Musings.17: Barbara

ven as I write this I am amazed and excited to share quite an interesting development regarding illuminated Christian texts in the Western world, such as the "Book of Kells" in Ireland, that is appearing in this work.

The story until recently has been that of "ragged scribes in a lonely struggle to preserve Christian culture from the forces of darkness." One's imagination shifts into overdrive picturing Irish monks perched at tall desks in the scriptoriums of monasteries at the edge of Western civilization, the Dark Ages rolling inexorably toward the island. One hears the sea through the slit windows, crashing against the rocks and shore.

As related in a recent story in the magazine The Economist, scholars are studying religious texts from the library at the monastery of Saint Catherine on Mount Sinai "whose foundation in the mid-sixth century roughly coincides with the spread of Christianity, and hence Latin writing, from Ireland to Scotland - whence it later shifted to the north of England."

"...the Sinai collection is vast and diverse. Along with over 6,000 early printed books, there are 3,300 manuscripts in a dozen languages, mainly Greek, Georgian, Slavonic and three Semitic tongues - Arabic, Syriac and Aramaic."

Put simply, as Christianity was spreading from Ireland to Scotland roughly 1,400 years ago, the monastery of Saint Catherine on Mount Sinai and its library of Christian manuscripts was being founded. Christians in the East were preserving texts at the same time the monks in Ireland were copying and preserving such texts.

Michelle Brown, professor of medieval manuscript studies at the University of London, and paleographer and art historian, has extensive experience studying and describing northern European manuscripts held by the British Library. She "believes that scribes from the British Isles may have worked on the slopes of Mount Sinai, writing in Latin." The Irish monks may not have been as isolated as previously thought.

Beyond the use of ornate capitals at strategic points of a manuscript (or the opening of blog posts), how does this story relate to Melissa's latest dream? The answer is - Utah. A companion piece to this article discusses efforts to digitize ancient manuscripts from various sources. The data and images are secured in repositories under the mountains of Utah.

I was happily surprised when I realized Melissa's dream was alluding to this story in The Economist. While I have no idea where in the mountains of Utah these repositories might be I needed moonlight and a body of water in the mountains. Consulting my atlas I found Moon Lake, east of Salt Lake City, near the Uinta Mountains, the High Uintas Wilderness Area, and the Uinta and Ouray Indian Reservation.

Now I must propose a more startling question: Why is all of this pointing to a link between Melissa and William Shakespeare's 'Juliet'? This blog, as I hope you recall, is to explore the character 'Melissa' as it develops. I promise you I did not see this coming!

The first hint of Juliet I find in this, oddly enough, is at the end of the dream when the crow and the swan appear together with the 'J' - shaped dagger that Melissa carries away in flight. My mind flashed to the instrument of Juliet's 'death', then I recalled Benvolio's boast that he would make Romeo "think thy swan a crow." (I.iii.94) That triggered the realization that Romeo leapt the orchard wall after the ball to try to get a further glimpse of Juliet. So, I saw a correspondence to the opening of this dream - Melissa standing in an orchard.

The strongest connection I see, however, is found in Juliet's musing there on her balcony: "Deny thy father and refuse thy name." (II.ii.37) We saw evidence that Melissa may be doing just that when she discovered the abandoned St. Clair Shores. The message from her father is rather clear, I would say, but Melissa appears to be ignoring it.

Irish monks. Monks at Saint Catherine's on Mount Sinai. Illuminated Christian manuscripts. Mountains in Utah. The crow and the swan. The dagger.

Some questions answered, others proposed.

[[Bibliography: "Illuminating a dark age." The Economist 18 December 2010: 149-151]]

[[Photo: Apothecary shop in Hendersonville, NC; June 27, 2011; Barbara Butler McCoy]]

Swan: 'Melissa'

he serenity in the snowy moonlit orchard felt complete, so much so that it was moments before I realized I was in a dream. Happily, my Crow was there and he seemed eager to lead me hop by hop, branch by branch, through the orchard. I tried not to disturb the silence, but once or twice I happened to kick some withered apples on the path (Rome Beauties, perhaps?).

We hadn't gone far when I began to see fleeting movement among the trees. I thought it mist at first, but when I stopped and focused on the movement I realized the 'mist' was a woman's filmy gown floating around her as she danced a winding path beneath the branches.

I heard neither birdsong nor human music accompanying her dance, only silence, sylvan silence. She appeared so ethereal I was surprised to see snow sift over her satin slippers when once she passed nearly close enough to touch. I resisted my urge to touch the hem of her rose-sprigged gown and followed my Crow out of the orchard and beyond, until he bade me climb upon his back. We flew.

We flew to a place that reminded me of "The Faraway Nearby" - majestic mountains, sovereign in the landscape. I saw a lake or pool lit by the moon, and I saw two parallel strips of light, almost like a landing strip in the mountains.

When we drew closer I saw that the lights were actually discarded pie tins affixed to sticks. I also saw that the landing strip was still under construction, so to speak, and that the 'technician' was the little girl who'd played music for the King of Faery, who'd fashioned wings for leprechauns in the labyrinth.

Too soon we landed and I had to walk on land once again. My Crow was hushed and watchful, as if awaiting someone or something. I waited with him. In the deepest darkness before dawn a magnificent swan flew in to land on the lake. The ripples of the swan's landing had barely ceased when, without warning, Cupid darted from a blind and shot a fatal arrow into the swan's heart.

