I am in what looks like a church. There is a raised platform up front with what looks to be an altar, lecterns, communion table and candelabras. It's all white. A body of a young woman has been found murdered and she is terribly cut up and mutilated. Her nude body is up by the altar. For some reason, the only thing I am worried about is if the woman's body is going to offend me or make me sick. But, I want to go up there and look at her body.
Then this man approaches me down where the congregation sits. He is clean cut, about 40 years old, dressed in a suit, hair recently cut short. And he's real slick, like some kind of player/con man. He looks almost plastic, everything about him is just too perfect. He says to me, "If you ever want to just hang out, just as friends, here's my card." He hands me his card, and adds, "You know, hang out, just as friends."
Then these three young girls approach me (I am quite young, too) and they say to me, "We are going to the border to have some fun. Wanna come?" I know that accepting their invitation will result in trouble for me, or worse. But, it's like I cannot say no. So, I agree to go with them. Then I glance toward the altar where the white corpse of the dead girl is. And one of these girls who has just approached me is doing something to the corpse, but I cannot see what. But when the girl steps aside, the dead girl doesn't even look human. She has been put back together, all the cut marks and incisions gone. But, she now looks like some big blow-up doll. And her mouth is wide, wide open and her eyes too. It was freakish to see. She just didn't look real. She looked almost like a huge rubber doll that was inflated with too much air.
I felt so weird. I kept doing things against my will and acting in ways I would never act normally. Even when I was young, I wouldn't have found myself in this situation. Just being in this situation was weird because I don't even place myself in these situations normally. I just didn't feel like myself.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
13 Jan '10 - The Indian Wise Man & Shaman
The situation is this: There have been a series of murders of young women as well as some strange weather patterns in our area. My husband and I are holding a meeting about the murders in what looks like the fellowship hall of a church, in the basement. My husband, Dave, has enlisted the help of several people to come speak with us, as a neighborhood, as a community. One of the speakers is an elderly Native American Indian man. He steps up onto the stage. My husband introduces him. He stands before the small crowd. Dave asks the Indian man if he's a Shaman. The Indian man answers that he has learned all that he knows from a Native American Indian Shaman who is now in Spirit. He talks about how he used to be alone in the world, but that he was joined with a woman who later became his wife. And the Indian man introduces his wife and she steps upon the stage.
After all the speakers are finished speaking, a group of police come up to me. They show me a written statement that I had given them previously about the murders. They are challenging me and what I have written in my statement to them. I realize that they consider me a suspect in the murders. They point to my written statement and ask me about the name that I had written on my statement. The name is in bold, black letters on the paper. WOLENZE. They ask me if I wrote this name. I answered that I had. But, when they asked me about the name, I couldn't remember anything about the name. They asked me other questions and I tried to answer as truthfully as I could. They questioned me further but were finally satisfied that I had nothing to do with the murders.
Then the scene changes and Dave and I are at our hotel in Mexico. However, instead of the hotel being the coastal property that it is, it is actually located in the mountains. There have been sustained, torrential rains in our area and mudslides everywhere in our region. Rigo, our employee at the hotel, is the only one who has stayed at the hotel to help us with the mudslides and the property, in general. David, my husband, has invited the Indian man to come and speak to us about the weather patterns. He comes and David offers him a seat in a white plastic beach chair near our apartment. David and I are standing and listening to what the Indian man has to say. I notice that the Indian man's trouser leg is hiked up above his knee and that his left left leg is an artificial leg. The man begins to speak in his native language. Dave seems to understand what he's saying. I do not. When the Indian man is finished speaking, he gets up and begins to walk "home." And I suggest to Dave that we drive him. Rigo pulls our truck out of the mud and we begin to drive him up the beach road. It is raining and the road is all but washed out. I remind Dave to give the man some money for his assistance to us. He does.
As we are driving, we notice that there are all these little piles of what looks like straw arranged like a pyramid shape and tied at the top. We also notice that they are following our truck, as if there are little, short people or beings of some kind inside of them. It's unsettling to us that they are following us and hiding whenever we stop the car to observe them. We are not getting a good feeling about this situation at all. They seem like they might want to harm us. I don't know why we think this, but we do.
Now the scene changes again and I am in a car with two other young women. It's a gold colored Jeep Cherokee or something similar. The inside is a gold/tan color. I believe that I am the driver of the car, but I am not sure. We are taking the one girl home. Something happens to the girl we are taking home. She hits her head or is hit in the head with something by someone (not known to me) and all of a sudden she is slumped over on the front seat, not moving. We just don't know what happened and we were standing right there the entire time. It seems like she may be dead. The other girl and I are so fearful that we will be blamed for this accident that we just leave our friend there, slumped over the front seat. We leave her there, in the car. Later on, I couldn't believe that I had just left my friend there, not knowing whether she was alive or not. So, I returned to her house and saw the car where we left it. When I opened the passenger door, I saw that she was gone.
I begin to walk to her house which is located just a few steps from the vehicle, and the dream fades.
After all the speakers are finished speaking, a group of police come up to me. They show me a written statement that I had given them previously about the murders. They are challenging me and what I have written in my statement to them. I realize that they consider me a suspect in the murders. They point to my written statement and ask me about the name that I had written on my statement. The name is in bold, black letters on the paper. WOLENZE. They ask me if I wrote this name. I answered that I had. But, when they asked me about the name, I couldn't remember anything about the name. They asked me other questions and I tried to answer as truthfully as I could. They questioned me further but were finally satisfied that I had nothing to do with the murders.
Then the scene changes and Dave and I are at our hotel in Mexico. However, instead of the hotel being the coastal property that it is, it is actually located in the mountains. There have been sustained, torrential rains in our area and mudslides everywhere in our region. Rigo, our employee at the hotel, is the only one who has stayed at the hotel to help us with the mudslides and the property, in general. David, my husband, has invited the Indian man to come and speak to us about the weather patterns. He comes and David offers him a seat in a white plastic beach chair near our apartment. David and I are standing and listening to what the Indian man has to say. I notice that the Indian man's trouser leg is hiked up above his knee and that his left left leg is an artificial leg. The man begins to speak in his native language. Dave seems to understand what he's saying. I do not. When the Indian man is finished speaking, he gets up and begins to walk "home." And I suggest to Dave that we drive him. Rigo pulls our truck out of the mud and we begin to drive him up the beach road. It is raining and the road is all but washed out. I remind Dave to give the man some money for his assistance to us. He does.
As we are driving, we notice that there are all these little piles of what looks like straw arranged like a pyramid shape and tied at the top. We also notice that they are following our truck, as if there are little, short people or beings of some kind inside of them. It's unsettling to us that they are following us and hiding whenever we stop the car to observe them. We are not getting a good feeling about this situation at all. They seem like they might want to harm us. I don't know why we think this, but we do.
Now the scene changes again and I am in a car with two other young women. It's a gold colored Jeep Cherokee or something similar. The inside is a gold/tan color. I believe that I am the driver of the car, but I am not sure. We are taking the one girl home. Something happens to the girl we are taking home. She hits her head or is hit in the head with something by someone (not known to me) and all of a sudden she is slumped over on the front seat, not moving. We just don't know what happened and we were standing right there the entire time. It seems like she may be dead. The other girl and I are so fearful that we will be blamed for this accident that we just leave our friend there, slumped over the front seat. We leave her there, in the car. Later on, I couldn't believe that I had just left my friend there, not knowing whether she was alive or not. So, I returned to her house and saw the car where we left it. When I opened the passenger door, I saw that she was gone.
I begin to walk to her house which is located just a few steps from the vehicle, and the dream fades.
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