The Creator and the Whale

In my dream, I saw an old Indian man standing on the belly of a whale. Specifically, he stood at the end of the ventral grooves on the underside of the belly, and I stood at the opposite end near the mouth. Despite the strange position of its body, the whale was very much alive. The old man stooped down, touched the belly of the whale, and caused some invisible energy to flow within one of the ventral grooves. Then he sent several more currents, and each one forced me to change my footing.

Finally, I complained and said, “Just when I get accustomed to one flow of energy, you send me another. Is it too much to ask for some stability in my life?”

The old man said, “Who made the mountains rise from the ocean floor and fall beneath a hundred million years of wind and rain? Who caused the earth to spin on its axis and give both light and darkness to the people? Who designed the flowers to spring from the ground and then wilt beneath the summer’s heat? Who created the seasons of life and death, youth and old age? Who established all things from the beginning to the end? Did not I?”

The old man dressed poorly, with a tattered blanket wrapped around his shoulders and feathers in his hair, but he spoke with unmistakable power. He said, “I am the Creator, and you are part of my creation. It is true that you will witness many changes in your life, but do not be afraid. Did I not promise to be with you always and to send you comfort? Be courageous! You are stronger than you know.”

Scalp Dance

In my dream last night, I traveled back in time to witness a scalp dance, like the one depicted by Paul Kane in 1847 (see above). In my dream, a recently widowed woman wailed and danced in the center of a group of other women from the community. They all sang, danced, and cried together. As the intensity increased, several of the women swooned and fell to the ground. I never saw a scalp, but somehow I knew it was a scalp dance. In any case, the feeling in the air was charged with raw, visceral emotion.

Clearly, I witnessed something powerful, but I didn't understand my relationship to the event. I finally asked my dream guide, "Why are you showing me this?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he waved his hand, and the scalp dance faded away into nothing. More than a hundred years passed in the blink of an eye, and suddenly we were standing in the exact same location, but then we saw the site as it appears in the present day. Where once there was a field, pine trees grew in abundance. A dirt logging road passed over part of the old ceremony grounds, and several HUD houses stood within a half mile of the old dance site.

Based on the landmarks in my dream, I got the impression that the scalp dance occurred near the present-day location of Elijah Road on the Spokane Reservation. 

Cougar Shot in Spokane

Spokane, North Idaho News

A cougar was shot and killed by police at my sister's house in north Spokane. The local news report featured my brother-in-law Aaron Armstrong, as can be seen in this video.

A couple months ago, I dreamed about killing a cougar. The circumstances in my dream were totally different than the real-world scenario, but the underlying idea was the same. In my dream, a cougar threatened my family, and I shot it. It is so strange that the dream event and the waking event happened so close to one another.   

The Dark Side of Venus

Two nights ago, I dreamed that I embarked on a long journey to the south, but a wickedly powerful dust storm blocked my path. This kind of storm seemed more suited to Arizona or some other desert location, but not Spokane. The image of my home town covered in billowing clouds of hot sand was surreal and otherworldly. 

For a while, I battled the blinding sand, but I finally stopped. Then I got angry and found my clarity. I said, "Why should these storms block my path when I can fly?" 

Like a rocket, I flew straight up into the sky. I passed through the heart of the sand storm, and eventually emerged through the top of the clouds. When I broke free of earth's atmosphere, the stars appeared in brilliant clarity. It was an awesome sight!

But then the spirit said, "There's something you have to see." 

Still flying like a rocket, I was led to the planet Venus. I settled into a low orbit, and when I looked down, I saw the burning, tumultuous clouds of the second planet in our solar system. I was mesmerized by its fiery beauty, but the spirit said, "You need to see the storm brewing on the dark side of Venus." I continued toward the other side of Venus, and I was amazed to see massive flashes of lightning that cracked the face of darkness.  

Image: J. Whatmore. 

Summer Solstice

Last night I dreamed about the summer solstice. 

An old man said, "Pray for the sun, because tomorrow is the summer solstice - the longest day of the year." So then a small group of men gathered together and sang to the power of the sun, and as we sang, the sun rose high into the sky and smiled. 

