fly awake

7/13/10 Dream:

I am in a rather mundane science class about space travel/astronomy. Interestingly the teacher spends some time discussing how an astronaut began making art during his trips. The teacher described the artist’s process at length. The process involves taking parts of electron/micro scans of dark matter and piecing them together to make a larger abstract picture. It was fascinating to hear, but he did not speak about the meaning/significance behind the pieces. I tell the teacher that I appreciated the discussion–it made the subject more interesting.

We have to take a 42-50 question multiple choice test. There is an opportunity to write an essay for extra credit. I take the test, guessing many times. I’m think I will get a B- or a C+ before the extra credit. I have two ideas for the essay. I end up writing about the three artists I am aware of who became artists because of their space experiences. One woman (not sure what her art is like), the man who paints using moon dust, and the man described in our class who makes the scan pictures.

My handwriting is sloppy and I end up writing on scraps of paper because I run out of space on the test paper. I write about the uniqueness of the experience–the absolute emptiness, quiet, the vision of our home planet–and their complusion to create and communicate. How these artists are outsiders because they are extremely square (being lifelong scientists) who are compelled express themselves creatively. They are outside the community of scientists and the community of artists.

I’ve written a page and a half so far and I’m not done. Everyone is gone including the monitor (the teacher left a while ago). The bell sounds. I think about tracking down the teacher and giving him what I have. I haven’t completed my point yet.  I decide to keep writing. My pen runs out but I find another one that works. I hope he can read my scrawls. I decide to continue writing.  Writing after the bell, and coming towards my conclusion, makes me excited.

I write, “In Carl Sagan’s book ’Contact‘, when the astronaut is faced with a new experience of space she is awestruck, and exclaims: ‘They should have sent a poet.’ Perhaps experiences of cosmic proportions are enough to awaken the artist in us, or a realization of the necessity of creative communication.” I mean to continue: “For the reason of its profoundly inspiring affects I feel there should continue to be space travel, perhaps including artists who can help tell the story.”

Wake:

This dream was interesting to me. It was a bit atypical, as I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about science and space. There have been recent cuts to the space program which, in the waking time, I support.  I feel like the money could be spent other places to have a much more positive effect on daily life. In the dream it seems so clear that the inspiration of space travel and discover is elemental to our wellbeing–our sense of hope and awe. This dream also happened right around the time of the dream group article coming out. It made me think about how most of the articles about dreams that I have seen in the last year or so have been scientific in nature and often belittle the content of dreams. They acknowlege their necessity for health and well-being, but not that they may have more significance. I think these articles are important though because they still make people think about their dreamlife and perhaps the dream group article would not have been written without the other articles preceeding it.

Science is seen as the authority, the truth. If scientists and artists worked together, telling two sides of the same story, they could be seen as supporting each other, not as opposing each other. Scientists could show their objective version of the experience (of space, or dreams, or whatever) and artists could show their subjective experience. It could be a validating collaboration, rather than a dichotomy for their work to be seen side by side.

This dream also came just prior to picking up the book, ”How the Universe Got its Spots” from the library. I’ve just begun, but it looks like it will be a good creative read on things cosmos.

A bit piecemeal, but here goes:

Dream (12/30/09):  I’m sitting in some sparse, wintery woods with a couple other people. We’re hiding. Some people are coming through the woods to get us. I am sewing poetry along the collar of a dress I designed (rusty red thread on a cream collar). It’s the start of a poem I’ve been working on. “Like as…” it begins.  I sense the people are getting closer. One of my comrades and I run away through the woods. We get round to the other side and I jump off the path into the thick just before they shoot him with a rifle. The enemies back off, and I step onto the path to see him. He’s dead, but a wolf with a hunchback comes to me from his body. I say, “Oh, good, you can help lead me to safety.”  The wolf seems uncertain of this. He’s thinking about going back to the place where I was sewing. I don’t think that’s safe. We run back on the path that led us to the shooting.  The poem keeps running though my mind. I keep thinking of it and working on it. Going all the way back doesn’t feel safe. At one point on the edge of the the woods  the path meets up with the back of someone’s dirty gold ranch house with chain link fence and dog. I think we can get through without the dog hearing us and attacking. I look at the wolf and scoot through the fence and make it through the driveway into the town. The town is old. All the architecture is 1800’s. I touch the curvy molding on a shop, it’s freshly painted–red and white. We run through the streets. My running is fast, but on some level I know I am dreaming and could just be gliding through the air. I run and run and run until I cross the train tracks and get to a motel. I go inside my room, still afraid that someone is after me. I crash on the polyester covered bed.  I wake after hours and am surprised to see the door ajar (not very safe of me). I go and close it and turn around to see that David has slipped through the door and is sitting in a chair in the middle of the room. He’s a bit hunched over. He reminds me of the wolf in his expression.