She (the swan seemed to me to be female) struggled to reach us and collapsed, successful, at the Crow's feet. He ministered to her with sweet and exquisite care. When it was evident that she was gone he hopped a short distance away, then returned with a steel dagger fashioned as the letter 'J'. After he dropped the dagger into my lap he held up one of the swan's wings.

Horrified, I realized he wished me to cut off her wings, to mutilate that magnificent creature! I could not bring myself to do it - until I remembered that logic and cause and effect in dreams do not follow the rules of material life.

That is the only way to explain how I was then able to gird my shoulders with those wings and fly off with my Crow, dagger in hand. Only with a dreaming mind can I credit that the swan herself flew off with us.

'Statues Crumble for Me': "Melissa"

verywhere I go statues crumble for me ... who knows how long I've loved you?" I heard that over and over in my dream last night; it sounded like part of a song. Maybe it is. I don't know. All I know is that I dreamt I was back in that office at St. Clair Shores staring in fascination at a mirror someone had hung on the wall. I was startled, to say the least, because it was the same mirror those demon cats held in that dream from a long time ago - the one with Medusa.

Before I could figure out just why the mirror would be in my St. Clair Shores office I saw Medusa herself appear in the mirror and stand with her back to me, looking into an identical mirror. A mirror within a mirror. Medusa asked the mirror, "Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the foulest of them all?" All I could think was that this was certainly not the way I learned the "Snow White" story when I was little. My mouth dropped open - I must have looked like some landed fish! - when the mirror told her a name just before she stepped into the mirror and walked between two rows of beds in some amazing room in a gothic church or castle of stone. It reminded me of the children's story "Madeline" ... twelve little girls in two straight lines. I counted them as I watched.

She was utterly silent and wasted no time singling out one of the sleeping forms on one of the twelve beds. A pair of worn out shoes with battered soles lay at the foot of each bed and each princess - for I recognized the twelve dancing princesses asleep on those beds - had dropped on top of the bed covers in her ball gown.

Twelve times Medusa questioned the mirror and twelve times she went into that vast room on the other side of it, to touch a princess and turn her to stone. I have no idea why she asked her question of the mirror repeatedly, but she did. I remember it vividly.

I stood there staring at the sight of those twelve immobilized princesses lying there in that vast space - effigies, it seemed, atop their tombs. Answers, I wanted answers, but I wasn't sure where to begin. I did receive a happy answer, of sorts. My Crow arrived just then, along with young Ham and his buddy, Sam. They flew in on a pig, the pig from the 'Lost and Found' bin, right behind my Crow.

Ham called out to me that we had to go break the spell on the princesses. I started to climb onto my Crow's back, but suddenly remembered something. I shouted "Wait!" and ran out of the room. The next thing I knew I was digging through the 'Lost and Found' bin, pulling out shoes, their tongues flapping. I shoved the shoes into a bag and climbed on my Crow's back, then we flew - boy, girl, and woman, pig and Crow - through the mirror into the princesses' sleeping chamber.

Ham leapt from his pig and ran from bed to bed, kissing each statue as I ran from bed to bed leaving shoes for them. I could not hear what Ham said to the princesses because the sound of crumbling and falling stone became a bit loud, and we hurried away because the Crow said it was time to go, time to leave.

Back at St. Clair Shores Ham, Sam and I snacked on animal crackers and cocoa in the office. The Crow joined us after flying around a bit, and he gave me a puppet he found somewhere. The puppet was LOVELY - a medieval king in beautiful robes with a crown on his head. His robe was embroidered with a myriad of stars among shields decorated with a gold lion of the coat-of-arms of King Richard I, King Richard the Lion-Hearted.

I slid my hand into the puppet then picked up my pen. I wielded it like a sword and tapped Ham first on one shoulder, then the other. "In the name of King Richard the Lion-Hearted I knight thee Sir Ham, for your courageous and loving service to the Order of the Heart. I hereby knight your loyal and steadfast steed also. Rise, Sir Ham."

"East o' the Sun, West o' the Moon": "Melissa"

pholstery? Seriously? A jacket of upholstery fabric? I'm supposed to rip apart that slipcover and make a jacket? I cannot say I ever imagined anything like that when I decided to nap on the sofa after lunch! Okay I am surprised, sure, but the dream was really cool so I am going to go with it.

When the dream began I must have been under water because I was watching three mermaids dance around a cauldron. They were singing, too, but all I could understand was that the cauldron was called 'The Cauldron of Dreams' and that it sits at the heart of a labyrinth. As they danced the mermaids used their hands to shape the steam rising from the cauldron into loose cords which they spun into thread before weaving it into fabric. (An interesting 'twist' on the Three Fates and Macbeth's witches!) When the fabric was woven they cut it and stitched it into a jacket which they bade me wear.

Before I could ask why the fabric they had woven looked like the slipcover on my sofa they told me that the prince I sought was imprisoned in a castle 'east o' the sun and west o' the moon.' I love that fairy tale and I was certainly intrigued at the idea of finding a 'prince,' whoever he is, so I started walking.

The wind, like a Botticelli zephyr, pushed me along and soon I was inside a castle. I was shocked, but not really, when I saw that the 'prince' was actually my Crow. There was no time to waste on shock, however, because my princely Crow was telling the assembled court that he would only marry the woman who could remove the stain from his shirt. Girl after girl, woman after woman - how had so many come to find the castle? - tried to clean the shirt, but just as in the fairy tale their efforts only worsened the stain.

