I traveled to Anchorage for Carla's funeral yesterday. As it was Friday rush hour, I left at about 4:30 for the 85-mile drive, in order to accommodate possible delays due to traffic or construction. As it happened, traffic was flowing smoothly, and I arrived at St. Luke's an hour before the memorial service. I entered the church and found no one there except the choir and pastor, who were preparing for the service. Having an hour to kill, I made the short five-minute walk over to the Sea Hag, and settled down with a couple of shots of Bourbon.
Shortly before 7 PM I walked back to the Church and entered. I thought I might sit with Gary and Austin but their row was packed, so I walked some rows back and took a seat in an empty pew. As the memorial service began, I looked to my right, and was startled to find myself seated directly below a stained-glass window containing a large, magnificent icon of Saint Hubert. I'm not well-schooled in medieval Christian history, but I must say, if I have a patron saint, it's Hubert, the patron of hunters. I could not shake the thought that this was a significant synchronicity, and during the service, I could hardly keep my eyes off the window. In the depiction in the window, Hubert is shown surrounded by 9 irregularly placed clear round glass dots, that I took to be stars or planets. I was baffled by the symbolism, having never seen 9 of anything associated with Hubert; I immediately suspected it to be one of those pointers to ancient esoteric wisdom, that are so often "hidden in plain sight" in churches. After the service, I approached the pastor, and asked him for an explanation. Although he professed his own interest in ancient esoteric wisdom and mysteries, he had no explanation, and confessed that he had never even noticed the 9 stars in the window.
At the reception following the service I gave my condolences to Jim, and spent time catching up with all of the LLResearch regulars, and then had an uneventful drive home. Curiously, during the drive, I felt happy, confident, peaceful and elated at the same time; I haven't felt that way in years. The problems that have gnawed at me for a while receded, replaced by the knowledge that the only weight that they possess, is the weight that I assign to them. If I assign them no weight, they have none! I arrived late in the evening and soon went to bed.
After falling asleep I had, first, a series of dreams which seemed to feature a theme of someone illustrating to me, the meaning and consequences of a counterclockwise rotation of energy coincident with taking a first step, and then a tighter, more advanced counterclockwise rotation of energy associated with planting the other foot in a second step. I had four or five quick dreams concerning this theme, all in a milieu of visions so far outside the realm of normal human perception that I have no hope of relating them to you here. I awoke briefly, then fell back asleep, and had this dream:
I found myself in a cold, snowy landscape, with low, rolling, steep-sided hills, mostly open pastureland with a few scattered trees. I was with a small group of people, mostly on horseback, led by a woman. The others were all wearing those heavy woolen coats that 18th-century Canadian fur-trappers wore, the kind made from heavy blankets, with big hoods; and I couldn't see the faces of any of them. We were on a hunting expedition, and there were rifles in leather scabbards on all of the horses. I was on foot, and struggling to keep up with the others in the knee-deep snow. The woman leading the group kindly assigned me their spare horse, a large Pinto. I mounted and tried to follow, but I haven't been astride a horse for 30 years, and my riding skills were rusty. She was a gentle mare but I had trouble keeping her at an even pace, and we fell behind. The woman turned to me and said that a couple of people from our party had gotten separated and apparently lost the day before. They were on foot, and the wind had blown snow into their tracks, so we were having a hard time finding them. She said we needed to hurry, lest they perish from exposure.
I told my horse to get up, and directed her to a gap in a hedgerow that we had to cross to catch up. The others were too far ahead, but from the right another rider, dressed similarly to the others, galloped up. He was tall and lanky in the saddle. He told me he was out trying to find the lost pair; when he got close, I could see that he was Steve Engratt (!). Of course I volunteered to help him. We trotted up the hillside, headed toward a small cluster of houses. Just outside the settlement, Steve dismounted to adjust the tack on his horse. I dismounted too. At this moment, we saw a lone figure trudging to the houses, and Steve pointed to him and exclaimed, "Catch up to him! He's one of the suspects!". His choice of words made me wonder just who the lost people were, and what they were up to. Instead of remounting and riding, Steve took off at a dead run, quickly outdistancing me with his long legs. I struggled uphill through the snow and eventually caught up to the mysterious figure as he reached the houses. Steve had vanished. The other fellow turned to me, and I did not recognize him. He told me that he and his companion had discovered something, something important, that would help all of us make our way through the deep snow.
The dream ended and I awoke immediately.