When I awoke, I thought, "Is today really the summer solstice?" I rolled out of bed and checked my calendar. Sure enough, my dream was right. 

Later in the day, I visited my uncle in Wellpinit and saw these amazing white daisies growing in the meadow behind his house. They reminded me of the smiling face of the sun from my dream.  

Even as I was feeling poetic about these flowers, I later learned that daisies are considered a noxious weed. They came originally from Europe and have since been naturalized in other areas of the world. In some parts of the country, they form dense colonies and displace native vegetation. They're such pretty little things. Who would have thought they could be a problem? 

Dream

A few months ago, I had a dream that affected me deeply.

In my dream, I attended a family gathering where several people were fighting with one another. I spoke to them about forgiveness, but nothing seemed to change their anger. One of my deceased relatives observed the argument, along with my attempt to make peace. She took me aside and said, "Sometimes what looks like anger is really a broken heart."

Since my dream, I've reflected on those words as they apply to real life. They most certainly apply to the actual relationships from my dream, but they also apply to other areas of life. This dream reminds me that things aren't always as they appear.

Sharing

Kate is one of my co-workers (on the left; Pamm is on the right). She arrived in my classroom the other night with several hand-made marionettes. It was certainly an unexpected thing, especially in a college setting, but she told a fascinating story about seeing these animals in a dream. She decided to honor her vision by creating these marionettes using wool and a felting process.

Her sharing inspired me for a couple reasons.

First, Kate honored her vision by making something tangible. I was always taught by my elders respect my dreams, especially if they tell me to make something or to perform a specific task. I can't say that I always follow their advice, so Kate gave me a welcome reminder of my cultural teachings. 

Second, it seems we rarely take the time to share with our co-workers in meaningful ways. So often, we maintain our professional face and forget the potential for real human connection. Kate shared her vision with us, and in the process, she created a greater sense of community in our workplace.  

Eagle Woman.

Nightmares

My friend Carole Parks and I recently discussed the subject of nightmares.

Dreams have always given insight and guidance to my life, even the bad ones. When I was a child, my sleep was plagued by nightmares, sometimes as often as three or four times per month. Most of my nightmares involved supernatural or demonic beings, but some represented more earth-bound fears like family arguments or an upcoming math test. As a child, my nightmares often paralyzed me for hours, but as an adult, I learned to tell their stories. The act of re-telling the details of a frightening dream seemed to diminish some of its power. Nowadays, I rarely have scary dreams, but when I do, their message takes center stage. If something demands my attention with such great urgency, I should probably listen.

Recently my friend Adam Brown loaned me the book Dreaming True by Robert Moss. The author offers an insightful statement about nightmares that makes a lot of sense and confirms my attention to dreams.

"Dreams come in gentle and timely ways to show us challenges that lie ahead. If we ignore our dream messages, the dream messenger becomes louder and more strident, like a friend who will phone or come round in the middle of the night because she has vital information for us. That information may involve something very challenging or unpleasant. Maybe the message is that we could lose our job, our relationship, or our health. And maybe we don't want to face such possibilities. So we slam the door on our dreams even as they grow more vocal and dramatic. Now the dream messenger pursues us in terrifying guises, and we flee from the nightmare - the aborted dream - back into the dream of waking life, mumbling, 'It was only a dream.' What happens in the end is that the issue presented in the dreams will bite us in the throat in waking life.

"...How do we get beyond nightmare fears?

"First, we need to stop running, turn around, and brave up to what is pursuing or threatening us. Start by getting yourself calm and strong enough to ask whatever you fear in the dream, 'Who are you? Why are you pursuing me? What do you have to tell me?'"

*

Image credit: Henry Fuseli, The Nightmare, 1781.

Prophecy and Purpose

After writing my previous blog post, Rhonda reminded me that I dreamed of Dakota several years before his birth, and that I wrote those dreams to her in my missionary letters. Thankfully, she saved the letters and shared them again with me.

The first letter was written on July 23, 1991 from the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah. Among other things, I mentioned:

"I dreamed I was holding a small baby boy in my arms... All I knew was that I was given to take care of him, and the devil kept throwing knives at my baby. But no matter what happened, the devil couldn't hurt my baby boy because he was safely held in my arms."