The room was emptying and I knew I had to try, but what could I do that all those others hadn't? Then it came to me - the secret was the vessel in which the shirt was washed. That's why I'd seen the mermaids around the cauldron. I knew then I had to wash the shirt in that Cauldron of Dreams.

I woke up feeling such joy because as soon as I thought about the Cauldron of Dreams the carousel horse from the warehouse and a magnificent, brilliantly blue bear appeared in the entrance to the room carrying the Cauldron of Dreams between them. The shirt turned such a blinding white that I was not able to see the face of the man, the prince, my Crow became when I tossed the shirt over him.

I suppose I could feel upset and frustrated that I did not see his face, but it just feels wonderful that there appears to be something I can do for my Crow, who has helped me in unbelievable, loving ways. It will be really very interesting to see how wearing a jacket made from a slipcover can help my Crow, but I've learned that anything can happen and probably will. We shall see.

Paradise: "Melissa"

aradise - paradise - it's been on my mind since last night's dream. I decided to check out this "St. Clair Shores," see what it's about because it is in such a different neighborhood than the warehouse, or the mountainside tea party with goddesses - although I do remember a bit of a dream in which I stood out of the rain under a magnolia tree for want of an umbrella. Anyway ...

The building was virtually empty but for one room, an office at the back next to the kitchen. The place had a 1950's air about it and the owners, I think, could probably renovate it quite easily and find a sizable clientele if they wanted.

I headed toward the office, but stopped short as I passed the fridge. A pamphlet caught my eye because it looked to be of the same vintage as the building - but I was in it, looking just as I do now! The pamphlet was an advert for some sort of cruise in "The Big Yellow Taxi," and there I was sitting on a seat in the stern of this big yellow boat, being soundly kissed by the man whose bloody footsteps I'd followed to the warehouse from the watchtower. (I could never forget those shoulders or that dark, dark hair!)

Now that I think about it, I also saw the Faerie Queen and her King in that picture. They looked like the photographer caught them just before a kiss. Uncle Joe was there in that amazing DREAM hat, kissing his Bride. The little girl from so many other dreams was there, too. I decided to keep the pamphlet to study later and continued on into the office.

I remember there being walls of built-in shelves and walls of mullioned windows. I remember seeing a fool's cap on one of the shelves. The desk was big and old and gorgeous; an antique already in the 1950's, its finish had been lovingly maintained and looked like ebony satin. Just as I noted a book lying open atop the desk, the antique dial phone rang and, I admit it, I screeched and jumped!

I figured that since this was not my place I should not answer the phone, but then again the pamphlet made me think that I was supposed to be there and thus supposed to answer. I reached for the receiver - and stopped. The phone was connected to an answering machine, so I decided to exercise caution and screen the call. So glad I did because it was my father!

"This is Charles Barker, Melissa. Your father. It seems you've forgotten that. You need some serious discipline, girl. You can defy me all you want, but you can never deny me. You are a Barker. Act like one. You will do as I say or I will cut you off." The click when he hung up was deafening.

Somehow, thankfully, I remembered I could interact with the dream so I told myself, "Just breathe. Breathe. The answer will come to you." Slowly I looked around the room, then back down at the book on the desk. I could see that there was text on both pages, but I could only read one highlighted section on page 259 - '...the message was: "Don't grow, and whatever you do, don't abandon people to pursue your dream."'

"Wow," I thought, "enough said." I looked at the front of the book for the author and title: Julia Cameron, "The Vein of Gold - A Journey to Your Creative Heart."

Before I could form another thought my Crow flew in and perched on my shoulder to give me his characteristic greeting and comb his beak through my hair. He held something shiny in one of his claws and relinquished it with a gurgle of pleasure when I held up my hand - an iPod. This being a dream there was, of course, an iHome on a shelf near the desk. I can take a hint.

After that message from good ole dad I never expected to laugh and dance and feel out-loud happy quite so soon, but when the Counting Crows song began and my Crow moved to the beat as if he thought he had become a bird-of-paradise bent on courting his lady, I could do nothing but join him.

So, I am quite curious just how the Dreaming Universe will show me how to combine the pursuit of my dream with "The Big Yellow Taxi," all those wonderful people on the taxi, AND the Stranger kissing me. Oh, and yes, my Crow.

St. Clair Shores: "Melissa"

asmine scents the breeze caressing me as I write in the quiet before dawn. After quite a long spell the dreams returned last night and I am very happy; things often sort themselves out better than I can imagine when I remember and listen to the dreams, to the dreaming.

This dream was another set at night. The moon shone in a sky of deep crystalline blue, its reflection glittering on the body of water at my feet and the moist sand along the shore. I looked to my right and to my left for some sort of marker to help me identify my surroundings. In the distance off to my right I saw a building - a cabin? a lodge? - with a sign, so I walked toward that.

The sign simply read 'St. Clair Shores.' Some sort of device had been painted in the middle, but the paint had worn off so the image was unrecognizable. While I stood there wondering what 'St. Clair Shores' could mean I noticed clumps of trash strewn on the sand and afloat on the water. I looked around for a stick or a pole, something to scoop the junk out of the water and up off of the beach, intending to place the trash in some waste bins I could see along the side of the building.

