Only a Dream Away

Babaji

Here is an abbreviated version of the dream as I wrote it to my teacher:

I dreamed last night that Babaji died. 

 

Wherever I was, throngs of people came around a mountain while I photographed a gigantic, dead, but very fragrant tree stump. Where I could pick the bark off it smelled spicy and perfumed. I chewed on some of the bark.

 

You appeared in the crowd of people, who were all shouting and making their way to the funeral, and I felt as if I hadn't seen you in years. We found each other and embraced for a long time.

 

Then we followed the crowd and attended a celebration for Babaji -- lots of garlands of flowers and petals falling from the sky and white animals running through narrow streets, all laden with flowers around their necks and on their backs and in their mouths.

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After the funeral celebration, I walked around the city. It was strewn with performers -- they all looked like Commedia dell Arte performers, but in ghoulish renditions of their usual costumes. They leered and laughed as I poassed by but it didn't seem unsettling -- just part of a carnival atmosphere. Tombstones littered the streets.

One performer took advantage of a slab of concrete missing from the sidewalk to lie down in the gravel, imitating a corpse in a fresh, shallow grave. He was masked as a bishop -- his whole head and mitre were made of a very old, grey, mostly flat piece of would with holes for the eyes. His robes, however, were shroud-like -- grey, dirty, close and not very stately at all. I asked if I could step over him, with one foot on each side of his torso, and take a photo. And he said no -- he did not want me to accidentally step on his clothes. I honored his request and took my photo from the side.

The setting changed and I was in an all-girls home. Something not modern. Someone was with me -- not sure who, a girl/woman -- and I found a tiny adorable pink and grey kitten sleeping on a cushion. Again I tried to capture this sight with my camera. The kitten awakened and hissed, and that was the shot I took. I noticed that it was a Scotch Fold kitten. I moved elsewhere in the room and found another cat, a bigger one, also a Scotch Fold, sleeping between chair cushions. This time I approached it and pet it so as not to take it by surprise. All was fine.

The Troublesome Imbolc Ritual(s) plus a cameo by Michael

ACT I

I am in the main classroom at school and my Mystery School friends have gathered for our Imbolc ritual. The altar is set, and the room is wavering somewhere between its mundane self and some other place, sometimes smaller, sometimes larger, sometimes with other furniture (and, curiously, a big stereo system), and sometimes without.

Althea is not there and I am to lead the ritual. We gather around the altar, the room candlelit. Facing South, I look at the altar. Directly before me is a special Imbolc candle -- like one I remember my mother had from childhood, decorated with an ornate Celtic design. It is already about halfway used and is sitting in a holder. To the left of it, lying on the altar, is an identical candle, except brand new, with a long wick. I light the halfway-used candle. Elsewhere all over the altar are several other candles, all of different shapes, sizes, degrees of use and colors, and I know these are all the candles of my fellow Mystery Schoolers which we will light later in the ritual. There is also a jack-o-lantern on the altar. "Who put this here?" I ask. One of my fellow Mystery Schoolers, Chris, says that she put it there. "But why?" I ask. No answer. My friend HT goes to light the new Imbolc candle. "Hang on a second," I say, producing a pair of scissors from out of nowhere. I trim the wick down to a manageable size and hand the candle back to him.

The altar is set back too close to the bookshelves on the North end. "Hey guys, let's move this forward a little so we can stand around the altar and give the quarter officers room to walk around." We pull the whole production South a few feet. "Quarter officers?" I ask, and volunteers speak up.

I ask everyone to ground out and do the Kabbalistic cross. Some people seem distracted. In particular, someone who I know is interested in joining us in real life but is not yet part of our group, a very nice woman named Rebecca, is talking in the background, giggling, lots of movement. I try to let the core group lead by example, and begin.

"Before we call in the elements, I'd like to tell the story of Water," I say. (Which is an odd deviation from standard procedure -- this is the sort of thing we'd usually save until AFTER the room has been blessed.)

"In the beginning, all was darkness, and the breath of God moved across the Water," I intone, referring of course to Genesis, chapter one, verse one.

Rebecca is still chattering away in the back. "I'd like to tell the story of Water," I say to her. She looks up. I continue again. "In the beginning...."

And she gets up and walks to the door.

"Where are you going? We're in the middle of ritual, could you show a little respect?"

"I'm just going to get something to bring to the back room for the pot luck," she says.

I'm really getting steamed now. She closes the door behind her. All is quiet again, so I start once more:

"In the beginning, all was darkness and the breath of God moved across the Water. And then God separated Water from Water and created the Firmament."

At this point Rebecca comes walking back through the room with her treats in hand, singing in a mocking tone: "Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb..." (which is bizarrely appropriate actually, considering that Imbolc celebrates ewes going into milk for imminent lambing).

That's it. I'm out of patience. I catch up to her before she can reach the North door and grab her by her wrists.

