<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090</id><updated>2011-10-10T09:43:59.051-07:00</updated><category term='desert'/><category term='art'/><category term='fear'/><category term='bathroom'/><category term='wolf'/><title type='text'>oneiros</title><subtitle type='html'>1. A series of images, ideas, emotions, and sensations occurring in the mind during certain stages of sleep.
2. A daydream; a reverie.
3. A state of abstraction; a trance.
4. To conceive of; imagine.
5. A condition or achievement that is longed for; an aspiration.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>77</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-6133937539094172864</id><published>2011-10-10T05:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-10-10T07:25:07.718-07:00</updated><title type='text'>dragon dream</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-we6PuzPqPEc/TpLmmvR1L_I/AAAAAAAADzI/qfQycBeQfPs/s1600/116175.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-we6PuzPqPEc/TpLmmvR1L_I/AAAAAAAADzI/qfQycBeQfPs/s400/116175.jpg" width="300" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;After seeing my step father and thinking of my childhood with anger and sadness. &amp;nbsp;I begin walking into a very large tunnel, leading to a cave. &amp;nbsp;There are several other people walking into the cave. It is reminiscent of a pilgrimage. &amp;nbsp;The cave floor is littered with religious artifacts and bones. &amp;nbsp;Owen picks a number of them up to look at them (many are of Mary, Joseph and Jesus) and we place them reverently on a low table, and beneath the feet of the travelers---offerings from those who have gone before. &amp;nbsp;Shane steps close to an embankment with a sharp drop off where the roots of a tree are heavily exposed. &amp;nbsp;As he steps on the roots I think perhaps it is a bit cavalier and dangerous. &amp;nbsp;Then I think it is interesting that the roots are exposed. &amp;nbsp;I help him off the roots and notice &amp;nbsp;two enormous statues linked as one at the back of the cave. &amp;nbsp;One is a giant black panther, the other a shape shifting dragon/panther/bird. &amp;nbsp;Both have the same looking head with human features. &amp;nbsp;The panther statue suddenly lunges at Shane. &amp;nbsp;This is the object of the journey. &amp;nbsp;Shane's posture of "I know" has created the aggression. &amp;nbsp;The huge/panther/man communicates something to him. &amp;nbsp;The dragon/panther/bird/man looks at me with fierce eyes, my heart breaks with longing and my eyes show a great sadness. &amp;nbsp;Suddenly I am surrounded in love, lifted off the ground. &amp;nbsp;The dragon/man is communing with me/in me as an experience. &amp;nbsp;He shows me how I breathe in the heavens/consciousness/God from above and with breathless ease, the heavens pour through me on inhale and release on exhale. &amp;nbsp;I am the stars. &amp;nbsp;Next, He shows me how I breathe in through the individuated self and there is virtually nothing, just the smallest leaking energy of life. &amp;nbsp;I immediately think of my past, of abuse and fear, of life being unsafe. &amp;nbsp;He says, "No! &amp;nbsp;You don't need the stories. &amp;nbsp;They do not serve you. &amp;nbsp;See fear as it is, now." (I think of Ramana Maharshi). &amp;nbsp;Then He asks me to breathe in the earth experience as I breathed in the heavens, pulling from the earth, pulling up through my feet, legs, and hips, the energies of heaven and earth meet in the heart of me like a huge hourglass flowing in and out in communion with all there is, my heart in union with all. &amp;nbsp;I breathe like this for awhile and see how my refusal to trust the earth energy has resulted in a compromised body and an absent life. &amp;nbsp;I am now in the air five feet off the ground, the energies of the heavens pour into my heart as do the energies of the earth. &amp;nbsp;Dark and light, duality unified, the heart beats, ONE. &amp;nbsp;There is a great love coming from the dragon, who holds my hand as I say thank you. &amp;nbsp;He laughs a great laugh and says "I enjoyed you!" and prepares for the next visitor. &amp;nbsp;I linger as the experience begins to shift like a mirage and quickly ask. &amp;nbsp;"What of my relationship with Shane? &amp;nbsp;What should I do?" &amp;nbsp;There is a hesitation. &amp;nbsp;Then the dragon with a mans head says, "Neither of you are inspiring the other to greater expression, expansion or experience." &amp;nbsp;And with one last loving look, I am back in the cave with two connected statues and a floor littered with artifacts from travelers over the ages. &amp;nbsp;More travelers approach the statues. &amp;nbsp;I find Shane sitting near the cave wall, looking at cards like those in a tarot deck. &amp;nbsp;He has collected several and placed a few for me on the ground. &amp;nbsp;I ask him about his experience and all I know is that it was short and he feels somewhat jealous of mine. &amp;nbsp;This feels silly after what just transpired but I feel myself contract and breathe a bit less.&lt;/div&gt;I wake up.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-6133937539094172864?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/6133937539094172864/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=6133937539094172864' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/6133937539094172864'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/6133937539094172864'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2011/10/dragon-dream.html' title='dragon dream'/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-we6PuzPqPEc/TpLmmvR1L_I/AAAAAAAADzI/qfQycBeQfPs/s72-c/116175.