Wake: Here I am hiding in the woods from all the people I think are after me, crafting clothing and writing poetry. In the place I love doing all the things I love, only problem is that there are too many people and not enough woods. The poem reminds me of Shakespeare’s sonnet 118–starts off, “Like as, to make our appetites more keen…”–confession and getting sick off of preventative medicine (cathartic purging that seems downright sick). The wolf comes when my friend dies.  I think of him as a guide, but he doesn’t really guide me; we do go together. The gold house is very like a house in my childhood neighborhood. The kind of house that has been neglected for 20 years, and has a sketchy/dangerous vibe, bull dogs, etc. I associate the era of the old town with simpler times, which is appealing, although in the dream there wasn’t much feeling about it, just relief at so many fewer things to interface with maybe–no cars, computers, no people on the streets, etc. A motel is the logical place to hide. David…well, I just found out that my friend’s husband, David, joined the circus when he was younger. This changed the way I think about him. The circus reminds me of wolf people (loners in a pack). The expression of the wolf and David don’t really remind me of David. The woods remind me of the woods in Iowa that we used to live by. David and Dee are in Iowa. It’s almost like seeing this side of David makes me think twice about going back to Iowa. I am running from people and memories from Iowa in the waking time, though I yearn to be back in Hickory Hill Park. Dee sent me a Hickory Hill Calendar along with this exciting info about David. I look forward to hear the circus story some day.

Dream (1/1/10): I’m in a dark hall, with a bunch of people, we’re in line to see my Guru–Shri Dhyanyogi. When I am in front of the Guru, he tells me to draw an Om on my third eye. I am surprised that I remember how to do it–it’s in reddish orange ink. I go into a very deep meditation. I can hardly will myself to move. Guruji talks to the crowd, while I am sitting in front of him in my state. I am aware enough that I am blocking traffic, even though I really shouldn’t worry, just meditate. I eventually move to the side, which breaks my meditation. I think of poetry. I hear, “just write the Truth“. I also wonder about my meditations being not so great, and I hear, “soon”.

Wake: Poetry again, I think of my the falcon poem that I wrote for my Guru, but also of my Fly Awake installation that was meant to be poem-like in its construction. A poem you could walk into and feel, between the text and imagery I created. The dream seems like a reminder to organize my art in this way, while working aligned to the highest Truth. Also gives reassurance that my meditations, which haven’t been the best, will become infused with light again. A Day or so before these dreams, I smoked some Calea and asked for help with my art. With Calea I am not surprised to find dreams coming up long after the physical interaction.

Dream: I am flying like an owl! I lift up my arms in waves like owls do and my head points forward. I am not an owl, but my arms move like an owl moves its wings. I am outside above some green, flying at shoulder height around a few people. I waver a couple times, but manage to remember how to stay aloft and keep going. I fly a short distance and see a large owl feather about 20 feet in front of me, near a woman’s head. It is huge and I am very excited that I have only just started flying like an owl and already this feather has popped into my life.

I fly closer. A man is standing next to the woman, and her boyfriend is across from her closer to me (as I fly by him). The two men are positioned across from each other like you would be to play catch. They are somehow using the feather as a lure for hunting or something. I stand in front of the woman and see that this approximately 16 inch long feather is attached to her right ear.

I tell her I like the feather. She says something like, “Yeah, thanks, it’s cool isn’t it?” I say, “Let me be more clear: What do I need to do to get you to give me that feather?” She thinks for a moment and says, “Make me a scout troop 023 hat.” “Oh, 23,” I’m thinking, “that’s a good number.”