The second time I dreamed of my future child, I wrote the experience in a letter to Rhonda from Quetzaltenango, Guatemala. The letter was dated on April 20, 1992. I wrote:

"Last night I dreamed that I was on the beach at sunrise watching the sad, blue waves come up onto the sand. I was overcome by the sadness of the deep blue water, when I saw a small child come running onto the beach. Somehow seeing that boy gave my heart so much joy. The waves came up to take him away, but I took him into my arms to protect him so that no sadness would come upon him. He had deep eyes, light brown skin, and sandy brown hair. As I held him in my arms, I whispered into his ear, 'My precious child, I love you.'"

As I reflect upon these experiences, I'm amazed to think that I saw my son four years before he was born. But I'm also struck by the recurring theme of protecting him from sadness and danger. Perhaps even then, my soul understood the challenges we would face together. My son has indeed looked into the well of sadness, but with all my heart, I strive to embrace the prophecy of my dreams and shield him from the daggers of life.

He appeared in my dream at least one other time before he was born. Unfortunately, I don't think I kept a journal of my experience, so I have to write about my dream from memory more than a decade after the fact. The dream happened sometime during Rhonda's first trimester of pregnancy. In fact, I think it was before the twelfth week because we had not yet learned the sex of the child. Based on these facts, I estimate the dream must have happened between September and November of 1994.

In my dream, I saw a baby standing on a table. I was surprised because the child was tiny, like a newborn, but there he stood upright like an adult. He even spoke like an adult. I don't remember the full conversation, but he said something like: "I want to let you know that I'm a boy, and I will be your son." He also said, "I want you to know that my name is Edward Dakota Moses." He carefully articulated each syllable of the name, as if to emphasize its great importance. Then he said, "When I'm a child, you'll call me Dakota, but when I'm an adult, you'll call me Edward. Dakota is my childhood name and Edward is my adult name."

Not long after my dream, Rhonda got an ultrasound and confirmed that the baby was a boy.

Dakota's delivery was a long and difficult process, but even then, Dakota's spirit influenced our dreaming. Several days before his birth, my auntie Dena had a dream that my dad told her to follow him. "Hurry up!" he said, "My grandson is about to be born." In her dream, they arrived just in time. She looked up and saw the hands of the clock standing at 10:04.

During the delivery, Dena shared the dream with all the people in the room, including the doctor. It was probably close to 7:00 in the evening, but Dr. Condon remarked, "I suppose it's possible." Rhonda continued to push for the next several hours, and after an exhausting labor, she finally gave birth to our beautiful baby boy. In that moment, I looked over my shoulder to see the clock, just as the hands reached 10:04 pm.

And then just a few years ago, I had a dream that Dakota, my father, and I were walking together on a road. We arrived at a bridge and my father said to me, "You cannot cross this bridge. It belongs to your son."

"Where does it lead?" I asked.

"This is the bridge to adulthood," he said. "You already crossed your bridge, but this one belongs to Dakota. After his 18th birthday, you will have a dinner and a ceremony in his honor where you will put away his childhood name. From that day on, he will have the right to be known in the community as the new Ed Moses."

After so many spiritual experiences, I see my son approaching adulthood and struggling to understand his own value in the world. I suppose every young man passes through some degree of sadness and self-doubt. It's only natural that he would have to discover his own path in life, but I want him to know that he is never alone. I love him with all my heart. The ancestors are guiding him, his family supports him, and all the signs indicate he is a man with a great purpose.

Queen of Munster

Dreams give us the power to travel across time and to visit mythical places.

Last night I dreamed of the Titanic as it crossed the Atlantic Ocean. The ship sailed heavy with the arrogance and vanity of those who lacked respect for the dangers of the ice and sea. After the ship sank, the lifeboats drifted among the waves, while the survivors huddled together and stared into the horizon with weary faces.

We all know the tragic story up this point.

But in my dream, the story changed. A woman arrived from a distant country to rescue the survivors from the freezing water. She gathered them together with great tenderness and cared for their every need; she fed them and covered them in warm clothing.

