Humble Three-Eyed Girl
Dreamed 2008/12/30 by Chris Wayan
I just saw Slumdog Millionaire. Loved the child- and teen- parts, as Lakita and Jamal and his brother Salim grow up in the Mumbai slums, but found the adult part more conventional. Still, it grabbed me; and they'd suffered so much we needed the payoff.
In the afternoon, I bike across San Francisco to the clinic for a vaccination my doctor insisted on--and to demand a copy of the last round of blood-test results. Have they found what's causing these weird recurring flu-like attacks?
My doctor's not there! And an aide says "We're out of serum, so no one else can give you the shot either. Come to our Mission clinic after New Year."
Thanks a lot! Bike home. It's a lovely mild winter day, so I don't mind too much. But still. Rude of him. I'm not happy with Mr. No-Show Doctor.
In the evening, I read Dreams During War-Time by E.M. Martin, and start Acquainted with the Night, by Nancy Price--two journals by longtime dreamworkers. I want examples of their dreams on the World Dream Bank--especially Price, who writes carelessly but with such vivid flashes!
I'm riding in the back of a van, curled up on a mattressy pad with four college-age women who all have third eyes. Well... not physical ones, but it takes me a minute to notice that they have normal human foreheads when I restrict myself to my two light-sensing eyes. Which isn't easy. My default vision isn't through my eyes! What I sense (no, I don't know what organ I use to sense it) is their energy, their auras--and those seem to have three, four, even five eyes!
They tell me these eyes are learned, not genetic--what I call (and see as) eyes are really personality-assemblage points or psychic senses. So there's more than one extra sense? Apparently.
I wonder how they see me? Do I have two, three, many eyes? I have no idea--I never seriously differentiated ESP, it's all just intuition to me. But maybe there are several distinct senses in there.
All four girls radiate a powerful rightness. I've only met a group this psychic once before--one magical evening when my friends Emily Joy, Madeline, Cheryl, and I all met. This bunch is at least as powerful.
I recognize the three-eyed girl--she's half Whitney and half Maureen (friends of mine met in art classes last year). So cute! She has a sweet, strangely canine aura. Maybe it's her humility: she says "I only have three eyes" as if it's understood that a diligent student would have more by now.
And that's absurd. Such an extraordinary group provides extraordinary support for each other, but it inadvertently sets a crazy standard, too. Growing even a third eye usually takes most of your life; Whitney-Maureen's done it by twenty. The group fostered that, but may have blinded them to their uniqueness. No wonder they feel humble!
I'm so attracted to her I say "Forgive me, I just have to massage you now." And I do. Pet her back like she's a dog, trusting that canine aura. Scratch her head, massage scalp. Feels lovely--purring energy between us. So sexy. But sex is not enough. I need to help heal her shame. Not sexual, or emotional, or even intellectual shame, exactly. Her shamanic shame.
Her shame for merely achieving the extraordinary, instead of the impossible.
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