the crystal code (illustrated) (dream)

12.19.13.6.4 13 Kan 17 Zip

I had a dream last night about a crystal code. Actually, this morning, like I said, I seem to remember my morning dreams more.

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There were a lot of little parts.
My friends Mike and Deanna were living in the back of a bookstore. Except that their apartment wasn't private; it just had a railing and was a little higher than the bookstore. Like an alcove. It was strange to shop there and see them going about their lives a few feet away. I saw a book with a blue cover that was on astronomy or astrology and they wanted a lot of money for it, and it was a book I had at home which I'd bought for around $10. I don't know if that one was a special edition or what, or if I just got a hell of a deal on mine. Basically there was a whole section of oversized books (like the blue one) on all kinds of subjects. And although they were expensive and rare people were allowed to browse them like any other books. These books were on a shelf perpendicular to the railing to Mike & D's apartment.
Then they moved to North Haven (on that little road between route 5 and Anthem) but I didn't visit them (I rarely do-long story). For some reason Beth did but that's all I know about that.
I went back to the bookstore and I was looking through a book on the Beatles, or by the Beatles, or both, although I'm not really a fan, and I remembered something about one of the other big books there. With me was a guy in a wheelchair. I'm not sure what was wrong with him but he was very thin and couldn't walk and he was a friend of mine. So we went into the back of the store, which had been remodeled and it took us a while to locate those rare oversized books. When we did I realized we were in the section of the store that Mike used to live in and it was kind of creepy but I can't say why. I sat on the floor with the book next to the wheelchair and found what I was looking for: a crystal code. It was extremely complicated. It wasn't like "green fluorite=B" it was the chemical composition of green fluorite=b (or whatever letter) if you were writing it down. I sent off a test message on my phone (and I hate text messages, and I can't imagine how I was able to type chemical formulas on a phone) to this guy Dave I know who's in the Astrological Society of CT who I guess had a copy of this same book (it might have been the blue book) and he was able to read it and send back a message but it was really really slow because for every letter there was this long formula.
I was thinking that if I had enough gemstone chips I could make necklaces with messages spelled out and I started to look around to see if the store sold them. Some kids started harassing my friend in the wheelchair--just because he was in a wheelchair--and he got really pissed off at them and did something with his chair that basically stood him up. Really he was dangling, held by his waist, but he used the motor controls of the chair to chase the kids from the store.
The gemstone code was so cool and I started trying to write it down (so I guess it wasn't in the blue book, since in the dream I owned a copy, unless it was a different edition) and then I realized that no matter how complex the chemical formulas were, it's still just a simple substitution code which any novice code-breaker could bust.
BTW, seeing a blue book and remembering it should prove to those doubters that I dream in color. It just occurred to me! The gemstone pictures in the book were in color too--I remember the pink of rose quartz and something green.

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Before I started typing this I was thinking about codes. A friend of mine taught me an alphabet a long time ago which was supposedly from Tolkien--he called it Sindarian but now that I know more about Tolkien I know it wasn't. In fact now I have a font that does it for me--the font is called Elder Futhark or something like that. Anyway, I thought this rune-like alphabet was really cool and I learned to write in it. It wasn't a secret code, it was regular English, just a different alphabet. I wrote to my friend in Texas in this alphabet, figuring that he knew it. He didn't but he said it wasn't difficult to figure out. A simple substitution code.

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There is a message on this rock in "Sindarian"; I can send you a higher-resolution version if you want to read it:

article about my mom's cousin

I'll reproduce it. Here's the original link as well.
New Fairfield woman killed
Retiree, 63, among two people dead in East Haddam motorcycle accident
By Heather Barr THE NEWS-TIMES
EAST HADDAM – Adriana Snarski, 63, of New Fairfield had just retired and was enjoying life with a rekindled love, when she and the North Haven man she was dating were killed in a motorcycle crash Sunday evening.
Snarski, of Bigelow Road, was the passenger on a Harley-Davidson motorcycle driven by Edward Rogers, 66, of Pool Road, North Haven. Both were pronounced dead at the scene of the crash, said Connecticut State Police Troop K officers.
Around 5 p.m., Snarski and Rogers were going south on Route 149 when Rogers lost control of his motorcycle while negotiating a curve, police said.
The motorcycle fell on its left side, throwing Snarski and Rogers off the motorcycle. They then struck an East Granby man and woman, motorcycle driver Frank Grillo and his passenger, Michelle Grillo, heading northbound on Route 149, police said.
The trooper investigating the case could not be reached for further comment to find out if either Snarski or Rogers were wearing motorcycle helmets. There is no law in Connecticut requiring motorcyclists to wear helmets.
Michelle Grillo was treated for minor wrist injuries.
"I can't tell you how shocked and devastated I am," said Snarski's neighbor, JoAnn Yachulke. "She was an absolutely delightful person. She had a wonderful sense of humor. She had a mind that was exceptionally sharp."
Yachulke also described Snarski as loving, warm and very caring.
Snarski grew up in the New Haven area and has four sons, said Yachulke. One son lives in Virginia and another lives in Florida.
"I can't tell you how awful this is," said Yachulke. "She was too young to have this happen. She had such a heart. She was so giving. She was the coolest lady."
A divorced woman, Snarski lived alone, but kept very busy. She was a member of St. Edwards the Confessor Church in New Fairfield. Prior to retiring within the last year, she had worked at M. Lathrop Septic Service in New Fairfield and worked part-time for Curves in New Fairfield.
Snarski and Rogers were engaged a long time ago before Rogers got married to his wife and Snarski got married to her ex-husband. When Rogers' wife died, the two got back together. "It was nice to see them rediscover this love," said Yachulke. "It was such a romantic relationship." Only recently had Yachulke met Rogers. "He was very nice," she said.
# # #
I believe another of my cousins lives in Colorado too, and the last one is here in CT.
I was searching by her name to see if there have been any other articles posted.... I have Google Desktop and at the top of my search her email address came up from my address book. I don't know why stupid things like that can set me off and make me cry.

life goes on--and the iris bloom

Having my mother's cousin die has brought to the surface my sadness over losing Goober. Plus I keep calling Prism "Gwennie", and then I remember that Gwennie is dead too. And "Into the West" played on my Launchcast station today and not only did it make me cry, I thought "what a good song to play at a funeral."
I came home today to find that all my iris had bloomed. They look gorgeous. The pictures don't capture the shade of purple that they are. Yet my beloved Goober remains dead, and my cousins mourn their mother, and life goes on.
In the bottom picture, you might see, behind the pink flamingos, in the greenery, the dark head of a Buddha. This Buddha was just donated by High Priestess LadyHawke of Hawke's Creations to my garden. The Buddha is something like 40 years old and is beginning to crumble. It has come to my garden to die in the midst of beauty.
It just doesn't seem right, does it, for flowers to be so gorgeous when someone is dead. But then again they are a reminder aren't they?
Life is fleeting, the beauty of flowers even more so, so enjoy them both while you've got them.
So I share my flowers with you all. Enjoy, and think happy thoughts.

things lining up--Shamanic journeying & Astral travel

Funny that not long ago I wrote about the astral travel class I took, and the Living Buddha, and how my Shamballa student Lisa thinks that my "heartlight wood" channelings are really a form of astral travel, and today someone wrote to me asking me to review/plug a book about that very subject. Hmm.

I have NOT read this book yet (a copy is en route to me). I did read the excerpt and it's pretty good. It's from Sandra Ingerman's new book Shamanic Journeying: A Beginner's Guide. The excerpt is entitled "Am I making up my journeys?" and deals with a common barrier to successful other-world travels: the secret belief that your journey is just a product of your imagination.

death

12.19.13.6.3 12 Akbal 16 Zip
(partially cross-posted to my Alzheimer's blog)
A family member died on Sunday night. It's my mom's first cousin. She was also my godmother's sister and my grandmother's godchild. My grandmother is devastated. My mother said she thinks this will kill her.
I don't have any details yet. Just that her and her boyfriend were on a motorcycle in Cheshire and they both died. Which is very sad, right?
Before she got married 40 or so years ago, Adriana was engaged to someone else, something happened, they broke up and she married someone else on the rebound. I always thought her husband was a cold fish and in fact in my memories he always seems to have a suit on although the only place I should have seen him with a suit on was at funerals or weddings. My mom said before her divorce Adriana had contemplated or attempted suicide. A couple of years ago she met back up with her long-ago ex, and now this weekend they died together.
Seems like it was meant to be. Not that it's any consolation for her four sons.