All I could find was my black Waterman fountain pen! While I stood with the pen in my hand, reflecting on the irony of finding a Waterman fountain pen on a beach I heard the call of my beloved Crow and looked up to see him land on the 'St. Clair Shores' sign.

He danced a bit atop the sign, bobbing and prancing, bowing his head to me. He soon began to sing, as he had so long ago in that first dream, "Double, double, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble." So I set to work moving along the shore, clearing debris, following my Crow as he hopped and flew away down the shoreline.

Soon I saw where he'd been leading me all along and I laughed to see the little girl from previous dreams. She stood in the shallows, watching an island through a spyglass. At our approach she turned and spoke excitedly, "There are things like bubbles beside the island, but I don't think they're bubbles. I think they're eyes!"

I could imagine a number of creatures whose eyes might be seen just above the water, none of which I felt ready to meet. As I looked out across the water, however, I could see the figures of the Faery Queen and her King, who appeared to be helping little people out of the water and into the cup-like buds of magnolias, bobbing on the water.

The royal couple made signs of blessing over each petite sailor before draping sparkling medallions around the neck of each and letting the tiny floral boats slip into the current. Soon a miniature flotilla was sailing toward our shore.

"Is this a dagger ...?": "Melissa"

awn is hours away, but until then I must sit here in this small circle of light and write the dream that shakes me so.

The landscape was the barren parking lot surrounding the warehouse. Moonlight sparkled so brightly and beautifully on the snow. I saw my Crow perched atop one of the posts for the tall chain link fence, just above the manufacturer's metal plaque: "W & H Fencing". I don't know why I would have noticed that, but I did. My Crow seemed distant, as if he knew I was there but was more focused on something else. Indeed, he flew off without giving me much more than a glance and that's when I knew something was wrong.

He flew toward the door of the warehouse, all hidden in shadow, but landed in the moonlit snow near three snowdrifts. He stood motionless for a long moment. When he suddenly hopped up onto the nearest drift I was surprised. With singular concentration he scratched away at the snow in an area along the top of the snowdrift until he was able to grasp something in his beak. He hopped backwards and tugged with his magnificent strength and finally lifted off with some sort of pendant.

"My god, they are bodies!" I screamed inside even as he repeated his actions on the remaining forms. I stepped to run and help him, but I stopped short as I saw a figure with a lantern approach from around the corner of the warehouse.

She was magnificent. Her gown and cloak caught and held the night and the moonlight and seemed to flow around her like mist. Hair black as my Crow's plumage escaped from under her hood in waves. I watched the lantern light dance over her earring, a confection of silver and crystal that reminded me of a medieval stained glass window. She was darkness and power, but nothing, nothing about her was grave. She was, I think, only brave. She walked right up to this scene of death - surely violence had been involved - carrying only light. As I write this I think of some lines from "Romeo and Juliet": 'O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!/It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night/as a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear ...' (Act I, Sc 1, 51-53)

When my Crow finished confiscating the medallions the Lady took candles from a purse at her waist and lit them with the flame in her lantern before setting a pair at the head of each body. The six candles aglow She turned and held her lantern aloft. "Joseph," She called, "You may now escort Your little ones home." Silently, backlit by moonlight, Uncle Joe approached. He was dressed as he had been for his wedding. We greeted one another and the Dark Lady, for so I have come to think of her in these hours, with hands pressed palm to palm and the salutation, "Namaste".

As Uncle Joe approached the bodies I saw misty forms rise from them. They seemed puzzled. Uncle Joe touched each one lightly on a shoulder and it was then I saw that they had coats-of-arms strapped to their arms like the leprechauns in the labyrinth! He gently removed these from each figure and, somehow, hung them on the wall of the warehouse. "Our bruised arms hung up for monuments," He explained to me as He escorted them past. "You will see, my friend, that you and She are the only hope for little ones such as these."

I thought to move the candles nearer to the coats-of-arms, hoping to create a shrine of sorts. When I bent over the forms I saw that each one had worn several heavy medallions around their necks, not just that which the Crow had taken. My Crow and the Dark Lady were silent as I carried each pair of candles to the wall, separately. As I placed the last set there in the snow I saw my Crow reflected in the shield before me, three crosses dangling from his beak.

He lifted off and I turned to watch him fly. The Dark Lady walked into the night the way She had come. Before She turned the corner her cloak brushed an object glinting in the snow. Curious, I went to retrieve it. When I pulled it from the snow, a handgun with a most curious brand name, I could only think to say, "Is this a dagger which I see before me, the handle toward my hand?"

Uncle Joe's Wedding: "Melissa"

ast night - oh wow! I am still buzzing with this dream! - I went to a wedding with my Crow. A wedding! It was bizarre at first because I was at one of my father's carnivals and it was night and I was watching the lights on the roller coaster cars speed and twist above me in the starless night. Then, suddenly, my Crow was on my shoulder whispering, "We've been invited to Uncle Joe's wedding." Before I could find my voice I was following him over to the roller coaster.

Without delay a train of cars appeared with animals seated in all but one of the cars - horses, bears, swans, a few rabbits and a falcon or two - oh, and some lions and the little black cat. (It sat next to me.) There may have been more, but those were all I had the chance to identify before the ride shot off above the carnival. My Crow was obviously having a blast leaning into the turns, but I have no idea how he was able to hang on because the speed at which we traveled was amazing. The lights, too, were fantastic as they seemed to leave streaks, spiral streaks, in the darkness as we flew.

