screwtape

so many dreams, so little time.

lately i have been besieged with cares, and i have lost a certain focus. this has rendered my dream recall less effective. i have snippets and fragments. memories of being in places, little ability to string the words together that were spoken, but words are spoken, and i listen.

last night, and this morning, i dreamed a few dreams, the last of which is fading fast, but i will put down the images.

familiar town, seeming to represent bloomington. been here before, in dreams.
alleyways and cafes that seem to be near or around 6th and 5th and washington or lincoln.
speaking with a professor friend in a cafe with others. he was ruminating on a topic of which we had asked him. i put a pot of coffee on for us all, but it ended up being served to others. he was talking about something to do with discerning good and evil, and then mentioned c.s. lewis, and the screwtape letters, a book i have never read.

we left, deciding to get coffee while we strolled.

before this, i was at a house, and it was something like thanksgiving, although it was not thanksgiving day. however, we were having an open house of sorts, and the reason was for thanksgiving, that is, a feast for the giving of thanks. my neighbours were there, michael and april, maybe their kids were around somewhere. i had the impression that the families of the others were around. michael and i were sitting by the fire in the living room, which had white sand instead of carpet. i had put on dark skin, and we were comparing our skin colours, like kids compare their tans. my skin was dark as michael's, although his skin was a shade lighter than usual. this may have been because of the nature and brightness of the light, which was a natural light, but wierdly bright in that it seemed to illuminate things from within themselves as well as from without. anyway,we thought my knees needed to be alittle bit darker if they were to match. we were laughing in an enjoyable way about this.

there was a halltree piled with coats, and i was aware that lots of my family were there. people were milling about and eating food. i got up to use the bathroom, and noticed the trash can in the bathroom was overflowing. i decided i should empty it before any other guests came in, but noticed that my dad's favourite beachtowel was wadded up on top. it was all worn and tattered, and it said coca cola, bearing the classic coke trademark. i figured he wouldn't mind, since he had passed away, and wouldn't be using it here anymore.

i passed down the hallway, and peeked into the master bedroom, where my mom and justice were asleep, sprawled out across a very large bed among some more coats. justice was about the size of a four year old, and barefoot.

i met my dad in the hallway, and he had put on a uniform that resembled a post man. he wore shorts and a mail man or bus driver type shirt, blue, that had a patch on the left breast that said "metro" and i kept thinking, metropolitan. i thought my dad had a job with some kind of angel city. judy and i think, the girls, kathy and cindy, and some others were getting into cars to go somewhere. my dad was going to drive them. we stood in the doorway, and he gave me a hug, i was sooo happy to see him, and we gave each other a little kiss, but the funny thing was, when we did so, both of us had peaches in our mouths, and we kind of tapped them, like a toast. the peach tasted fresh and juicy and sweet. i was thinking of the meaning of the peaches as i was dreaming, and the fruits of labour, and the angel city for whom my father apparently worked as a driver. my dad seemed contented and bemused by these things.

later i was back at the town part, with the group i had been at the cafe with. or maybe that was all after the house with the sandy hearth part. anyway, we were walking down a tight hallway, and talking about good and evil. evil is the word live spelled backward. in this hallway were two doors, very plain, very regular. we were following some sort of guide.

the one door, door number one, opened onto the good. the other, door number two, opened onto the evil. at the beginning of the hallway, or the entrance to the hallway, there was a little area with booths like one would find at a roadside restaurant. as we stood between the two doors, it was explained to us, about their nature. i was talking to a friend beside me, i think it was chris dickenson, (!), about having seen evil, and knowing that i had not even seen the worst of it, but that it was so reprehensible as to cause one to wish to flee from it always, when the door to the evil room opened, and someone came out, "excuse me" and brushed past us toward the little dining hall.

it was odd that no one came out of door number one, but people did come out of door number two. there might have been some information about this, but i do not now remember. i wondered about going forward and reverse, about progression and regression, about the word live and evil, in general.

we backed up, as there was no where to go but through one of the two doors, or back into the dining hall. we were in a place that was in between places. we could not go into door number one until we were done living in the physical world, where our bodies were. i seemed to understand that i was here in a dream, and not in any other capacity. it is like being inside a message or a map. anyway, we took a booth and sat down. soon, door number two opened again, and a few people came out with a rolling cart laden with tools. they were pushing it down the aisle between the two sides of the booths, right by us. i was sitting on the outside by the aisle, and i remember covering my face, and saying, "yuck, don't look" because i had glimpsed the cart's contents, and i knew they were instruments for the torture of souls. someone was talking about china.

then we were back outside on the street. i was pondering and questioning the sequences of events, and the meaning of the screwtape letters my friend the professor had mentioned. i was thinking thoughts that i do not remember now, but at the time i was marveling a little bit, at their clarity, even in my dream state. then, an owl flew across my vision, backward, and i turned to see it. it paused in the sky, looking at me, and the western sun, beginning to set, was shining upon it. i squinted to see it more clearly, was it really and owl? i thought of minerva.

it had big eyes in a golden shimmering head over light green wings that glistened like gossamer! they trailed silken crystal threads like long strands of hair or filaments from their tips, a good six feet beneath it! it was talking to me! i was straining to hear what it said..

then the wind rose, and it vanished and was replaced by a golden mask, filled with a living wind, and the face was speaking to me, in rhyme. it said something about them having to tell us, before actually coming, but that the heavenly host would be coming soon, and to prepare, and something about trying to hear the sound, or, if you wish to hear the sound, light a feather to the ground.

i was trying to decipher the words, the wind was a little noisy, and it was hard to hear them, but i knew that i heard every one of them, and i was picturing lighting a feather like a match and sticking it in the ground like a candle...