Dream

12.19.13.6.2 11 Ik 15 Zip
I've noticed that I seem to dream more in the mornings. Or maybe those are just the ones I remember.
This is yet another AC/DC dream. What the hell do they represent in my subconscious?
I was younger, and there was some kind of gathering that seemed vaguely related to school. But what school, I don't know (college? High school?). I kind of thought of it like a prom, but it wasn't. And my best friend, Beth, was there, and I never went to any school with her.
Whatever it was, we were allowed to bring a date, and I brought Bon Scott, resurrected from the dead. He was older than me, as he should be, but not the full 22 years older. It seemed like he hadn't really died, but faked his death (I never have or will understand why people fake their deaths). We were all at some kind of amusement park or hotel or somewhere.
I only remember a few things that happened. One, there were a bunch of us hanging out and for some reason I realized I hadn't formally introduced Beth to my date. I was trying to figure out exactly how to word it and I said, "This is Bon Scott, the lead singer of AC/DC" although of course at that moment he WASN'T because Brian Johnson was. And Beth, who is friendly and talkative and not cowed by meeting celebrities (we met Marilyn Manson and his band a few years ago in NYC backstage at a Nine Inch Nails concert), literally couldn't speak. She just kept opening and closing her mouth. It was kind of funny because a few minutes before she had been talking to him just fine.
Then Bon Scott and I were sitting on the ground in front of someone's house which was right next to this park or whatever. The ground was bare dirt, smooth, like some parked there or something, and there was a mailbox, a green rubbermaid one. The lady who owned the house or lived there walked by us and she said something mean, but I can't remember what, implying that we were having sex, but we weren't. ("Get a room"--but that wasn't it) And somehow I knew that she was angry that people from this park were allowed to go to this mailbox. But I don't know why they were allowed.
Then I was with Beth, not Bon Scott, and we were watching TV--the news from England for some reason. And this guy was on a Tipper Gore-like tirade against rock n roll (Tipper Gore is the reason I didn't vote for Al Gore...not that I voted for Bush either.) They were showing him collecting CDs from people and then putting them into this book, like a photo album, with little pocket sleeves. I saw all kinds of rare CDs in there, little tiny 3" promo CDs and shaped CDs and picture CDs and I thought, "well, he's just putting them away somewhere, it's okay" and then he took that album and HE PUT IT INTO THE MICROWAVE. It was awful. Thousands of dollars worth of rare CDs sparking and burning. The guy was grinning away when he took out the smoking book. Beth and I were both almost crying in disbelief.
After that TV show the party was over. I went to find Bon Scott and he was gone and somehow I knew he was dead again. (And now, as I write this, I see that the man nuking the CDs killed him.) He had left some clothes behind in the room where he'd been staying and I also found a couple of cards, like greeting cards, from women at the party who had wanted to sleep with him and he'd just thrown them on the floor. And I was glad of that even though I hadn't slept with him either.
In the dream, I had a body size. I wasn't thin but I wasn't as fat as I am now either. I only mention that because usually in my dreams I have little or no awareness of my body.

DaVinci Code movie review (spoilers)

The DaVinci Code
Sony Pictures
Cast: Tom Hanks (Robert Langdon), Audrey Tautou (Sophie Neveu), Ian McKellen (Sir Leigh Teabing), Alfred Molina (Bishop Aringarosa), Paul Bettany (Silas)
rating 3/5 stars