As I awoke I was alive with the possible implications of the dream. Was the woman in the group Carla, attempting to contact me from the other side of the veil? The connection between Saint Hubert and the hunting party was obvious. Am I now to help out more? If so, what am I to do?
Shortly before 7 PM I walked back to the Church and entered. I thought I might sit with Gary and Austin but their row was packed, so I walked some rows back and took a seat in an empty pew. As the memorial service began, I looked to my right, and was startled to find myself seated directly below a stained-glass window containing a large, magnificent icon of Saint Hubert. I'm not well-schooled in medieval Christian history, but I must say, if I have a patron saint, it's Hubert, the patron of hunters. I could not shake the thought that this was a significant synchronicity, and during the service, I could hardly keep my eyes off the window. In the depiction in the window, Hubert is shown surrounded by 9 irregularly placed clear round glass dots, that I took to be stars or planets. I was baffled by the symbolism, having never seen 9 of anything associated with Hubert; I immediately suspected it to be one of those pointers to ancient esoteric wisdom, that are so often "hidden in plain sight" in churches. After the service, I approached the pastor, and asked him for an explanation. Although he professed his own interest in ancient esoteric wisdom and mysteries, he had no explanation, and confessed that he had never even noticed the 9 stars in the window.
At the reception following the service I gave my condolences to Jim, and spent time catching up with all of the LLResearch regulars, and then had an uneventful drive home. Curiously, during the drive, I felt happy, confident, peaceful and elated at the same time; I haven't felt that way in years. The problems that have gnawed at me for a while receded, replaced by the knowledge that the only weight that they possess, is the weight that I assign to them. If I assign them no weight, they have none! I arrived late in the evening and soon went to bed.
After falling asleep I had, first, a series of dreams which seemed to feature a theme of someone illustrating to me, the meaning and consequences of a counterclockwise rotation of energy coincident with taking a first step, and then a tighter, more advanced counterclockwise rotation of energy associated with planting the other foot in a second step. I had four or five quick dreams concerning this theme, all in a milieu of visions so far outside the realm of normal human perception that I have no hope of relating them to you here. I awoke briefly, then fell back asleep, and had this dream:
I found myself in a cold, snowy landscape, with low, rolling, steep-sided hills, mostly open pastureland with a few scattered trees. I was with a small group of people, mostly on horseback, led by a woman. The others were all wearing those heavy woolen coats that 18th-century Canadian fur-trappers wore, the kind made from heavy blankets, with big hoods; and I couldn't see the faces of any of them. We were on a hunting expedition, and there were rifles in leather scabbards on all of the horses. I was on foot, and struggling to keep up with the others in the knee-deep snow. The woman leading the group kindly assigned me their spare horse, a large Pinto. I mounted and tried to follow, but I haven't been astride a horse for 30 years, and my riding skills were rusty. She was a gentle mare but I had trouble keeping her at an even pace, and we fell behind. The woman turned to me and said that a couple of people from our party had gotten separated and apparently lost the day before. They were on foot, and the wind had blown snow into their tracks, so we were having a hard time finding them. She said we needed to hurry, lest they perish from exposure.
I told my horse to get up, and directed her to a gap in a hedgerow that we had to cross to catch up. The others were too far ahead, but from the right another rider, dressed similarly to the others, galloped up. He was tall and lanky in the saddle. He told me he was out trying to find the lost pair; when he got close, I could see that he was Steve Engratt (!). Of course I volunteered to help him. We trotted up the hillside, headed toward a small cluster of houses. Just outside the settlement, Steve dismounted to adjust the tack on his horse. I dismounted too. At this moment, we saw a lone figure trudging to the houses, and Steve pointed to him and exclaimed, "Catch up to him! He's one of the suspects!". His choice of words made me wonder just who the lost people were, and what they were up to. Instead of remounting and riding, Steve took off at a dead run, quickly outdistancing me with his long legs. I struggled uphill through the snow and eventually caught up to the mysterious figure as he reached the houses. Steve had vanished. The other fellow turned to me, and I did not recognize him. He told me that he and his companion had discovered something, something important, that would help all of us make our way through the deep snow.
The dream ended and I awoke immediately.
As I awoke I was alive with the possible implications of the dream. Was the woman in the group Carla, attempting to contact me from the other side of the veil? The connection between Saint Hubert and the hunting party was obvious. Am I now to help out more? If so, what am I to do?
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