It's rare that I have vivid dreams, at least ones that I can remember. Ones that leave me impacted when I wake up. I feel compelled to write this one down.
Two Jewish women - one older, gorgeous, my age. Her younger sister, a bit homely.
Something was going on, locally or in the world.
We sought out a Rabbi or religious figure/mystic to pray with us. There was an urgent need to pray. The three of us had our heads bowed, we were standing or kneeling close together. I was next to the sister on her left, the older sister was on her other side.
We were praying for a positive resolution/outcome to this event, whatever it was. It's hazy whether it was a cataclysmic global event, or something less grave. But it did seem grave. I don't think the Rabbi figure was praying out loud. Nothing was being said, and yet everything was being heard by all of us. ESP or whatever. During the prayer, I was feeling supreme power, or felt I was witnessing it or in the presence of supreme power. That there were no ifs ands or buts that our prayer would be answered. Beyond a shadow of a doubt. That feeling was unsettling to me somehow. It felt like we had a weapon no one else had. A weapon for good.
After the prayer, we just stood there for a moment, coming closer, huddling, foreheads now touching. I wasn't aware of the older sister - she may or may not have been huddling with us. Over a moment or two, we came together closer and closer, our bodies now in full contact. We were communing. Joined. Two human beings needing contact. Physical contact. Spiritual contact. We could feel each others' hot breath. I could smell her scent. I could feel her fine hair against my face.
Then we parted, preparing to go our separate ways, saying our goodbyes. Awkward goodbyes where you don't want to go, but know you must. The younger sister asked me what I thought about what had just happened. "Beautiful and scary." was my response. That was it. Beautiful and scary. Scary not in the sense of being scared about something. Hazy again here. Scared of the power that was going to make this come true - whatever it was we had prayed for. Scared of the unknown? Again, hazy in this regard.
I went/ended up somewhere that I would call my home. I was looking on my computer or iPad, facebooking no doubt. Or perhaps it was a vision. I could see the sister drawing a sketch - on white paper, with a red Sharpie. (and goddammit if I didn't just this instant forget the two words that she wrote underneath...) As she sketched, actually, as the sketch resolved on the screen or in the vision, it was just the image of the paper - not her sketching really. As the sketch resolved, I could see it was a clown. In the dream I was thinking it was Puddles the Clown. She colored in his eyes completely red. And she wrote something at the bottom. Two words as I recall. Two words that I now forget as I'm writing this. Dammitt! That may have been the crux of the dream! Fucking piss-ant memory.
And then it was gone. As if she took down or deleted the post. It seemed clear to me she was using the app or whatever (now it seems it wasn't a vision) to make the sketch for herself, then deleted it from public view. I felt like I need to contact her to ask her to send me a full resolution copy of her sketch. I think I wanted to post it to my Instagram, or on this blog. Or a blog. I didn't have her email, didn't know it. I needed to get to my work computer. It was on that computer, or someone there knew it.
"Work" was a fenced in compound of ramshackle structures. Locked gates. The end of the day or early evening and all locked up. Me without a key. There were workers, perhaps tradesmen, milling around outside, coming and going. Talking in small groups. Foreign. Not speaking English. Spanish maybe. Probably. One guy came along and unlocked the gate to get inside. I told him who I was, and that I was the new project manager, (which I am in real life), and that I needed to get into the office. He was going into the office anyway, so he let me in.
I sat at my desk and booted up my computer. He was at the next workstation, seemingly trying to be aware of what I was doing at this hour. Not eavesdropping. "Seemingly trying to be aware." There was some interaction online with the younger clown-sketcher sister. I think. Maybe. I asked her for her email, although if I was interacting with her I wouldn't need her email, right? I could just ask her to send the image. Of Puddles the Clown. In bold, red inked strokes. With big crocodile tears. With two words underneath.