I went to see The DaVinci Code yesterday with my husband & his mom for mother's day. She's a Catholic and teaches at a private Catholic girls' school. She understands that it's fiction.
I understand that it's fiction. My husband understands that it's fiction.
I see so many posts on Yahoo Answers about how it's real that I stopped answering them.
I read the book when it came out, and the related book Angels and Demons as well. I liked Angels and Demons better. I thought DVC was a derivative book, not very original, with lots of stupid "Why didn't they...." moments.
At the end, when you see the elaborate way they followed the clues to find Mary Magdalene, you wonder how the dead grandfather had time to lay this all out as he was dying. Maybe some people are naturally good at anagrams (I'm not and never have been--the jumble in the paper always defeats me and I suck at Boggle despite my vast intelligence and vocabulary) but I'm not. If I was shot, I can't see myself laying out elaborate clues hither and yon and hoping someone--the right someone--will find them and follow them correctly. And they're clever anagrams, too.
One thing really bugged me in this movie. My husband laughs and says it's insignificant but my mother-in-law agrees. TWICE in the movie Tom Hanks pronouced "Li-brary" as "li-berry." This is a Harvard professor? Saying "liberry"? Will says it's an accent. I say it's a mis-pronunciation and it totally threw me out of the movie.
The same thing bugged me in the movie as the book. (My book reviews are gone, alas, the Dark Fiction site where they were all posted has gone away.) They are in an armored car. Instead of ditching it, they take it to a friend's house. Wouldn't just about any IDIOT much less a Harvard professor and a professional cop/code-breaker know (or at least guess) that an armored car would have a tracking device built in? PUL-LEESE.
As I watched the blonde guy Silas (they can call him an albino all they want, but I worked with a real albino and this actor wasn't one) torture himself in front of a crucifix, all I kept thinking was "I am SO GLAD I'm a pagan."
The only controversy I could see about the movie was that, if anything, it could push any disillusioned Catholics (not just Christians, because the Pope and bishops were involved) over the edge. And here we pagans will be, with open arms. "Welcome Home," we'll say. " We're glad you found us."
You want to believe that Mary Magdalene married Jesus and had children, an improbable unbroken line of females so their mitochondrial DNA can be traced right back to Mary's 2,000- year-old corpse? That idea is welcome here. Jesus was a man, not a god? We accept that too. You want to flagellate yourself for love of your god? On this side of the fence we call that S&M but sure, go ahead.
A personal thing about the movie that bugged me--Tom Hanks' hairdo made him look just like my cousin Dennis (the one getting married in Vegas in 2 months) so that was distracting. But if you don't know Dennis, it won't bug you.
This review will be cross-posted to www.ObsidianButterfly.com

red-coated crusaders

I come from a long line of caped crusaders. Not that we're super heros or anything. But we fight.
When I was little, my great grandmother "Big Nonnie" gave me a dollar and sent me across the parking lot to the convenience store to buy her a half-gallon of milk. (She always put the milk in a plastic holder with a handle--I wonder what happened to all those handles, I could use one now for my milk!) I came back with the milk and the change. She asked me for the rest of the change. I told her that was all I had gotten. She went storming across the parking lot and went off on the clerk for ripping off her great-granddaughter. Everyone there that night (it must have been a Tuesday, that's when everyone went to Big Nonnie's house for tea and cookies) agreed that the clerk never would have ripped me off if he'd known who I was. As the only great-grandaughter, I was the special one (out of 7 great-grandchildren at that time--there are other girls in my generation now but they are all at least 20 years younger than me and I don't know them, nor did Big Nonnie ever know them.)

My grandmother (daughter of the crusading Big Nonnie) used to have this bright red coat and whenever she was pissed at someone she would put it on and confront them. It was called "putting on the red coat" and it was like a ritual. When she was angry, we'd say "grandma's going to put on her red coat!" meaning she was going to kick some ass. I remember her putting on the red coat to go to Macy's in New Haven but I can't remember what had gotten her angry at Macy's. For some reason the red coat thing really cracked up my grandfather.

I can't remember my mom ever kicking any ass like that, but I certainly inherited the ass-kicking gene from her mother and grandmother. I don't have a red coat but I do have the internet.

Ron Burchfield, I'm going to get you. Through legal means, I will bring you down. Refund my money NOW.

Ron Burchfield and Scams

I am getting ready to send information into the Oklahoma District Attorney's office. Will those of you who've posted saying you got scammed by Ron Burchfield please forward me any information you've got--what email addresses he used, emails with COMPLETE headers, phone numbers, fax numbers, address, Western Union pick-up numbers, ANYTHING.
Please don't send it anonymously. I'm not going to sell your name or spam you or anything. But anonymous stuff doesn't help our case.
I want to nail this guy. He picked the WRONG person to screw with when he answered my ad.
my email address is geverabert at yahoo dot com.