At the end, the woman sat upon a throne and smiled. When I finally saw her clearly, I noticed that she was slender and very beautiful. She wore flowers in her hair and an elegant, sleeveless gown made of flowing silk.

“Who is this woman?” I asked.

One of her attendants was a man also dressed in elegant clothing. He heard my question and pointed to the inscription above the woman’s throne. There in gold letters was written the title “Queen of Munster.”

The queen arose and said, “I have compassion on all the survivors of this great tragedy. Therefore, by my proclamation, I welcome you. All those who survived may come and dwell freely in my lands.”

The people stood as though they did not know how to respond. A few of them thanked the queen, but most simply walked away and hobbled back to their homes. I did not sense any disrespect in their actions, only the shock of those who survived an unthinkable terror. But sadness overshadowed the woman’s face as she said, “So few have returned.”

That was the end of the dream.

After I awoke this morning, I was haunted by the face of the woman. “Who was she?” I asked myself. Then I remembered the golden inscription above her throne, “Queen of Munster.”

“What a strange name,” I thought, but I decided to do a Google search and see what responses I could find. Much to my surprise, I found many references to a Queen of Munster in the mythological history of ancient Ireland. For example, one such reference stated:

Áine — (AN-yuh or AW-ne) from Old Irish aine "brilliance, wit, splendor, glory"; "joy", "brightness", "fasting", "praise", or "radiance". In legend, Aine was the daughter of Fer I (Man of the Yew) and the traditional name of the queen of fairies of south Munster, an important and varied role in Celtic mythology; was believed to dwell at the place now called Knockany (Cnoc Aine, "Aine's Hill"). Also used as an Irish form of Aina, Anne, Ann.

Quoted from: http://www.amethyst-night.com/names/irishfem.html

Other references named different individuals with similar names. One source indicates that Aeval is a Celtic goddess of sexuality. Another source states, “Cliodna is tributary queen of Munster, and rules from a sidh near Mallow in County Cork, while under her again, are Aoibhinn, queen of the fairies of North Munster, and Aine, queen of the fairies of South Munster” (From ‘Celtic Myth and Legend, Poetry and Romance’ by Charles Squire and Wilkie Collins).

In all references, the Queen of Munster is associated with the fairies of Ireland.

*

I am surprised that my dream mentioned such an obscure name from the mythological history of a distant country. Perhaps I encountered this name sometime before, and perhaps my dream simply retrieved the name from my subconscious during a random firing of neurons. I’ve never had any interest in fairies, and I know very little about their place in traditional folklore, but now I’m left wondering what meaning this dream holds.

Any interpretations or impressions? I welcome all comments.

Dream

A couple nights ago I had an interesting dream.

In my dream, I was flying high above the South Pacific, looking down from the clouds. Meanwhile, my daughter Whitney was swimming thousands of miles from shore on her way to South America. She was perfectly calm, though it would seem impossible to find a child in the middle of the ocean.

I hovered above the surface of the water and said, "Whitney, you're going the wrong way. We have work to do." Hand in hand, the two of us flew to Easter Island.

When we arrived, a group of indigenous islanders greeted us and asked us to assist with two projects. First, they asked us to help re-forest a portion of the island. Second, they asked us to help restore an ancestral ceremony that had been lost. For a while, the people appeared somewhat lost and confused as they stood around looking at one another. But after a short time, their genetic memory began to function beyond conscious thought to re-create the ancient movements. The men and women stood on opposite sides of a field and danced. As they moved toward the center, they sang of words that had once been forgotten.

Dream

Last night I dreamed of the Venerable Geshe Thupten Phelgye. You may remember that he and I met back in July for a ceremony on Mount Spokane dedicated to world peace.

In my dream, I visited Geshe-la at a monastery, perhaps in India or Tibet, amid the vivid colors of prayer flags and green trees. When I first saw him, he sat meditating on a distant hill, surrounded by orphans and the outcasts of society. As I approached, he opened his eyes and smiled. He then welcomed me and grasped my hand with both hands.

Geshe-la led the way toward the monastery, stopping frequently to introduce me to the children and other people. Their faces inspired me because of their simple and genuine kindness.

We visited a courtyard inside the monastery, and Geshe-la welcomed me to sit and converse a while. “Tell me,” he said, “What brings you here?”