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-469648014218348928</id><published>2011-10-05T05:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-10-10T04:54:11.278-07:00</updated><title type='text'>thoughts</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;I am in some sort of simulation environment. &amp;nbsp;There are others here. &amp;nbsp;There is a room called the thinking room. &amp;nbsp;Each room is meant to simulate or clarify a part of life. &amp;nbsp;I have avoided the thinking room through the whole dream. &amp;nbsp;I decide to go within. &amp;nbsp;As soon as I step inside all these men begin rushing me, yelling, I turn to leave. &amp;nbsp;I think the door is locked but it opens easily. &amp;nbsp;I step outside and two children rush out. &amp;nbsp;One young black boy jumps into my arms. &amp;nbsp;Another older black boy rushes to my side. &amp;nbsp;A large man tells me to come inside. &amp;nbsp;I know that once in, it is like a maze. &amp;nbsp;I ask the older boy to my right if he knows the way out and he becomes suddenly quite clear, responding, "Yes!". &amp;nbsp;I return inside. &amp;nbsp;This time no one yells at me, but I begin following the man instead of the boy. &amp;nbsp;The boy lags somewhat behind me, hesitating. &amp;nbsp;He seems to want to go in a different direction but I am not thinking, just following the man who is setting the course. &amp;nbsp;I walk through a large kitchen area with several professional kitchens on platform. &amp;nbsp;Nearby there are things for sale, a store full of "stuff". &amp;nbsp;I think to myself, "It is a good thing that I am not hungry". &amp;nbsp;I keep following this man to a table where several women are seated. &amp;nbsp;I choose a spot and settle next to them. &amp;nbsp;Now I am waiting for food, solely because the man told me to have a seat. &amp;nbsp;Serena is suddenly at a nearby table she hints that she would like to have her clients around her. &amp;nbsp;Without thinking I stand up and move all my stuff to her table. &amp;nbsp;I am surprised and perturbed that no one else is being as accommodating. &amp;nbsp;She wants a photo and I start wishing for my camera.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wake up. &amp;nbsp;Suddenly I am aware that my thinking is governed unconsciously by the actions, words and thoughts of others. &amp;nbsp;If people are confrontational I retreat. &amp;nbsp;If they are accommodating I follow their thoughts and needs, wants and desires. &amp;nbsp;Even the boy, who knew the way out, was ignored, because he was my thought. &amp;nbsp;I changed tables, chose to eat and followed a stranger into the maze without even considering the possibility of thinking for myself. &amp;nbsp;I didn't need to eat or even go in that direction. &amp;nbsp;How does this reflect my own thought process and my own choices. &amp;nbsp;Am I making them if I have relinquished my right to choose for the chance of being liked or being nice or being safe?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-469648014218348928?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/469648014218348928/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=469648014218348928' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/469648014218348928'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/469648014218348928'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2011/10/thoughs.html' title='thoughts'/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-2463135519131079504</id><published>2011-06-29T04:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-29T04:57:41.773-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;My dreams have been a labyrinth of seemingly nonsensical imagery:&lt;br /&gt;Shane sucking a pacifier,&lt;br /&gt;Jim Carrey as a narcissistic lover,&lt;br /&gt;work,&lt;br /&gt;Chogyam Trungpa,&lt;br /&gt;Bodhi in a hurry,&lt;br /&gt;pain,&lt;br /&gt;nature,&lt;br /&gt;longing,&lt;br /&gt;attachment.&lt;br /&gt;I could relay a dream in full but at the moment they seem anything but elucidating. &amp;nbsp;I imagine it is time for me to begin listening again and writing them down, otherwise the intellect decides to spend my slumbering eight hours in perpetual download, without a hint of luminosity.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-2463135519131079504?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/2463135519131079504/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=2463135519131079504' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/2463135519131079504'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/2463135519131079504'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2011/06/my-dreams-have-been-labyrinth-of.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-443384464779963753</id><published>2011-04-08T05:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-08T05:11:14.124-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-47V0Fj_ahnU/TZ77UBl6lvI/AAAAAAAADg4/Bp5-tQzqFHo/s1600/x10428026.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="231" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-47V0Fj_ahnU/TZ77UBl6lvI/AAAAAAAADg4/Bp5-tQzqFHo/s320/x10428026.