drink responsibly

I was following a beer delivery truck and it had the usual "drink responsibly" caveat on it, which made me think about that word. Responsible.
Response-able.
Able to respond.
So you drink until you're able to respond? Respond to WHAT? Falling down? The urge to vomit?
"I take full responsibility"
So you're fully able to respond to what you've done?

even more anger about bird scam

I just talked to someone else who got scammed by the RON BURCHFIELD and he was using the email address of geverabert123@yahoo.com
He took MY NAME and scammed someone else.
If he was in front of me, I'd smack him with my baseball bat. That fucking asshole.
Send him lots of spam, please.

polar bear extinction

A month or so ago, the cover of Time showed a polar bear all alone on a tiny floe of ice. By 2030 or 2050 these pretty white bears will be extinct. They are drowning trying to swim from ice floe to ice floe as the ice caps melt.
I know they are nasty, mean and rotten, the worst of the bears. But they are also wonderfully adapted to their environment, and I'm sad when I hear of anything dying out.
I was half-asleep the other night during the Colbert report and I heard him doing one of his diatribes against bears and he mentioned a hybrid grizzly-polar bear. I thought he was making it up but here it is:
Grizzly-polar bear hybrid found
A DNA test has confirmed what zoologists, big-game hunters and aboriginal trackers in the far northern reaches of Canada have imagined for years: the first documented case of a hybrid grizzly-polar bear in the wild.
Roger Kuptana, an Inuit tracker from the Northwest Territories, suspected the American hunter he was guiding had shot a hybrid bear last month after noticing its white fur had brown patches and it had the long claws and slightly humped back of a grizzly.
Territorial officials seized the creature's body and a DNA test...confirmed that the hybrid was born of a polar mother and grizzly father.


Maybe they won't die out after all. Although I'm not sure how a white bear can hide in the brown forest. And if assholes keep shooting them they'll never reproduce.

dream musings, pissed off about bird

12.19.13.5.4 6 Kan 17 Uo
I just added a picture to my dream post of April 24. I'm going for therapy tonight, where we will no doubt discuss that dream and the one from May 2nd.

Hmm. May 2nd. You're supposed to dream of the person you're going to marry on May 2nd if you wash your face in the morning dew of MayDay. I dreamed of a new house next to a cemetary with a deconscreted chapel behind it, with the beach across the street. But then again I didn't wash my face in dew either.

I have an ad up to buy a female lory or lorikeet for Lance and Zeebo to share. I got a response from a guy who said he had a 12 year old red lory named Molu and he'd sell her to me for $125 including shipping. The bird was supposed to come the day before my ceremony (Friday, 4/28). He didn't ship her, although he claimed to have shipped 25 other birds that day. Then it was supposed to come Sunday 4/30. I stayed home all day because he emailed me at 10:33 that the bird was on the plane en route. I didn't hear back from him all day. Monday he said his grandmother died and he took the bird off the plane. That is the stupidest thing I ever heard. Then he was going to ship it again last Friday (5/5) and of course he didn't. Over the weekend he asked me for more money because the shipping had gone way up. Since last Friday when he shipped 25 other birds? I don't think so. I called Delta and it's $89. I pointed this out to him and he said it wasn't that easy, blah blah blah so I asked for my money back. If I thought there really was a lonely female red lory named Molu pining away I wouldn't have given up so easy, I'll tell you that.

Of course he promised to try to ship again and if not send my money back.
No money, no bird.
Asshole.

the living buddha part 2

Of course after taking that journey I wanted to know if such a place and statue exists on this planet.
So I put "the living buddha" into a search engine and came up with lots of references--but to reincarnation, not to a golden statue.
I'll have to do more research.

