|
|
|
Friday, January 12, 2001
13:49 
I feel today like I am still stuck in the dreaming. I am, perhaps, I think. Dreamt of being in an old house, almost a castle, but a small one, properly fortified. Was there with my Mum and family of both kinds. People were spread out over the estate. We were on the edge of a narrow gulf between our jutting headland and the next landmass, not much more than a half mile away. The tides were fierce, fiercer than the Corry. The topography was such that they would build up and build up until they were released over an edge and they would thunder through in a tidal bore.
We had gathered there. There was a conference about to be put on nearby. I am not sure what the subject of the conference was. I remember that I was with Mum in the kitchen, looking out at the gulf when a Mayday signal came over the radio. We were permitted to have a radio because of our position.
There was a yacht in the gulf and a storm had come up. They had been caught in a tidal bore of perhaps 30 feet in height and travelling at a speed of more than 12 knots. The roar we could hear from where we stood by the sink, but it was louder, more furious, in the background of the Mayday. Eventually we managed to catch sight of them. We were hoping that they were on our side, that we would be able to help, but they were on the far side, below the cliffs. The bow was under the water. She was a tiny little thing, being pushed along by an enormous wave, water cascading white over the planking and the mast pointing ahead of them at a steep angle. She wasn't carrying any sails on the rigging. There was nothing we could do but hope and pray that the bore took them through safely, without dashing them onto the cliffs. We didn't have anything with which we could effect a rescue, and by the time the lifeboat reached them they would be either sunk or through.
We turned to the conference with heavy hearts, but in all honesty I think they got through, even though both Mum and I were convinced they would be lost.
The Time Team were there. They had a dig workshop scheduled for nearly half five that evening. We had an archaeological site on our land, something mediaeval, I think, overlying something Iron Age. They had come in as speakers at the conference, which was a bit like the ASLaN conference, I seem to recall - partly pagan, partly archaeological and scientific. That one was outdoors, as was the regatta that had been shortened and restricted to the smallest of boats so they could stay within the safety of the natural harbour because of the storm. There were diving demonstrations and heaps of things going on.
Most of the more pagan and occult workshops were up on the top floor of the keep. There were 6 or 7 rooms up there, quite big ones, with people doing their thing in each. There was a meditation space there, and all the practical stuff. K and I were wandering around looking at all the stuff but I was soon driven into a corner. There were these incredibly high noises that sounded like the sky screaming in a sort of mechanical, whistling way. I was having visions of a blue, red and purple sky being covered in scratch lines that appeared to be made with a scratch tool, as if drawn through wax onto white paper. I saw clouds of silver streaking through this sky and could feel them like icy, dry air against my face. Altogether it made my head hurt. I was in tears. It was like all the things you can't bear rolled into one. It felt so wrong. It felt as if someone was torturing the world.
K took one look at me and I managed to point out to her the source of my distress. Two of the rooms were occupied by members of the same group. One of them was their actual practise room, where they started a new session every hour. The other room was a relaxation room, which they had filled with dark, muted colours, soft cushions, a lava lamp. Things to soothe. It was a place for them to discuss their philosophies, their work, with interested people.
I was still in the corridor when K went in. She found their organiser, a chap who looked a little like the big guy with the moustache in the remake of The Man Who Fell To Earth. Not the David Bowie version. Bruce McGill, apparently. He was in Quantum Leap too. She started telling him that what they were doing was affecting me - not everyone could hear and see the things that I was seeing. In fact, people were going into their practise room to get into a mind state where they could get a hint of it. To me it was overwhelming. She got as far as saying "She has been able to see.." when he interrupted her with "since she was very, very young" and I realised that they had been half-expecting me, that they might even have come to the conference because my family was hosting it.
So they took me into their relaxation room and sat me on a comfortable but firm chair with a dark blue cover. He went next door to tell the next session to start without him. There were two other people in the room, both female, one with short, almost bobbed hair. She looked a little like the lead singer from Texas. She kept deliberately inside my personal space, never stopped smiling. It was discomfiting. She had a very wide mouth.
The guy came back and ushered K out, and then squatted or bent over a little to talk to me. He asked me what was wrong and I told him about the sky and the screaming and the scratches. For some reason this degenerated into a diatribe about people doing things that they shouldn't with things they don't understand, and I remember mentioning "dragons shooting across the sky". I was in tears, very upset. Told him that what they were doing was hurting.
He leaned over some more and said "But we're good spirits. You can tell that, can't you?" He meant it in the way we would mean it if we said such a thing and had the perspective that we wore flesh in the way we wear clothes. As far as they were concerned, the spirit was who they were, the flesh was just what the spirit wore, not part of them at all. They were nice but there was something unsettling about them.
I was woken up then by the pain in my lower back and kidneys. I have bad chest pain today, and joint pain. My fingers are very cold. I can't get these people out of my mind, or the feeling of warmth and almost cotton wool paddedness I had when I was talking to them. Lots of pain.
And I need to take the printer back. Again. The one I bought from PC World was a lemon. The one I exchanged it for seems to have exactly the same problem. Arse.
(0) comments
|
links to this post
|
|