“Master Phelgye,” I said, “It would seem I have drawn the two cards of misfortune and anxiety. What should I do to change my luck?”

He paused and considered my question with care. Finally he spoke, “In Buddhist philosophy, all things are temporary, so even sadness and misfortune must one day disappear. But sometimes we can help the process.”

He extended his hand and said, “Let me see the cards.”

The two cards of anxiety and misfortune reminded me of playing cards with dark lettering and depictions of human grief. Geshe-la studied the cards and said, “When misfortune befalls us, sometimes we can reverse the flow of energy. Sometimes we can replace misfortune with auspiciousness.” He then placed the cards in an incense bowl and lit them on fire, causing smoke to rise upwards in a backward spiral. Geshe-la then extended his hands and created a forward spiral. I watched him with intense concentration, then my hands became his hands, and I was the one changing the flow of the energy spiral. I found myself humming a Spokane song and smiling.

I awoke feeling peaceful and happy.

Extreme Peru: Part Two

Dream World

Several hours after departing Atlanta en route to São Paulo, I sat upright in my seat and stared into the blackness outside my window. I struggled to find a restful position, but instead found a sharp pain in my neck. Sleep deprivation began to alter my perceptions and send me into a parallel world. My internal reality spilled over onto the scenes outside my window.

The boundary between the ocean and sky blended in perfect darkness, while a scattering of stars sparkled above me. In my waking-dream state, I imagined the stars were distant torches on the shores of another world.

And then I saw a single point of light looking up from the sea. Was it an island? A boat? Once again, my altered perceptions created a story. In my waking-dream, I imagined a single house surrounded by coconut trees, white sand beaches, and coral reefs. A man lived all alone on that little island, hundreds of miles from the nearest neighbor. In that very moment, he tossed in his bed because in his dream he felt me watching from the plane 30,000 feet above.

As I envisioned the man tossing in his sleep, a feeling of sadness washed over me. Suddenly I was the man on the island, totally isolated and alone, while my heart ached for my children.

This altered form of reality persisted as long as the darkness remained, even as we passed the brilliant lights of Caracas, Venezuela, and the blackest jungles of interior Brazil. But in the end, the sun rose over the eastern horizon and dispelled the haze of my sleep-deprivation.

As we landed in São Paulo, Sheli and I looked forward with positive expectations for an easy connection to our next flight. By the way, the photograph at the beginning of this post is a scene of São Paulo as our plane landed.

Dream Question

A while back, I wrote that sometimes I have prophetic dreams. This is true, but the opposite is also true. Sometimes I have confusing, mundane, or even contradictory dreams. The question is: How do I know the difference? Which dreams tell the future, and which dreams simply re-hash the worn-out banalities of my daily life?

The answer is not so easy to decipher. No wonder the ancients consulted oracles and full-time dream interpreters.

At about this time last year, I received a very graphic dream that I hit someone with my car. I was driving down a busy street at night, when a group of teenagers wearing Halloween costumes bolted in front of my Ford Ranger pickup. With no time to react, I drove full force into a young man wearing a white ghost sheet and a green stocking cap. His body flung around and slammed into the side of the car. I panicked and sped away – hit and run, but then returned to the scene a few minutes later. When I arrived, red and blue police lights flashed onto the buildings and reflected from darkened windows. I awoke with a knot in my stomach.

Was it a premonition, or something else?

In the weeks that followed, I agonized over that dream. I simply had no way of knowing if those frightful images would really come to pass, or if my Halloween vision would simply pass away. I prayed about that dream and consulted my elders. I meditated and pondered, hoping for some additional insight.

As Halloween approached, I accepted that I may never receive an answer. This forced me into an interesting dilemma. I had to decide if I would ignore the dream and take my chances on visiting a horrible fate, or if I would change my dream by choosing a different course. Some dreams really have come true and others just fizzle. What risk was I willing to take?

After considering all my options, I chose to alter the dream course.