living buddha / astral travel

Last night I went to an astral travel workshop that my friend was teaching. I wasn't sure if I was going to go--I was tired and I've had a headache on and off since Friday, but I went. It was a full house. One of my Shamballa students came in late and sat 1 seat away from me. Lisa loves my Heartlight Wood channelings and even came over once for one outside of class. During the course of the class, a few descriptions of astral travel made us look at each other because I'd never thought about the Heartlight Wood journeys being astral travel. But apparently they are.
At the end of the class we did a little thing (I wasn't listening) so people could try out astral travel. I just went to the Heartlight Wood and stepped out of my tree onto the path. I went to Lisa's tree and tried to get her to come with me but she wouldn't. So I went on my own, through the forest into a rain forest/jungle which was someplace like Thailand or India, somewhere Asian, to a great big square step pyramid. Except that it wasn't really square, it was a spiral. And it was a building, not just a pile of stones with a spiralling ramp; at each level there was a doorway leading inside. The ramp/walkway was kind of like the top of the Great Wall of China but not as large. Maybe about 5-6' of walking space, with a chest-high wall along the outside and the body of the pyramid to the inside.
At the very top was an open temple or chamber. Inside was a slightly larger than life golden buddha statue--a fat buddha, sitting lotus-style with his hands palm up on his thighs. In each hand was a giant white pillar candle, probably 5 inches in diameter. There was something across his lap too--I was thinking it was a piece of cloth but I think it was a bowl. It had a thick layer of sand in it and in the same were sticks of incense and cone incense burning. There was just enough room before the Buddha for two people to sit or kneel. The floor was also covered with sand, and strewn with flowers and the ends of incense sticks.
My thought was that I was supposed to kneel before buddha and get some wisdom. Instead I found myself ENTERING the statue and finding it a comfortable fit. I could see through his eyes, hear through his ears and speak through his lips (which didn't move, though). I had become buddha. I started answering questions for the two people in front of me as if I was buddha. I am not sure if I was channeling buddha or if the statue allowed me to really tap into my inner wisdom or even into the akashic records. But it was amazing. And I don't think I was speaking English either.
As I was doing it, I started to know some things. This buddha statue was called The Living Buddha for this very reason--because it could talk and respond. But it wasn't the spirit of Buddha which animated the statue. It was various walk-ins like me, on astral journeys, who got to take a turn playing at Buddha and helping people out.
To go to this buddha for advice in the flesh was an arduous journey through the rain forest and then up this spiraling pyramid in the sweltering humidity. And the advice that people got was so life-changing that it was worth it.

dolphins have names & prairie dogs can talk

This is so great. I saw an article yesterday which said that dolphins have names and call each other by name!
Because sight is limited in the ocean, dolphins create individual "name" calls to communicate their whereabouts to friends and families....A dolphin chooses its own name as an infant and uses it throughout its life. ...It seems like the animals hear what's around them, and then they make up their own whistle(.)...They either develop something original ... or they base it on parts of the whistles around them.... (T)he young dolphins want to make their call stand apart from the calls of their closest relatives. ...(D)olphins use these calls to let other dolphins know they're nearby. A dolphin will also call out its name if it's lost and distressed, hoping relatives will come to its aid.

How cute is that? "I'm Bert! I'm Bert!" help me I'm lost! When I went on the cruise in 2003 with my husband and his sister I taught them to say in Spanish "I'm lost and fat and I want two beers" (estoy perdita y gorda y quiero dos cervasas). I don't think the dolphins understand fat or beer, but the concept is the same.

Someday I will swim with dolphins.

Amazingly enough, there was another article linked to the dolphin one about prairie dogs being able to talk about humans.

Prairie dogs, those little pups popping in and out of holes on vacant lots and rural rangeland, are talking up a storm. They have different "words'' for tall human in yellow shirt, short human in green shirt, coyote, deer, red-tailed hawk and many other creatures.

They can even coin new terms for things they've never seen before, independently coming up with the same calls or words....The prairie dogs have calls for various predators but also for elk, deer, antelope and cows.

I wonder what they would call me?