"What's wrong with you? Can't you see we're conducting ritual here? This is important, you have to show some respect or else remove yourself from the rite." She's looking at me with a sneering smile. My hands go up to hold her face. "Maybe you don't respect me leading this but you have to respect the rite and what we're celebrating. Maybe you think Althea should be here or maybe you think you should have a greater role. Or is it because you think you deserve more recognition? Well guess what, I think you do. You're beautiful and talented and deserve the best, but you have to show respect first and do the work."

At this point she's crying and can't hold onto her mocking mask any longer. We hug a long hug while our classmates look on in a hush.

ACT II

Once again I am just about to start the same ritual. There is a big stereo by the side of the altar and it's playing music -- pleasant but not appropriate nor conducive for sacred space.

I walk to the stereo and turn it down.

I return to my spot and begin as described in Act 1.

By itself, the knob on the stereo turns clockwise, bringing up the volume. (This actually happened to me in real life in an apartment -- likely haunted -- that I had just after college. I actually had to fight with the thing to stop it from becoming deafening.)

I go over and turn it down. My group look bewildered -- how is that doing that by itself?!

The process repeats at least two more times.

There is no clear resolution to this except that in the next scene I am in the car with my husband and it is daytime, and we are on a 'break,' just out for a bit and then returning to finish the ritual. In the car we are driving past the downtown skyscrapers and I am going over what I want to say when we get back to school.

ACT III

Back at school in the same room as before, but it doesn't seem like it has anything to do with Imbolc. Actually it seems like the tail-end of some herb class-related event. Socializing, lots of people, lots of action.

Again I am standing by the north door, talking to one or two people. Behind me I hear my teacher Michael's voice, which is a surprise (partly because in real life I haven't talked to him in a long time, partly because he lives across the country). I hear him greeting someone, probably Althea. Out of my peripheral vision -- in this dream I never look directly at him -- I can see his black hair, his glasses, I can see him taking off his jacket and hanging it on a chair. I continue on with my conversation but am aware of his voice which is now to my right.

The people in the room shuffle around and finally he and I are standing side by side but facing opposite directions. His right arm grazes my right arm. We are both wearing short-sleeved shirts. I never look at him, nor he at me, we just continue having separate conversations, arms touching. Then our right arms become somewhat snakelike (this is a poor description I think) and twist around each other until we are holding hands. It is the only acknowledgement we give each other, never missing a beat in our separate conversations.

Back in high school, not seeing my teacher's face, fire, a baby

I am putting on a high-school uniform in my home (one I do not recognize). It's getting late, I have to leave, and it's cold out; I wish for tights and magically they appear on my legs.

In the next instant, I am walking into my high school cafeteria (not any place I've seen before, but it resembles the student center at my university). Friends of mine, including my girlfriend Christina (whom I met at herb school just two years ago), are at a table, eating something before class begins. The energy is easy, we're all girls, laughing, gossiping.

The bell rings for class. I hang around until the last minute. I begin to run for homeroom/class. I have to cross the gymnasium to get to the main school building. As I jog through, I spy my present-day herb teacher, Michael, off to the side, with his back to me. He is walking slowly in the same direction but is beginning to turn to the left, behind some kind of temporary curtained structure, like one where you might hide the sound equipment for a show. I do not call out to him but pick up speed and run through the exit.

In the next scene, I am not in any kind of class -- or at least, it doesn't seem like a 'class,' but it is still in high school. Some kind of student gathering? We are in a small, crowded room -- maybe 15 of us or so. It has elements of ritual. We are seated on the floor, singing. Cushions under some of us. Muted light, candles maybe. Reclining, propped on my elbows, I crane my neck and discover that  behind my head is some kind of vase that holds many feathers and incense sticks. All the incense sticks are lit. The feathers are large, brown-and-white-striped. Some of them poke out through holes in the bottom of the vase and their quills are lit, giving off incense as well.

I have the feeling I am supposed to be minding this strange vase with its smoking contents. One of the incense sticks set some object nearby aflame already, and I had to put it out (I do not remember what the object was, only that it was draped with fabric or ribbon -- and I think I just used my hands to extinguish the flames).

I face forward and see Michael again -- he has just come into the room, into the center. He is wearing his mustard-colored shirt. Again, his back is to me -- he is turned at the waist while seated on a chair, reaching behind him for something -- I sense that it is a musical instrument. Others are playing musical instruments in the room now.

I turn back to my incense/feathers and prevent another small fire from breaking out. All of a sudden this time there is a baby sitting next to the vase, dressed in a pale green onesie. He is surrounded by a circle of tealights. I'm mildly surprised that he's there, but I am not alarmed, in fact to see him there is pleasant. He's chubby, less than a year old, giggling, and adorable. I stand up and pick him up to cuddle him. I don't know whose he is.