In the last two or three days before Halloween, I drove more cautiously than usual. In my way of thinking, young people might conceivably dress up and attend costume parties one or two days before the actual holiday. If this happened, I would be more mindful. I also made arrangements to not drive at all for the full 24 hours of Halloween proper. I stayed home most of the day, and that evening, my family and I walked to a trunk-or-treat celebration at a neighborhood church. At the end of the event, we walked home together and enjoyed a beautiful, uneventful evening.

I may never know if my actions altered the course of fate, or if I simply worried myself over nothing. This leads me to the essential question of the hour. To all my dreamers out there in the blogosphere, I ask you to share your own dream wisdom. How do YOU tell authentic dream messages from random mental chatter? Please comment.

Prophetic Dreams

Random Fact #6: Sometimes I have prophetic dreams.

When I was a child, I noticed that some of my dreams had an eerie quality that occasionally manifested into reality; however, it didn't always happen in a straightforward way. Most often, the prophetic quality was revealed in a gesture, a phrase, or a metaphor that would then appear in my waking life a few days later.

The first of these events that I recall happened on June 13, 1979 when I was eight years old. I remember the date only because the real-life event seemingly predicted was recorded in my family history.

In my dream, I was walking alone in a barren, industrial-looking neighborhood. The streets were empty of people, except for me. I came to a parked car, and for some reason, I felt compelled to look inside. Just then, my yaya Minnie's reflection appeared on the glass at the same moment that she whispered my name. When I turned around to greet her, she was already gone. A lonesome wind blew across my face.

I awoke the next morning feeling empty and sad. Just a few hours later, my aunt called to inform us that my yaya Minnie passed away.

Was it coincidence or prophecy? Sometimes it's hard to tell.

I dreamed of death a full year before my father died, but I never saw enough clear signs to warn him in advance. In one dream, I saw a complete set of my father's clothes folded near an open grave. In our tradition, people sometimes do fold the last-worn clothes of a deceased person in this exact manner, but I just didn't connect the dots. In another dream, I saw a body lying on a table covered in a sheet. I reached forth with a trembling hand to remove the cloth, but something woke me before I could see the face. After my father died, I saw his body in the emergency room, and he lay on the table in the exact manner and position as the body in my dream. The only difference was that the sheet no longer covered his face.

Sometimes my dreams reveal future events with exact clarity, but usually these episodes seem random and mundane even. One night I dreamed of airplanes flying low overhead as they left multi-colored contrails in the summer sky. The image was so brilliantly clear that I awoke feeling perplexed at its meaning. Less than an hour later, emergency personnel arrived at my apartment and told us to evacuate; a wildfire was fast approaching less than a mile away, they said. As Rhonda and I rushed outside to the car, an airplane flew overhead and dropped red fire retardant in a long billowing streak across the sky. The image matched my dream exactly.

As I reflect on these dreams, I'm left to wonder what purpose they serve. I couldn't prevent my father's death, or do anything practical like find winning lottery numbers. Most of the time, I don't even know the dreams are prophetic until I see them fulfilled in my waking reality. Prophetic dreams are horribly difficult to separate from the nightly clutter of ordinary dream events. At this rate, I could never hope to make any money as a medium or professional psychic, (lol), not that I even want to. I'm just saying...

And yet, sometimes prophetic dreams are intensely instructive or even comforting.

Less than a week before my father died, I had my last prophetic dream of the event that would shake my world to the core. In my dream, the Angel of Death appeared to carry me away. Just as he reached his hand toward me, Jesus stood between us, but the spectre of death laughed and swallowed Jesus in his black cloak. I felt my heart sink. Just then a blinding flash of light destroyed the dark figure; evaporated him. The empty cloak fell to the ground and Jesus stood before me with arms outstretched. "Fear not," he said, "For I have conquered death."

I woke up sobbing. A few short days later, I told this dream to the people as I stood beside my father's grave.

Most often, dreams speak to me in metaphor. It's like a complete language unto itself that I'm only beginning to understand. Many questions remain unanswered, but I always try to share my dreams with others, especially if I see them in my dream. I also ask my friends to share their dreams with me, especially when they see ME. By discussing our dreams, perhaps we learn to translate these enigmatic symbols into meaningful tools for abundant living.