When we landed and I saw the venue for the wedding my breath caught and my heart skipped. There was a simple wooden stage set in the clearing of an ancient forest. One impossibly tall pine, almost as tall as my Crow's tree but not quite, stood center stage at the rear. A white crane sheltered and a stag grazed under the tree. We who had just disembarked from the roller coaster train found places before the stage just as the Groom, 'Uncle Joe', came to stand before the tree and a long line of bridesmaids began to process to the stage. The weird thing, however, is that all the bridesmaids were dressed in white bridal gowns! The gowns were fashioned to fit different historical periods , among them Ancient Greek, medieval, Renaissance. They could have been costume brides, nothing more, but for the fact that each blew 'Uncle Joe' a kiss and addressed him as 'husband'!

The groom himself was dressed in attire from the nineteenth century I think; very handsome attire for a very handsome gentleman I must say. I was intrigued, however, when I saw that his waistcoat was a wonderful deep forest green. Well, I should say I was intrigued until I saw the Bride. Her gown was fashioned from the same green silk as her groom's waistcoat, but her gown seemed to be a 21st century interpretation of a nineteenth century gown whereas 'Uncle Joe's' suit appeared to be genuine for the period. His boutonniere and her bouquet were of stunning white roses. They were a gorgeous couple and obviously very much in love.

It is funny when I consider it, but I do not remember the wedding ceremony at all! They just seemed so right together that all I wanted to do was celebrate. (I think everyone, even the animals, felt the same way.) There was a great buzz - oh! Bees were there, too, but they did not ride the train, just flew on their own - when four men in Oriental dress came forward to present their gifts to the couple. They carried a banner embroidered with the yin/yang symbol for the couple to hang in their doorway to prevent the entry of malevolence, or 'devils'.

I made myself wake up and write down the names of these gentlemen so I could look them up and find out why they caused such a stir. They turn out to be four immortals: Liu Hai and the 'Three Stars of Happiness' - Shou Lao (longevity), Fu Shen (luck) and Cai Shen (wealth). I also found that the pine tree, the crane and the stag are symbols of immortality. The immortal Liu Hai presented the bridal couple with a string of gold pieces (these were made to look like roses) and he murmured something about a philosopher.

The last person to present a gift was the little girl in the vivid blue dress I have seen in previous dreams. She presented each of them with a peach. As she stood before them I was stunned to see that she bore a striking resemblance to the bride. When she bowed and said, 'Namaste', all of us cheered.

Oh, and then the music began and I could not believe my eyes or ears. Angels were singing. The Faery Queen and her King were singing. The Groom and his Bride were singing. My Crow was singing. All of us danced to"Love Is My Religion" and "Have Your Really Ever Loved a Woman?"

I cannot describe how wonderful it felt to see such love. I simply drank it all in - the people, the animals, the setting, the music, the words - and I was totally content. Nothing prepared me, however, for the bridal couple's exchange with me before they departed. They had been mingling, greeting each and every guest. When they approached me 'Uncle Joe' tipped his top hat (a whimsical affair I have drawn here) to me and bowed. He thanked me for coming and then indicated his Bride and myself with a gesture before saying cryptically, and with a wonderful smile, "You and she will work well together."

The chords of Mendelssohn's Wedding March from "A Midsummer Night's Dream" (Op. 61) sounded and they turned to wave to everyone. The Bride threw her bouquet. We guests showered them with rose petals as they boarded the train.

My heart is so full when I think of this dream. I do not know any 'Uncle Joe' nor have I any idea who this Bride may be with whom he has stated I will work well. I cannot imagine anything lovelier than a wedding for such a couple who start off on their life together accompanied by music written for one of the world's best loved plays from the inimitable William Shakespeare!

Tea Party: "Melissa"

h, I wish I knew how I could have lived so long in ignorance of my dreams! Every one has been glorious and leaves me feeling transported for DAYS afterward and I think nothing could possibly top it, but then that is exactly what happens! It is as if the ... the ... the Dreaming Universe is determined to outdo itself.

Last night I was so happy to receive my Crow in my dream. He stood before me and danced a bit and invited me to fly with him, as he always does, but I detected something ... something ... in his manner which piqued my curiosity. "We must fly. We must fly to the western paradise where you shall have tea." We flew and I savored his strength and his beauty. I always forget everything else when he is near and last night was no exception. Our flight path was steep. We soared up above the clouds and I think we flew to a height higher even than his rose-strewn nest!

We flew toward a mountain. The sunlight above the clouds bathed the mountainside in iridescence and I looked at my hands and arms to see if they, too, had such a glow. My Crow cawed, adjusted his wings, and landed on a ledge near a stunning and ancient magnolia tree in bloom. From somewhere beyond the magnolia I heard calls of "kek-kek-kek" and "kalooo kaleeooo" as if in answer to my Crow, who shook out his plumage, hopped onto my shoulder and preened a bit more as I walked in the direction of the bird calls.

Nothing my Crow could have done would have prepared me for the breathtaking sight of the two glorious women who stepped forward to greet me as I neared a table set for tea. They ... They were so rare in appearance that I felt I must have lost blood or oxygen or something because I wasn't certain my eyes were working properly. Both women had dark hair; one of them appeared distinctly Asian in her features and dress. A whooping crane stood next to her, watching me solemnly.

