Sussex and Devonshire, the words floating through my head in the same way the word wisteria with images of its royal purple growing across a porch in some sunlit yesterday I can't quite grasp, often has. This word repeating in a British voice at its own whim, without the hard r and a greater lifting a. Could it have been my great Grammy Sharps?
Anyway, it is like one of those experiences when you smell something and it brings you back into a state of feeling, the hairs on your neck and arms stand on end, but there really isn’t a specific memory attached, though the physical reaction is always the same. Do you know what I mean? Like when someone carefully pushes the hair around your ear several times before leaning in to whisper a hot-breathed secret into your cochlea.
So, that is how these two place names were floating about my conscious and unconsciousness and giving feeling and preceding, or convening over the rest of the dream which was as follows:
I will transcribe just as I did halved (or wholed) in sleep and wake state the black scrawl (not always grammatically correct, but rather a word picture for time is not linear here) from the dream journal. As often enough, mistakes here are like revelations, think Freudian slips and each crack a place to discover. Sometimes, upon waking and re-reading you'll find yourself wanting to correct, or fix what you think is a sleepy-time confusion, but do TRUST.
At a vacation rental, sprawling and huge—many rooms and stairs and it’s time to check out. I run upstairs to the room where I had been staying in, before leaving, to pee and pick up. Two others were there, up to the same floor very quickly, but up (and down) different sets of stairs than I had followed to reach this point, or level of the house. So, I run into these two at the same point—we meet face to face at this room (still don’t get how they’ve navigated in the way that they have)?
There is a room that must be entered through a very tight wooden box and I go through the first section flat on the ground and get through, but second box is proving very difficult and claustrophobic so I stand up throwing the second box easily to the side. I pull myself back out the first and decide that I will tell management that I will no longer stay in or accept that room. It’s too big a strain on my back and really a room for a child or children.
I go to an area where many children are running around and playing and I pick up some burnt match heads, crumbs and small toys. There’s a Mexican woman who is cleaning and I ask her where the toys go so that I can put the ones I’ve picked up away.
Then, I am dreaming of creating or getting toy chests to put these toys in.
And, then today, my friend writes about I-AM-ness and I come across this (please note number 9 is my favorite number and often precedes good paths to follow for me:
9 . My “I‑am-ness” is limited only as I choose to limit myself. If I identify with “good/bad,” right/wrong lists, or with what others think or what others want, my “I‑am-ness” becomes a small, tight box. I must realize that I am not a noun. I am a verb. The question, then, is this: how much of my “I‑am-ing” will I bring into consciousness, and how much will I choose to live? --an excerpt from I-am-ness with Wayne Allen
My teacher/friend further shares that she doesn’t use the words …random or coincidence ever, because time is the great sequencer.
Holy, illuminating grail!
And, I responded, What a pearl of wisdom! And, I think of Jung’s synchronicity being the recognition of this sequencing, as the Tetris blocks fall into place, like melting sands, and then the next puzzle piece travels faster down the screen to test our quickened abilities.
This is how you walk a dream. Give your dream-wisdom the honor of jotting it down, carrying it into the waking world and then watch how the world further informs! You won't be sorry you did :)