Random Fact #1: I was once a millionaire.
Random Fact #2: I was once an Earth Ambassador.
Random Fact #3: I once drove a get-away car.
Random Fact #4: I read the Bible from cover to cover.
Random Fact #5: I was once a beggar.

Random Fact #6: Sometimes I have prophetic dreams.

Commitment

Thanks to everyone who offered interpretations or opinions about my dream. After reading various perspectives, I don't think the dream speaks of a literal death; however, I do think a major life change may soon appear on the horizon.

Last night, my dream seemed to confirm the notion of some important transition.

In my dream, a group of Army recruiters approached me about enlisting. Of course, I'm too old to enlist at this stage of my life, but dream rules always allow for strange exceptions to real world events. If this happened in my waking life, I think I would run away, but in my dream reality, I happily consented. In fact, I was excited to go. But just as I reached for the pen to sign the dotted line, the military doctor signed my name. "Why'd you do that?" I protested.

"I have authority to sign for other people," he said.

"If you have authority to sign for me," I said, "You could have enlisted me years ago against my will."

He nodded. "You're right, but you wouldn't have been ready before. What good would that do?"

* * *

Oddly enough, this dream seems to fit my previous dream about death. If we reduce my first dream to a single, powerful statement, I would have to say that I was "taking the leap." If you think about it, that's not very different than "signing the contract." Both images involve a high level of commitment that prevents any return to a former state.

All this makes me think that some important commitment or change is just around the corner. Any thoughts?

Premonition

What does it mean when a person dreams of death?

A couple nights ago, I had a series of dreams with strong death images. In the first dream, I was standing at the base of the Twin Towers in New York City. As I looked upward, a handful of men jumped from the upper deck, and when they hit the ground, they didn't die. They bounced. At this stage of the dream, I felt excited for my turn to "make the leap." Even then, "jumping from the tower" seemed to conceal some hidden meaning.

The dreams started out pleasantly, but they took a dark turn. In the second dream, I was riding an elevator inside the tower, presumably to reach the upper floor. At least three other people stood beside me. The first was an elderly elevator operator. The second was an African American woman wearing a pink polyester suit and a matching hat. The third was a farmer wearing blue overalls and a white shirt. I'm not sure how the coversation turned to death, but somehow I discovered that the operator was actually a ghost. "Are you dead?" I asked. He smiled and nodded.

"What about you?" I asked the woman.

"I'm also dead," she said through a smile.

Before I could ask, the man wearing overalls said, "Me too." Suddenly I felt very uneasy to be riding an elevator car full of dead people.

In the third dream, I sat beside my bed while Rhonda comforted my daughter Whitney. She spoke through her tears, "I miss my daddy."

* * *

So is this a premonition or a prophetic dream? Is it symbolic of making a leap into a major life change? Or is it something else? I'm looking for reactions and feedback on this one. You know who you are. Please comment.

Dreams & Memory

With my uncle's passing, family members reunite after years of separation. Old memories return to the present with vivid colors, sounds, and emotions. Dreams and waking experiences mingle together.

In the last 15 or 20 years, I spoke to my uncle Speed only a handful to times, but a few months ago, I dreamed that I received word of his approaching death. In the dream, I rushed to see him, but I did not arrive in time. I saw him sitting at a window in the upper story of a building. He drew back a curtain and smiled at me, then simply faded away. I awoke in tears.

Only a day or two later, I received a telephone call saying my uncle had been hospitalized with almost no chance of recovery. My dream seemed prophetic. I dropped everything and rushed to the hospital. Thankfully, I arrived in time to see him and express my feelings. We sat and laughed like old times, as though no time had passed at all. Indian people are like that; we never forget our enduring family bonds. As I stood at the door to leave, I said, "It's been too long uncle. I love you."

He smiled and said, "I love you too." We hugged, and that was the last I saw him.

We learned of his death while traveling in Wyoming. Oddly enough, I would have arrived in time to see him again, but our detour to the Casper hospital delayed our return by several days. We arrived in Spokane less than 10 hours after his passing. In that sense, my dream was somewhat prophetic again.

The photograph above shows my uncle Speed standing at the front. My father is wearing the number 15 shirt.



At times such as this, family memories and old hurts return to visit. The memory of other loved ones who have passed fill my heart with renewed sadness. Somehow all the grief of every death comes alive all at once.

