/shelf.) I'm facing the kitchen, and I can see Greg's tall, lanky figure directly in front of me, across the rooms. I also see a big, stereotypically-shaped cake getting iced with mayonnaise, mustard and ketchup. We are all talking about the long hard process of the trip they just endured, since it was international.
- FIN -
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