It will be tomorrow by the time you read this.
In the first dream, I was walking in a house or apartment that must have been mine; I did not recognize it but it felt comfortable. I turned and was confronted by a dark figure wearing a skully. I grabbed something that looked like a large pen (or an extra-long vape battery?) and stabbed him in the neck — the soft meat at the collar bone.
And then I woke up.
In the second dream, I was outside, barefoot, walking across a greenspace to a dilapidated door that was held shut by a small bungee. I opened it and wandered the hall until I encountered a man at what looked like a small information desk. The man gave me an identification badge and escorted me through what felt like a labyrinth until we arrived in a room with several other people. I recognized no one. I began putting things in boxes, things that evidently were not what I was meant to focus on or remember as they faded immediately once I placed each in its box. Two men murmured within earshot: I felt a connection, said the one, nodding at me, a love connection. He approached me and after asking me out, was disappointed that I said no. I knew I was not doing what I was supposed to be doing. I announced that I needed pencils. I managed to find my way back to the dilapidated door and crept out, into the sunlight. The asphalt of a parking lot was warm to my bare feet as I walked away. There was a small strip mall nearby; I entered the liquor store, not sure of myself. Was I lost? Did I have amnesia? Why did I need pencils? The shopkeeper looked at me as if I were a threat. He noticed my bare feet and turned away, the expression of his face suggesting he felt sorry for me. I felt … unkempt. Perhaps it was the bare feet, since in real life I go no farther than my own mailbox without shoes, and that rarely thanks to the Southern California heat. A sense of panic swept through me and I suddenly needed to get back to the dilapidated door. I walked there but looked around before approaching and opening it, as if there was a reason that I not reveal its existence. I quickly entered and blinked, adjusting my eyes to the darkness therein. The man at the little desk rushed forward, asking if I had a pass but then recognizing me. I showed him my identification badge and he admonished me, saying I was to wear it at all times. I heard voices as I followed him. The area just past his desk was full of people, young an old. I saw a stairway and in front of it, a man with a very large dog. The information desk man was speaking through a PA system; he sounded like the MC at an empowerment conference as he hyped everyone: Are you excited to be here? Are you ready to get started on your journey? I stopped listening and approached the large dog as people began to gather their belongings, sweaters, purses, and such. He wagged his tail and I asked the owner if I could pet him. Sure, he’s just a big ol’ puppy. The dog looked very young but his back was almost as high as my hip. He was a very large version of my Woola, and appeared to be a Shepherd of some sort. His ears were still a little floppy but were upright, his fur was black, soft, thick, and velvet to the touch.
And then I woke up again.
I went out to water the lawn and met a praying mantis. It clung greenly to the wall just to the left of my door. I spoke to it and took a photo, which I posted on my Facebook feed with the caption It’s going to be a good day. I put the kettle on and when I reached into the cabinet for a mug, I saw only clutter that had to go. There were mugs and drinking cups that would never be used. I tossed them.
There are times when it is necessary to purge those things that are no longer required for the journey.
Sometimes those ‘things’ are people. Or places.
I’ve done all three.
For the last nearly two years, it’s been mostly things.
While most of us probably would not qualify for an episode of Hoarders, I would venture a guess that we have a bunch of stuff we could get rid of. It might be old memories, clothes we no longer wear, or people that we hang onto for no other reason than they are familiar. Maybe it’s pain in our sacred spaces. Maybe it’s fear.
Or maybe it’s just old, cracked drinking cups that will never be used again.
How do today’s purge, the praying mantis, the dreams, and the kettle connect? I have no idea.
Maybe the first dream was telling me to stab useless things in the throat and move on.
Maybe the second dream was a portent of new adventures on the horizon that may at first appear unusual.
Praying mantises are just cool, so he doesn’t need a reason.
And it seems such musings always flow better when the kettle is on.
Maybe I will use one of my navy blue glass mugs for the next cup, especially now that I’ve re-discovered them, thanks to the purge.
Ask me tomorrow if I did, once you read this …