Dream

12.19.13.4.16 11 Cib 9 Uo

We were buying a house, and the one we settled on was very nice. And clearly too large for us, too expensive, but we were going ahead anyway.
The house was white and very old. I don’t remember what architectural style it was, but it wasn’t Victorian. It was very square. In the backyard was a white stone chapel, deconsecrated, and it was being used as an owlry by the woman who lived there, who was an animal control officer. We knew she was going to try to rent the chapel from us to keep her owls there but we wanted that chapel; we thought it was so cool.
Across the street was a large cemetery that continued next door. That was one of the reasons why the house was cheaper than it should be. Also in the front yard was a small mausoleum which belonged to the original builders.
I don’t remember much about the inside of the house. When you walked in the front door, the entry hall and great room inside were probably as large as my whole house. The ceiling was VERY high—at least 25 feet. The room was stuffed full of furniture and lots of hanging chandeliers and display cases—it was almost more like a small private museum or a historical center than a home (the outside looked like that too).
An odd thing about the house was that it had no mail delivery. The husband had a small office just down the street and all the house’s mail went there.
Across the street to the side was the ocean. There was a retaining wall holding it back and it wasn’t really visible except from the top of the house, but it was there. Somehow the water curved away from the road (an illusion, I’m sure the road curved away from the water) and where the beach met the retaining wall was a surfing spot. Due to how the roads and retaining walls came together there was no direct way from the house to the beach; to get there required a car because you had to go several miles down a highway-like road to get to the beach access area. But you could stand on the sidewalk and look over the wall to where it was deep.
On the other side of the tangle of roads was a pleasure garden/park. I was walking in there, waiting for Will to come and look at the house with me (for some reason he was in Massachusetts), and I met a man who had 3 robotic/mechanical pets. I can’t remember what animals they were, but they were exotic animals—a flamingo maybe? He was from California and he was trying to raise money to market his inventions. He told me about some implant he’d made for one of his dogs recently to extend its life more. I said, “Still, how much longer will it live?” and he gave me a kind of secret smile and said, “He’s already 30 years old” which of course is AMAZING for a dog. I wanted to give him money but then I started thinking about the high ceilings in the house and how much it would cost to heat.
I kept walking through the garden and I came upon a little display tent with information on butterflies. There were pictures of two kinds of orange and black butterflies. One kind was highly endangered and the signs in the tent begged people to capture them and bring them in. There were drawings showing how they would artificially inseminate the captured females and release them. The other kind of butterfly the tent posters instructed people to KILL. I was horrified. There were all kinds of diagrams showing that, although the butterflies looked very alike to the casual observers, they were actually easy to tell apart.
I left the tent and kept walking and came upon a tree literally covered with butterflies. It was like an orange and black heaving mass. I looked and sure enough they were all the “bad” butterflies. I felt terrible but I reached out to grab one and kill it and they were all FAKE—the work no doubt of the clever robotic man.
By that time we were really late for our appointment to look at the house, but Will still wasn’t there and neither was the real estate agent, who was an astrologer I know named Janet Booth. I went back to the house and talked to the husband who seemed to be angry. I called Will on my cell phone and he said he was on his way. I couldn’t reach Janet. I told the guy I was going back to work and it was right down the same street.
I went down the street several miles and the street turned into a store aisle where I was doing some kind of inventory and re-shelving of merchandise. A lady came over to me that worked with me and we were talking for a while about what I was doing and I guess I was doing a good job. She walked away and then this little girl came over. She was crying and she had lost her parents. I recognized her because a few days earlier the lady I had just been talking to and I had been in another store (shopping) and we saw someone help this same little girl find her parents. I didn’t want to deal with her but there was no one else around. I started to walk with her and then I ended up carrying her on my shoulders so she could see and she saw her father. He was in the check-out line with her mother, who I recognized from the other store. I carried her over and instead of being grateful they were angry that I dared to touch their child. I wanted to go off on them but I knew I’d lose my job.
I was supposed to go somewhere in my car but I’d had a vision that if I drove by a certain spot, very far out in the boonies, that I would get into a bad accident so I didn’t want to go.
Finally Will and Janet arrived and we went back to the house. The wife was home and offered to take us inside the chapel to see her owls. She was wearing a khaki police uniform. She had sealed all the doors leading into the chapel because she worried about people stealing or hurting her owls because of Harry Potter. She took injured owls and rehabilitated them and set them free and the ones who couldn’t be set free she was breeding and setting the babies free. To get inside the chapel was an exercise in acrobatics. You had a climb a smooth stick, which wasn’t flat but curvy like it used to be a tree trunk. Then you had to climb across another stick, again with no bark and curvy, and then down an even slicker pole on the other side. I figured I could get up the first pole, was doubtful about my ability to get across the second pole, and knew once I was there I’d never get back up the third pole. So to everyone’s annoyance I didn’t go in the chapel. I waited on the street behind it and my cousin Dennis was there waiting for the parade. I hung out with him while the parade went by but I wasn’t paying attention to the parade and he got angry with me for that.