Big Ben

I dreamt I was attending a very formal and pompous ceremony in England. My grandmother and at least one of my brothers was there. I was somehow vaguely related to the monarch via my grandmother and she looked like Tilda Swinton. However, quite abruptly, the queen died. Very chaotically and suddenly my grandmother was being ushered into a very crowded limosine with other members of the court. I was making an effort to get nearer to some man who was being ushered into the limo as well. I think I was attempt to reach him so I could be comforted by him. Though I hardly knew the woman I was incredibly upset. Everyone was. But I was barred by my brother. I said, "But my grandmother is in there!" and he replied, "And so is mine! You can't go," and the limo drove off to the funeral. I remember standing apart, alone, leaning against a column facing the street which was very yellow and sunny, but weeping uncontrollably. To my left someone asked me a question about the crowd, twice, and then I turned and snapped, "DO I LOOK LIKE I WANT TO TALK?!" I recognized the person addressing me as a girl I'd gone to middle school and high school with. She just walked off, understandably discouraged from talking to me by my outburst. The funeral was being held in a small church across the street from where I stood, but only members of the court (those driven there in limosines) were admitted to the chapel. The unselect could stand outside the chapel, or climb the towers to some very high balconies overlooking. I was standing in the hallway outside the chapel when I was approached by a handsome, very tall young man wearing slacks and a white button down shirt. He was the butler for the court (I know that doesn't make sense, but it was a dream so bear with me) and I'd met him once before in a dream. I recognized him immediately but I had to rack my brain for his name. Still, he approached me with familiarity and comfortingly put his arm around my shoulders. He showed me to a small room off the hallway, and there were some flags pinned to the wall in the farthest corner from Iran and some other Muslim nation that I didn't recognize, and I was holding some item that likewise had the flag on it. He said, "I got that when I went there, to Iran." Then he lead me out of the small room, and I had remembered his name was Ben. Someone asked me what the name of the woman was who had died and I couldn't remember but I guessed, Katie. Ben corrected me, saying Katie had been her older sister who had died before her; her name was Julie. And I remembered that I had met him before at Katie's funeral, then he put his arm around my shoulder and was stroking my hand, and said something like "Let's go, S-----," as we began to climb the stairs. All the while I am still crying and sniffling. Going up, the stairs were straight, wide, and after every other landing there were 4 doors, one to the left, one to the right, one opposite the ascending staircase, and one directly beside the ascending staircase. About halfway up we encountered a little girl in a party dress being followed by an old man. The little girl said hello and asked us what we were doing. We said we were trying to see the funeral. She said something like, "Very good, nice to see young people doing something besides sitting in their rooms wasting themselves." I was startled to hear such a remark from the little girl; it would have been more fitting coming from the old man, who never said anything but appeared friendly and merely followed the little girl through the doorway beside the stairs. Ben led me the rest of the way to the highest landing of the stairs. Once we were to the top he gave me no directions, so I pushed open the door to the left, only the enter a pristine, sparkling white tiled bathroom with wooden stalls. Ben followed me in and I sat on a sill by the sink, and Ben sat beside me. He said something to me about a funeral, for mourning, needing to be in a darker environment than I had chosen. So, putting his arm around my shoulders again he led me out of the bathroom. However, the funeral was over by now. He opened the door opposite the stairs, and I stepped down onto a very well-lit landing where a processiong of people were listening to an organist in a ceremonial gown playing a requiem (presumably), behind him a window with the sun shining in, and then the procession walked down a spiral staircase. As Ben and I began to descend the spiral staircase, I awoke. I opened my eyes, then closed them again, and an image appeared of Ben standing in a hallway, smiling at me, hands in his pockets, then a close up of his face and his brown eyes were sparkling. The dream was very vivid and the building I was in had a very strong architecture. Ben's features were very clear, and once Ben appeared there were no jumps in the sequence of action, everything followed from something else. I think Ben is one of my spirit companions, because it was not like we knew each other forever, but that we had met before and this was our reuniting. We both remembered the other. He is one who meets me to lend me comfort in a time of great sadness and mourning for the past.

Third Time is the Charm

Barely a year ago I had been traveling to Prospect Park with one of my spiritual colleagues to romp among the greenery for the afternoon. My companion introduced me to the healer; apparently they had met many times before. The healer remained silent for full duration of his ride, although the girl he was traveling with spoke briefly. They disembarked prior to our stop. My companion explained to me that he is a spiritual healer who can usually be found around Union Square. All one need do to find him is say his name. I wrote his name down in the notebook I carried with me, but did not retain it in my memory for more than a few days. I have since lost track of the notebook, though I know it is somewhere among my many identical notebooks. 

I saw him a second time sometime this past summer getting off a train at Union Square.

This morning I had a brief encounter with the healer on the L train. He boarded at Lorimer and started dancing in place. I recognized him immediately. He is a striking figure, perhaps 6'5", with a playful smile and rosy face, topped with a mop of dirty blond locks. He wore a pair of worn khakis on the back of one leg was painted "Healing is the new black" or something to that effect (I hadn't slept so my memory is failing me now). I tried my hardest not to stare at him though I could not suppress my intrigue. He continued to dance a little bit as we passed under the East River, and manipulated the energy in the air with hand gestures. I recognized what he was doing immediately because the last time I had tripped it was revealed to me that such a thing was not only possible but absurdly simple as well. We shared a smile and respectful nod of the head a few times, then he started talking to me. I removed my headphones, and realized he was asking me a question about the prayer beads I wore around my neck. We spoke briefly of how each bead represents a different sacred mantra, and how it might do subway riders some good to recite them. We shared a laugh. Before he exited at Third Avenue, he pressed his hands together before his sternum and bowed his head in peace and farewell. I return his nod and was left the rest of the day with a feeling of much needed recognition.  

Why I hate Halloween and shall never entertain the idea of having fun on it again

1. The parties I went to were major busts.
2. I got so wasted I, a) lost my camera bag which had 3 FULL memory cards in it (but managed to hang on to my camera which is better but I'm still pissed... that was 300+ pictures!); b) deserted a friend for stupid reasons; c) fell down in the street on my way home, almost on my head if my shoulder hadn't broken the fall, which is still bruised and sore; and d) was so hungover I couldn't get out of bed until 4pm, then threw up all the water I had drank.
3. This is not the first time shit like this has happened on Halloween.