I had hoped that we were past this, past this kind of projection at me. Here is last night’s dream on a night which had an otherwise long sleep.
The dream opens in a seemingly underground labyrinth, a warren of tunnels, which I know to be the mind of another or others plural. The walls are curved and of a grey muddy hue and texture. Hanging pendant from the ceilings of these tunnels are amulets shaped like a pain au raisin, coiled. They are palm-hand sized. They are British English of provenance. I know they are encapsulated thought forms and parcelled emotions. They are negative and malevolent towards me. They have variously resentment, jealousy and ill will. They are anger and even hate filled projections at me. In some cases they have festered long. They are by way of black magic spells directed at me either wittingly or otherwise. The persons generating these malevolence are not fully aware of their voodoo like essence. Nor do they understand that these emanations against a witch with well-practiced charms of reflective protection is for them, the emanator, a very unwise thing. Deep in the resentful caverns of their minds they are harbouring and feeding this negativity which is bad for them. They are nurturing it and it feeds upon them. It is eating them alive. To project against a witch is foolhardy.
In the dream I sigh.
The scene changes to a small cove on the coast with crystal clear waters. It too seems English. I am in the water swimming at the behest of an “archaeologist”. I am free diving to the bottom and searching the sand. I find a large pristine white scallop shell. Larger than normal, shiner than normal and whiter than normal. It is somehow special even magical white. I go to shore and show it to the archaeologist. He is excited. He asks me to find a living bed of scallops as proof. I know that the archaeology refers to the/my past. I dive and swim towards where a fresh water stream inlets into the sea. There on a small rocky outcrop are a bed of scallops. I take a picture with my underwater camera and with the knife from my ankle scabbard ease a living pair of scallops off. I return to the shore. I show the archaeologist who is very happy. We go into the village and enter a small cottage with a “Tudor” blue wooden frame. We go into the kitchen and start to wash the scallops in the sink. The couple who are the cottage owners return and let themselves in with a key. At first they are surprised to see us in their house, their kitchen. The archaeologist apologises and explains. They are happy and the wife helps him wash the scallops in the sink.
The scene fades and I am left with a very strong visual image of someone known to me whom I have not spoken with for two decades. He is older than me and of a prior “generation”. I know that he nears death and this is by way of a checking in. If and when things progress I will see him during the transition and soon afterwards. The same holds true for a female also of his generation. As a part of the Phowa practice I will encounter them on planes non mundane in the in between. I am ready whereas they are not. I am at home there.
The dreaming sequence ends…
On waking I know that there is nothing you can do if someone harbours envy, bitterness and jealousy towards you. If you mention it, it does not go away. It only entrenches and gets worse.
Dreamyoga 