The second woman - oh, dear, how do I describe her? I could not believe my eyes and I feared she could hear my mind screaming, "Manners, Melissa! Manners!" because I could neither move nor speak. All I wanted to do was watch her. She was the Faery Queen - the Faery Queen on the card my Crow gave me! She was like the sunshine bathing the mountain and like champagne and ... my brain is locking up again as I write this!

Both women were wonderfully gracious, especially in the face of my thunderstruck appearance. They bid me welcome - their voices were just as beautiful as all else about them - and directed my attention to the table set for tea. I noticed two things then: the table was set with six place settings, and the Faery Queen stopped to feed a falcon on a perch. "Xi Wang Mu," the Fairy Queen nodded toward the other woman, "insists I spoil him, but he is a love and we work so well together. A morsel now and then is a treat from my heart."

"Our hostesses have arrived," Xi Wang Mu spoke as the sound of wings reached us and foliage rustled around us. Three women borne on the backs of three swans landed and walked to us, their faces wreathed in welcoming smiles. I think they were dressed as Amazons. Their golden hair shimmered in the sunlight and their creamy skin glowed.

How can I ever describe the experience of a tea party with goddesses? I hosted tea parties as a little girl with my tea set spread on a tree stump before my stuffed bears and ponies. This was beyond anything I could ever have imagined. Is this somehow connected to the Chardonnay I bought? Is it possible? The label did say, "Discover the goddess", but nothing prepared me for this!

The Valkyries brought mead - with gratitude expressed to the Faery Queen for her industrious bees - and meats and insisted upon serving me - me! Xi Wang Mu, whom the Valkyries addressed as "Queen Mother," brought peaches, like miniatures suns, from her own beloved garden. To my surprise the Faery Queen brought cakes made with Guinness and cakes made with oats, and honey. She winked and smiled sweetly before she told me she knew Guinness to be a particular favorite of mine.

The scent of the magnolias and the buzzing of bees were a perfect complement to the company and the light. We each plucked a bloom from the tree and tucked it between our breasts. They read poetry, some of it about wings. I knew one of the poems, T. S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock." I remember untying my tongue enough to ask them, seated around me, "Do I dare to eat a peach?"

Oh, how shall I presume to speak my dream of tea with the goddesses? "I have had a dream past the wit of man to say what dream it was". Here I am, now, with human voices outside on the street below, "And the afternoon ... sleeps so peacefully!" I cling to this dream even when "after tea and cakes and ices" the Crow bade me climb on his back and I looked up to see those goddesses, their arms "braceleted and white and bare," blowing kisses.

Footsteps Dressed in Red: "Melissa"

y Crow visited me in my dreams again last night. This time we had music during our flight, "All Along the Watchtower." He flew me to the top of a clock tower - oh wow! Wow! Clock-tower, watchtower, clock, watch - when I heard the song in the dream I looked for a medieval sort of watchtower for knights and arrows and boiling oil and such, but it wasn't that at all. It was a tower that tells time! Cool. Interesting.

So, my Crow and I perched on a ledge just beneath the face of the clock where we could look down on the surrounding neighborhood. I saw what seemed to be footprints on the street perpendicular to the watchtower. This was strange because they looked wet and for as far as I could see they remained wet.

The Crow hopped onto my shoulder, gurgled at my ear, and combed his beak through my hair. I turned towards him, then back again and saw the petite black cat (le petit chat noir) following that trail of footsteps, staying in the shadows of the buildings. I think I said something like, 'Okay, I guess I'm following the footsteps, too,' because the next thing I knew I was on the street studying the footprints, horrified to discover they were footsteps of blood!

I followed. The sun was blazing atop one of the buildings, bleaching out the sky. I couldn't imagine how it must feel to be bleeding so and walking those streets. To my surprise - to my great surprise - the trail led to the door of the warehouse in all my other dreams! Some voice of caution whispered in my mind so I climbed up that spiral ladder covered in white roses to survey the scene inside that building.

It sounds somewhat gothic to say my heart was pounding furiously but that was definitely my response when I saw a man inside sweeping the floor even as he left more bloody footprints. He was very tall, likely over six-foot-three, lean but muscular, with hair black as my Crow's plumage. I couldn't see his face, but he seemed ... he seemed bereft. Before I could form a thought or question about the reason such a man would feel bereft as he swept the floor of a warehouse he moved around something - the blue carousel horse! - and I saw his back. I choked on a scream. His white shirt was soaked with blood!

Beyond the realization that his must have been the blood that stained his footprints I could not form a single coherent thought about this sight. Now, to look back on it, I remember feeling that the world seemed to have stopped - my heart, my breath, everything stopped. The man, however, did not stop. He swept some more then leaned the broom against the wall and raised his head.

My god - he looked straight up at those wings, the wings I'd left pinned to the wall! He stood there so long before he bent down and took a feather from the pile of sweepings. I thought for a moment he meant to write something with the feather, but he used his finger. He touched the part of a wing that had been attached to me and traced a partial heart on the wall between those two wings.

I didn't know what to do or think, so I simply sat there on the roof of the warehouse. In the end, just before I woke, my Crow flew into the warehouse and returned to me with a third playing card. This one looks like it is meant to be the King of the Faery, Oberon.

How could Oberon possibly connect to that scene in the warehouse, not to mention my Crow and a watchtower? Why am I being given these cards? It cannot be that they are simply beautiful. They are beautiful, but, well, dreams are hardly simple!