In this picture, my yaya Minnie stands with her children in July of 1962. My father is the oldest and tallest of her children. I can't say for certain, but he looks so terribly sad in this picture. I can only guess what burdens he must have carried, even at that young age.

Thanks to my Auntie Mary Ann Rima for the pictures.

Brown Camas

Brown Camas, originally uploaded by sulustumoses.

Last night I had a strange dream that led me to the camas fields.

In my dream, a woman I know visited me at my childhood home in Seattle. She said, "I understand you're planting native species in your yard. You really should plant Zigadenus Elegans." She motioned toward a box of beautiful white flowers on the ground near her feet. She then removed one of the flowers from the box and handed it to me.

As I examined the white flower, something felt terribly wrong. "I don't want these," I said to myself.

I began to sift through the white flowers in the box, looking for one that would make me happy. None of the white flowers gave me any sense of enjoyment or peace. Instead, I managed to find several blue flowers hidden in the mix. "These are the ones I'll choose for my garden," I said.

Then I woke up.

All morning the name of that plant rattled in my brain, Zigadenus Elegans. I know I saw that name someplace before, but I couldn't remember where. Finally, a quick Google search revealed the common name of the plant: Death Camas.

The words startled me. Why did that woman want me to plant death camas in my yard? What is the message I'm supposed to take away? What meaning might this plant have in my life?

Impelled by my haunting dream images, I drove to the one place I had seen death camas before. I wanted to see the plant again up close and maybe take a few pictures. Unfortunately, I found out that death camas doesn't flower just yet.

On the positive side, I did find the pleasant blue flowers from my dream: the brown camas. This plant is a traditional food of the Plateau Salish tribes. The flower is blue, but the white starchy bulbs turn dark brown when cooked, hence the name brown camas.

Nightmares and Halcyon

I'll post no pictures again today, just a few reflections on events of the last 24 hours.

Last night, Rhonda screamed and woke me from my sleep. Still half-slumbered, I rested my hand on her arm to offer some comfort, but within her nightmare state, she lashed out and threw blind punches into the air. Her fist collided with my hand and jammed my index finger up to my first knuckle. I winced from the pain and hollered, “Wake up!” The throbbing in my hand diminished any remaining sympathy. As soon as the shrieking faded, I rolled over, cradled my wounded finger with my good hand, and went back to sleep.

By morning, she apologized for punching me, but my finger still hurts.

Later this morning, I took my eleven year old daughter to the dentist to get a filling in her back molar. She doesn’t handle trips to the dentist, especially if they require even the slightest degree of pain or discomfort. The nurse approached me with half a halcyon tablet in a small paper cup. “Have her put this under her tongue until it dissolves. She should relax within fifteen minutes.”

The terror began sooner than expected. My poor daughter clutched both hands over her mouth and shook her head in small quick jerks.

The nurse spoke in reassuring, practical tones, “This will make it easier for you,” but the longer my daughter resisted, the more the nurse sharpened her persuasive edge. “It’s better to take the pill on your own…” her voice trailed before she completed the ultimatum.

I want my daughter to feel as comfortable as possible. I certainly don’t want her to suffer, and yet I didn’t realize that tiny half tablet would cause so much worry. We couldn’t just walk away; the cavity would only worsen and eventually require more painful treatments, but I hate forcing her to do anything. I hate to cause her any fear. The dilemma tortured both her and me. Then as I held the pill between my fingertips, I had a crazy mental picture of me as a parent pressuring my child to take a drug. It isn’t supposed to work that way. Am I not supposed to protect her from drugs?

We must have argued the point for ten or fifteen minutes, until my daughter finally snatched the pill from my hand and placed it under her tongue. The nurse sighed and said, “I’ll be back for you in fifteen minutes.”

We can only guess if the halcyon had any effect at all. Every new procedure required another round of cajoling and persuasion. Even the cotton candy-scented “happy air” did nothing to alleviate my daughter’s panic. She gripped my hand as a giant teardrop dribbled down her cheek. She finally consented to the filling, but it felt like humiliation.

I know she needed that filling, but I left feeling like a horrible parent.