I dreamt last night of the warrens—I had gone into them with K for a bit to—feel them out. They were vague and hard to see, but I tried to look into where I had dreamed the night before, and I was aware vaguely of others being present—otherwise, I ventured back above and into the Dark Wood. But I found myself in the warrens, in a basement space of junk, other people’s game books, a broken guitar, and walls made of shelves of this crap. _______ was there, and he retired upstairs into, well, above, but I never thought to follow. I hovered on the edge of consciousness for a while, knowing I wanted to get out of that place, but never quite thinking to look up. And I think I felt concerned about patching the walls—walls I’d damaged while rummaging around.
I then spent the day [worked], but I remembered my dream as I exercised, and I chose to reject, to escape the warrens. As I walked, K said that, in part, my challenge is one of lucidity—and to click enough awareness, enough attention, to find my way out to the night air, to the woods. Desire and knowledge are beginnings.
Spelling to escape the warrens, to start looking up. I’m not sure there are immediate paths out, and I want to find or make them. The warrens are as much a conperceptual prison as anything else: you don’t think to look for a way out, but you may feel like exploring deeper into the warrens.
Walking through the woods and trees, I realized how—close I’d been to them all this time, but I’d more often walked past them rather than through, with, along them. It was a subtle distinction; to walk along their dream, along the edges of the Otherworlds with a kind of, well, subtle attention. A light step that was easier today in the twilight, cloudy, autumn evening. Or, more properly, tonight put my spring and summer experiences of the trees into relief as different angles, but the progression of experience also suggests a deepening of attention and experience.
The earlier evenings also—help, feel fantastic.
I received the illuminated card of the Morrigan’s blessing—plus a hand-written card from Morpheus (M).I will get a frame for the blessing and icon.
Gerugroth—decrepit tunnels
Hardûun—the warrens of dream
Aligning outside is something I like as a praxis, and I think it encourages me to relax while exposed, but also opens me to the world.
I sink into the Hardûun because I hide, withdraw, and plaster over my heart and self with hurur and paper maché selves and interests and distractions, fixate on familiar junk that clutters and obscures me. Why does anything lair in warrens but to nest and hide from dangers. I withdrew more during grad school, but I’d always hid myself away. Fretted, despaired, and hid, and I didn’t look at what I’d done to myself.
But it was an easy refuge to find, and easy to become a prisoner. A prison of commodities, so I’m not too different from many, but my introversion I internalized in strange ways, literal ways. But they were ways that reflect the self-destructive, self-limiting thoughts and demons I internalized and concretized. Is there, then, another demon? (Likely, yes.) Or is it a kind of Hell we haven’t escaped from yet? (Perhaps?)
I also had the notion, the desire, to do magic in my dreams, to do art—on the walls, on the floor—to align and channel elthil in the dream and to defy Hardûun.
There’s humidity in the air, but also autumn.
The Green, for the sticky body, I’ve been channeling more as vines and roots of Elethis and the LW and the trees into myself.
To breathe in the night air and to exalt—to go for a stroll—to stop fretting and to let myself act freely, in the moment—to be Present and Bridge—
I plan to go to my sisters in Coru’nor tonight—I asked their aid earlier in helping me escape Hardûun.
Y’know, I feel I’m better at open-eyed “projection” and shadowed gaze, projecting out to Dana, looking out from Elethis—it’s like I have more—light? Can emote, kinesthetically, and move into what I’m trying to do.
Calling down the light at night seems at first thought to be a bit odd, but it’s more—well, it’s like my light makes the night more easily seen (but likely makes me more easily seen, as well).
The dogs have their distant palaver.
Image: Reading the Night Sky; Is There Love in Space; by Dean Kavanagh