I get right on it. I’m home at my desk making the scout hat. It’s an old army green cap.  I’ve already printed out the patches for the numbers from the internet. Still I have a few more finishing touches to do.

Wake: I am so excited to be flying that I forget that it is a dream. Everything is very good–the flying, the feather, the number 23 (my fav), that I can attain what I desire. This dream was such a relief, the last week I have been over heated and stressed and have had more than my share of nightmares and stress dreams–oy vey! Finally a dream that was uplifting so to speak. There are a couple things that intrigue me: 1) men using the feather (attached to girlfriend) as a lure and 2.) owl, which I love, but can also signal deception. I’ll have to be watching, in an owl way, to see what’s going on under the surface. The silent killers are my friends.

I have published Dreamtime Pamphlet vol. 3: A Pocket Guide to Inner Time and Space. It is available in my etsy shop. The booklet gives varied ideas and exercises for getting more in touch with time and space on a personal and bodily level. I hope you like it.

I also just added some blank dream journals that I have been working on.  I bound the books, printed the titling with letterpress, and collaged the covers with dream imagery.

Finally I am doing something for the Pudu, aside from telling everyone about how cute he is.  I made some Pudu journals from scrap paper and gocco. Check them out on my etsy site:

http://lilymichaud.etsy.com

$10 from each sale goes to buying land for a Pudu (and other local animal) refuge–the Patagonian Land Programme.

Ceanothus, Red Root, Lilac Bush, Oregon Tea Tree, Jersey Tea

Dream: My friends have made an art installation in my honor/on my behalf. They put it together in the dank unfinished basement room behind the bar I’m sitting in. There is a party going on for the show. A band is playing–they are the new up and coming girl band–they are an unexpected surprise. I’m holding a beer and I talk with a girl. I’ve met her before and I thought she was cool. She likes me and she writes her phone number on a tiny photo booth sticker and gives it to me with a smile. I’m excited about it. I think of her as “the cutest girl in the world”. They’re bringing out the pieces of the show at just the right moment. The show is an art installation, but it is also subversive, perhaps anarchist–it’s a trick for the people, a good trick, designed to make people feel better, to uplift them out of their ways. I like this strategy. I walk away from the girl, looking for the artists. There are a lot of people around me. It’s like a house party. She follows behind me. I see my friends, she is behind me. I make some mention of Kevin so that she’ll know I am not single.

Wake: This dream brings to mind the book I just finished: Brida, by Coelho. There is a pagan sabbath. It’s a huge party. Everyone must enjoy themselves so that the energy is very positive and uplifted, and in the midst of this is a spiritual initiation. This is a different attitude about art/spirituality for me. I am a little too serious perhaps. To bring the spirit into a party atmosphere is certainly an idea to explore.
Yesterday I took Red Root (Ceanothus) for the first time. Ceanothus is good for stagnant lymph and spleen, clearing meridians and melancholy–ie lack of creative inspiration, inability to think one’s way out of a problem. I took it because of a dream. Before sleeping, a couple weeks ago, I asked what would help balance the energy in my body, because my left side is deficient (signs of health weakness appear on my left side for the most part).

Dream: I am at a fair, similar to a craft fair. There is lots to see and lots of people around. I go up to a shaman who doesn’t have much on his table, just a few fliers. He tells me to take Red Root. I say, “oh, like oregon grape?” (for some reason they are filed together in my mind). He smiles at me and says, “Red root.” He seems very nice. I step back and head to the next table, only to realize that I need to go back to the end of a long line. There wasn’t much of a line for him, but for the crafts, the lines are very long.

Wake: In the book Brida has to over come some of her fears and hang ups. I was walking along thinking about the book and somehow I got to thinking about my name and how girly it is. I don’t feel girly. I more girly now than I ever have been, but still feel masculine and distant in many ways. “Lily”–what was my mother thinking? But then I thought, what if I really am girly? Kevin always calls me “the cutest girl in the world,” but I have a hard time seeing things from his perspective. I realize that I really shy away from that energy as a way of protecting myself. That means shying away from my left/female side.