Why is this man bleeding? Has he ripped himself from some wings and left them on a wall somewhere? Who is he? Why is he sweeping - Why is he sweeping up the debris of my yesterdays? Why did he trace a heart between those abandoned wings?

And now I realize something else - this man had a key to the warehouse!

Musings.4: Barbara

Melissa, as I wrote some weeks ago, is a character who popped up in the midst of a plot I was sketching several years ago. While I did not question why she had appeared, I did wonder how she came to be there. She just appeared out of nowhere, from another brief story and my questions about her led to this blog.

Most of this material about Melissa is a revelation to me and I find it very interesting indeed that this character is beginning to ask, basically, "Who am I?" She has been trusting and following her Crow although she does not know what he symbolizes and she is beginning to realize he may see something about her she would never have guessed.

If the Crow is suggesting that she consider herself one of a trio of "sisters," wise women, women who possess 'big medicine,' I think she is right to wonder how he came to this conclusion. I wonder about it as much as she does! Then, too, Melissa may be wondering why the Crow is calling her to see herself this way. Her dreams have been rather insistent which could indicate some persistent issues. If that is the case, why does the Crow care?

Melissa is compelled to trust and follow the Crow so she may not hesitate much, if at all, in seeing herself as the Crow sees her. She was pinned to the wall, wriggling under the eyes that fixed her with formulated phrases (see Musings.3:Barbara) for a very long time, maybe all her life. The Crow flies into her dreams and brings her beauty, brings her truth.

She may also be asking herself "Who am I that this Crow should care to notice me, not to mention seek to bring beauty into my life?"

Wings: "Melissa"

Last night I was translated. I was transported into the strongest most dizzying dream yet and the first thing I thought when I woke to hear a crow call at my bedroom window was "Maybe this is how Bottom the Weaver felt after his midsummer night's dream?"

Seriously. As my dream began I found myself inside that warehouse again. There was a searing pain in my shoulders, I could not feel my hands, and I was completely baffled why I felt that way because I was upright. I seemed to be standing so the pain made no sense. (Then again dreams are hardly ever logical on the face of it.) When I tried to move, to shift, I realized that my wrists were bound behind me, against the warehouse wall. I could not understand what held me to the wall as I felt no shackles, no chains, no straps. No restraints.

A hideous evil cackling exploded and echoed throughout the warehouse. When I recoiled from the sound pain ripped again between my shoulders and I heard a thumping or a scraping noise behind me. I willed my hands to work and dug frantically at the wall to grab whatever was behind me. All I could feel were feathers. I took a breath against the pain and twisted to my right, to my left. I saw what held me to the wall. I saw, but I couldn't quite believe it.

Wings. I had wings. They were my restraints. Barely had I realized this when the cackling reached a fever pitch. I picked out two voices, shouting near a greenish glow several yards away, and I tried to identify what I was seeing.

I saw wings silhouetted against the glow. The glow was from a screen of some sort. A rope or a tail twitched on the floor beneath the screen. It sounds crazy but the only way to describe it is to say that the pair of demon-cats had turned "the bitter glass" on its side and "programmed" the labyrinth design from the wall to be the field for a video game they found wildly entertaining.

As near as I could see, their sport was to taunt and torture and obstruct the progress of some character as it made its way to the center of the labyrinth. When my mind shut out the various taunts I began to hear the game character's voice - MY voice! Here I was hanging pinned to the wall, seemingly helpless to stop their taunts, a life-size version of their game.

You know, I am not quite sure how I did it or when I decided to do it, but I did it. With a heave and a howl I ripped myself away from those wings. I felt more outrage than pain - so much more outrage - and I just kept whispering with every painful gulp of air, "People aren't made to be broken. People aren't made to be broken."

The demon-cats were silent at first, stunned, but when I picked a scrap of paper from the floor and plucked a feather from the abandoned wings they stood and began to close in on me. I dipped that feather in my blood and scratched the words I'd been whispering onto that paper. Those demon-cats swiped at me, but I was faster. They howled and hissed and scratched when I dropped my little message onto the mirror and said, "Game over."

Their howls were canceled by the breathtaking sound of rushing wings as the crow landed between us and stood to face them. Somehow I knew I was to climb onto the crow's back. I did and he lifted us out of there into the moonlit sky. We flew forever it seemed. I didn't care at all. The flight was magnificent; the crow's power was formidable. I cannot describe how it felt, after the scene in the warehouse, to be flown through the moonlight. Even as we spiraled up and up and up around the tallest tree in the world toward the crow's nest I felt only wonder. (Imagine that. At my age I felt wonder!)

He watched over me. He tended me once I'd climbed from his back to stand in the nest. I was astonished to see the nest lined with white roses -- white roses from the warehouse! I cannot even think how many times he must have flown back and forth with the roses he needed to do this. Why line his nest so? Why bring me to his nest? Even with those sorry wings I abandoned I was no bird! Who is this crow to me?

The top of the tallest tree in the world swayed in the wind and the crow's nest became my cradle. From under the shelter of his wings I watched the stars swirl above us, higher still. I heard his heart. I fell asleep. He moved his wings and combed his beak through my hair to wake me. He had brought me back to the warehouse. The demon-cats were gone and I smelled the roses at the window. The crow hopped away then back again with a playing card in his beak. He flew to perch on my shoulder. I took the card and he gurgled in my ear before he flew off out the door.

