Wiccan Whirlpool

As you can see from my last post, I haven’t had any time to keep up with this, but my dream two nights ago was rather exceptional in its straightforward imagery. Rarely am I given such a warning, it’s always a puzzle that I need to digest in order to discover some new and tedious thing about my psyche. It was like going in for a one-card Tarot reading and pulling out The Tower. In fact, it was pretty much just that.

My husband and I were on a trip to see Mt Rushmore. The drive was long, and the day was sunny, and we were enjoying our conversation as we travelled. As we approached our destination the highway became nearly vertical, and I was afraid we wouldn’t make it up all the way. Regardless, we arrived safely. As we approached the tourist area I noticed that the carved faces seemed far less detailed than I had seen them in pictures, and I found that confusing. Even more strangely, we didn’t climb up to the top, but rather entered a doorway carved into the mountain–think Rankin and Bass “The Hobbit” when they discover the hidden door. We went inside with the other tourists, most of whom were loud and obnoxious people from the eastern part of the US. The inside of this tourist center was decorated with horrifying fake Native American-ish crap, ranging from jewelry diplays to tapestries and pottery. It was all made out of plastic, but the ignorant and loud people just ate it up. We were all being hearded up a wooden stairway to a place where “they” said we’d be able to get a better look at Washington’s head. While complaining about a particularly horrific fake tapestry I noticed that there was a low rumbling and a vibration under our feet. I grabbed my husband and we began to run back to the car. The loud tourists wouldn’t pay any attention to me, and the whole internal tower structure collapsed. As we burst out of the door, I turned back and saw that the faces were crumbling right off of the mountain.

With three elderly people in my family who could pass at any moment I figured that this signified that Christmas was a final goodbye for me with at least one of them. In discussing this with a friend last night (the great and knowing Kestra), *she* thinks it has more to do with world events, especially because of the venue. It may be both. Regardless, I'm staring a great change through turmoil and probably death right in the face. Frankly, I'd rather it wasn't my family that was going to suffer.  As an aside 2/27, I did lose my job a month ago, but it hasn't been at all that traumatic.
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I immediately found myself naked, driving my car through a busy city, worrying that I would be late for work in the cafe at Border’s, which is where I did actually work four years ago. I got there as fast as I could and ran right for the locker room, unbothered by my nudity. As I got in uniform I was reviewing my plan for the day with other employees, and a formal meeting was called, right there in the locker room.  We reviewed security footage and got out assignments for the day.

I started writing about this dream at least a month ago and got side-tracked, but some of it is still with me, so here goes.

One of my employees had it out for me.  It didn’t seem to matter.  There were two bad men in the parking lot who kept draining people’s car batteries, and that didn’t seem to matter either.  What mattered most was that I was given an assignment by the store manager to locate and photograph a particular business’ sign that was located not far from my house.  I was sure I knew how to get there, so back into the narrow streets I went, driving too fast.  When I got to where I thought I should be it didn’t look right, like when you’re driving a familiar route and some part of your brain engages and you have the terrifying thought that you have NO idea where you are or how you got there.  But it passed, and I snapped my picture.  It wasn’t so easy to get back to the store though.  It was a straight shot out, but the route back was all one way streets that seemed to randomly start and stop.  Eventually I found my way back.  As I was passing by a grand hotel I smelled them brewing their coffee.  The kitchen for their downstairs was open in back to the alleyway, and I walked right up and could see the giant coofee dispensers.  The staff was all male, all wearing black and white cliche uniforms with the white aprons around their waists. The floor was made from some warm orange brick tile.  I’ve worked on that surface before, it’s slippery as shit when it’s wet.  Miserable.  I stopped, and offered to hook them up with some of our exceptional blend.  Thus commenced some bargaining about price and delivery schedule, and I said I’d take it to my superiors.  When I returned to the cafe the nasty employee had ganged up with the men in the parking lot, and they were coming after me.  Somehow I knew that they weren’t human and they wanted to poison me.  It was imperative I get to Pete, the manager, but they managed to always get in front of me.  After that it’s all fuzz.