It took a while for me to get my hands on the red root. Then, I ended up with three bottles, due to mysterious order mix ups. Cosmic or coincidence–whoknows? In this dream my friends make art come out of the dank dark places and show me how to get in touch with “the cutest girl in the world”. I woke up feeling totally inspired for the first time in ages. Some seriousness has lifted too–I think I forgot that you can’t think your way through art, you have to go for it. So, thank you ceanothus, I very much look forward to knowing you better.

Dream:

I am outside and I see two little birds. I love them and so I pick them up and put them in the front pocket of my shirt to take them home. They are song birds; one has mostly brown feathers with some red patches and one is brown with some olive/yellow colored feathers like a female gold finch. They are both a little larger than typical song birds.

I take them home to my dorm room which I share with two other ladies (Shyamie and someone else). Coco is there too, and I am worried that they won’t all get along. Coco doesn’t really bark, and the birds don’t seem worried about him. I set the birds on my new drawing desk. I give them some stuffed animals, too. Their nest is the very soft and squishy belly of a teddy bear. My roommate moves the desk from right in front of the window that lets in all the light, over to the corner. The birds fall when the desk is moved. When they fall a lot of water falls to the ground too. Shyamie sees the spill and mentions it to me. I am a little ashamed, I didn’t want her to see it. The birds fly back up to the teddy bear belly nest. I look back at the spill and it has almost dried up. I feel relieved.

The birds seem happy and even though they are in the corner I think they seem to have plenty of light and to be doing well.  We all seem to work together in the small environment.

Wake:

I have not felt like I had a good creative space in my apartment that I’ve lived in for the last two years. Recently I got a small drawing desk and carved out a space for myself in corner near our front window. Now I can sit and draw my dreams and experiences. When I look over my shoulder I see the little song birds flying in and out of the tree nearby and resting on our fire escape. It feels very comforting to have this little space and to be drawing again (which I haven’t done much of since college), maybe that’s where the teddy bear comes in. Regardless, it is very nice to have my little work space.

Finally my second Dreamtime Pamphlet is complete. This one: “Manifest Your Dreams”, continues where the last one left off in dreamtime and continues on to give some introductory info on manifesting/being lucid in the waking time. Come on, you know you want to check it out. Get one here.

Well, what can I say, it’s been an interesting Summer so far–actually feeling like Summer, now that it is winding up. Went to the ocean the other day–freaking awesome. My friend and I were on a camping trip and we ended up at a not-so-exciting camp site, but quite near the ocean. When we got to the ocean, it was warm enough to swim in–unusual for Oregon–and very secluded–not seeing other people and town, etc. The swimming was lovely, and the Ocean herself was truly awesome. Some pelicans swooped down to feed near us–so big and amazing. It was the best trip to the beach I have ever had, followed up by an evening of campfire, good company, and packaged Indian food–what more could I ask for?

This is quite interesting–from the BBC, about how larger mammals align with the directions.

On another note, Terry is looking a little dismal right now. Pictures soon, when looking even more dismal. Terry has been neglected for so long, :(. I’m not sure if he’s happy that we are undressing him, or if just annoyed that we interrupted his process of disintegration. Right now he’s stretching his dirty armpits, enjoying some air, soon to be cleaned up.

I was riding to work on my bike yesterday, a couple blocks away from the hospital I was stopped by a family of raccoons crossing the road. I blocked traffic while they retreated up a tree. They were so beautiful! I love raccoons, but they are not a frequent site in the city, or during the day for that matter. There were three young ones and the parents. One of the parents stayed in the street until the others got into the tree to protect them. It was pretty cool to see how easily they went up the tree–just like giant squirrels. And, you know, I never really look in trees for raccoons, but I guess you never know–there could be a whole family in even a small tree.

Anyway, this was awesome in itself. But also kind of interesting because I had just had a dream about making dream masks that morning, and raccoons, of course, with their bandit markings, are associated with masks and disguise. Also, the name tag that I wear at work refuses to stay facing the world, so I wrote my name with a Sharpie on the back and put a raccoon sticker next to it. Raccoons are the generous protectors, looking out for others before serving themselves. Plus ,they are very good with their hands, and I do lots of skilled hand work for my job.

Here is the caption for the photo, from the person who took it: “The raccoon family are not certain they like the strawberries; however, after finishing the kibble they ate them all for dessert.”