The card doesn't look like any I've ever seen but I love it. My crow - I've begun to consider him mine! - is perched near a woman who is maybe the Faery Queen -- Yes! She is the Faery Queen who fell in love with Bottom! She took him to her bower; the crow took me to his! It is a twisted up version of Shakespeare's "A Midsummer Night's Dream"! But why? Is my crow meant to be the King of the Faeries? The way he cared for me I don't think he's playing a prank, even though in Native American lore crows are pranksters. I will have to study this.

Maybe if I run through the pieces of the puzzle I have so far I'll find a clue of some sort. I see "the bitter glass the demons hold" maintains the reference to Yeats' "The Two Trees." I think the crow refers to "Macbeth." Maybe the symbolism of the crow's nest in the world's tallest tree is meant to connect to the symbolism of the two trees of Yeats' poem and that of the trees at the end of "Macbeth"? But why the dream play? Why? How does that play connect to any of this? I've seen the play and the movie, I even have a-- Yes! I have a copy of it to check! It was my grandpa's. My dad gave it to me. It's about a hundred years old this copy, maybe older.

Now this is interesting. This is very interesting. It doesn't explain anything - yet - but it is interesting. In the cast of characters of Shakespeare's dream play there is a Duke Theseus. Since the image of myself as a sort of Medusa appeared in the last dream I've been brushing up on Greek mythology. If I remember correctly Theseus, with the help of Ariadne, made his way into the labyrinth to kill the Minotaur. The labyrinth again. The 'fingerprint of a god.' The key to the warehouse. Labyrinth .... warehouse... they must connect somehow.

Wait. I just remembered something else associated with the labyrinth. Daedalus designed the labyrinth and showed Ariadne how Theseus could escape. After that escape the King (Minos) imprisoned Daedalus and his son Icarus in the labyrinth. The only way for them to escape was to make wings for themselves and fly away. Warehouse ... labyrinth ... wings?How am I to understand all of this? What does it have to do with me?

I'm glad I like puzzles. Need to work on my drawing though.

Roses at the Window: "Melissa"

This is a new experience for me. Until a couple of months ago dreams were just weird little wisps of what - whispers, whirling images? They evaporate with dawn and leave me to my business. This morning, though, I woke from a recurring dream of a warehouse and as I lay in that half-sleep between night and morning I heard a whisper: "Heart-mysteries there." That phrase has been in my mind all day. I am intrigued. I can't let it rest. I have no idea what to do to solve this 'mystery,' but I guess I could start by getting it all on paper. I consider myself primarily a writer so I am surprised that I want to see some of the images from the dream so badly that I am trying to draw them myself.

In the beginning of the dream I was standing at one end of a bridge of thick, ripply glass over a black, black river. The sky around me was black, too, yet at the other side of the bridge a huge moon hung full and pearly. Some way ahead of me on the bridge a black cat stood and studied me. Suddenly, up started a crow and with a last glance at me, as if to ask "Are you with me?" the cat turned and followed the crow. So, yes, I followed the cat.


As I crossed the bridge I watched the crow circle above a derelict building - not the sort of place I'd choose to visit when I'm awake. The building was shaped like an 'L' and something shimmered in the bend where the wings met. Whatever shimmered appeared to stretch up the wall and onto the roof. Both the crow and the cat were attracted to it. Gravel crunched under my soles as I picked my way across the wasteland of refuse and sweepings, old bottles and broken cans, old iron. I remember now! I remember thinking the place smelled absolutely foul but just as I did the crow squawked "foul is fair and fair is foul" ... "Macbeth"? Why "Macbeth"?

When I reached the cat and the crow I was surprised to discover that the shimmering object was a stunning, lush bush of white roses. Somehow the rose had taken root in the midst of all that refuse and dereliction and climbed tenaciously up a spiral ladder onto the roof of the shorter building. Before I thought about it - or all the thorns! - I had climbed the ladder to stand on the roof. Because this leg of the 'L' was shorter than the main building by one story I was able to peer into a room through a broken window. A tangle of the white roses spilled over the sill at one corner.

At first I could not understand what I was seeing. Moonlight and shadows chased across the floor and over the walls. When my eyes adjusted I saw piles of old rags and even old bones scattered everywhere. I looked more closely, trying to identify a large, colorful object with several protuberances discarded on the floor next to a crate. The moon chased the shadows away long enough for me to see that the object was a carousel horse painted in glorious shades of blue.

The moon held the horse in its silver light. When I shifted my point of view I think I saw other forms in the shadows, maybe other animals? The scene was compelling yet I wondered why I had been brought to this warehouse. I shifted again and came face to face with an industrious bumblebee lifting off from one of the fully blown roses. Absurd as it sounds I greeted the bee, "Hi, honey," and it seemed to dance a greeting back to me. The crow and the cat sat just above me on the roof watching every movement.

I looked at them. I watched the bee. I studied the carousel horse. After some time I understood the path the roses pursued. They were growing through the broken window as if that horse were their goal! "Excuse me," I said to the bee, broke off a spray of roses, and tossed them down toward the horse. "I don't know what I am supposed to do for you, but I will find out and I will be back."
Now what? I am back where I began. Well, not exactly. I finally figured out that bit about "Heart-mysteries there" and it may explain some of the images. The landscape of part of the dream sounds like the landscape of Yeats' "The Circus Animals' Desertion" -- but why did I dream this? Why have I dreamed of it a number of times?