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;dreaming&lt;br /&gt;I am having eye pain in my right eye. &amp;nbsp;I go to the doctor (who isn't an eye doctor but is able to do an eye scan). &amp;nbsp;The doctor tells me that my "perennial cortex" is degenerating which translates into the loss of color vision. &amp;nbsp;I see my eye in detail, beautiful on the surface, with pupil, iris muscles and a surrounding band of neurons and fibers at the very edge that looks like a colorful sea creature but under the beauty is a dying nerve. &lt;br /&gt;I wake up disturbed.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-443384464779963753?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/443384464779963753/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=443384464779963753' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/443384464779963753'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/443384464779963753'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2011/04/dreaming-i-am-having-eye-pain-in-my.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-47V0Fj_ahnU/TZ77UBl6lvI/AAAAAAAADg4/Bp5-tQzqFHo/s72-c/x10428026.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-2743009644533137359</id><published>2011-04-07T05:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-08T05:26:21.903-07:00</updated><title type='text'>snakes in my belly</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-q_Cb57c7PVE/TZ797Wbf4MI/AAAAAAAADg8/eimFopbKLEw/s1600/1843386.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="198" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-q_Cb57c7PVE/TZ797Wbf4MI/AAAAAAAADg8/eimFopbKLEw/s200/1843386.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;I am trying to get two rattle snakes into a large cardboard box (I don't remember seeing the snakes) and moved somewhere safe where no one will get hurt. &amp;nbsp;I am upset that the box has a hole opening on two opposite sides where the snakes could escape. &amp;nbsp;I keep trying to block off the holes because I don't want the snakes getting out. &amp;nbsp;When I stand up I become terrified. &amp;nbsp;I realize that I didn't actually put the snakes in a box at all, but in my belly. &amp;nbsp;The two holes are the openings for intake and elimination. &amp;nbsp;I am utterly horrified that I have two dangerous rattlesnakes in my belly. &amp;nbsp;I can't walk fast because the swaying of my hips might upset them and cause them to bite me internally. &amp;nbsp;I don't know how to get them out of my belly. &amp;nbsp;In the box I could have shaken them out but in my belly they might bite me and kill me from within. &amp;nbsp;So I walk, barely breathing, barely moving with two venomous, dangerous snakes in my belly, wanting desperately to find a way to get them out without killing/injuring myself or hurting anyone else.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wake up scared. &amp;nbsp;Several minutes pass before I am calm enough to admit that I don't have real snakes in my belly. I feel upon waking that this dream is telling me something vital about my health, something I need to hearken to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Upon reflection the snakes may be my own suppressed life energy that has been buried each time I have swallowed and denied anger or fury throughout my life. &amp;nbsp;This suppressed energy terrifies me but is getting more venomous and dangerous to my own health the longer I keep it locked within me without much life energy left for living, moving or breathing.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-2743009644533137359?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/2743009644533137359/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=2743009644533137359' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/2743009644533137359'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/2743009644533137359'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2011/04/i-am-trying-to-get-two-rattle-snakes-in.html' title='snakes in my belly'/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-q_Cb57c7PVE/TZ797Wbf4MI/AAAAAAAADg8/eimFopbKLEw/s72-c/1843386.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-5150915445669240531</id><published>2011-04-04T05:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-04T05:56:20.978-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;Dreaming&lt;br /&gt;I am in a traveling troupe of some sort. &amp;nbsp;There are hundreds of beautiful young people (I too am much younger and more buxom and gorgeous than this body recalls). &amp;nbsp;We are all gathering to prepare for our performances. &amp;nbsp;It seems that we are also superheroes of some sort when we travel. &amp;nbsp;We gather in a large auditorium. &amp;nbsp;I shirk this handsome, needy young man who has literally been following me two inches or less from the back. &amp;nbsp;I holler enthusiastically to the crowd and skip to my seat in the front, directly before a mirror. &amp;nbsp;The group begins singing. &amp;nbsp;This is my second year with the troupe but I don't know the songs. &amp;nbsp;I say to myself I don't learn this way (by ear) I need to see the song. &amp;nbsp;The song leader hears me and hands me a typed song sheet. &amp;nbsp;The song sounds like an east Indian chant but it goes "Ta, ra, re, ditty ditty, Ta ra ram ditty ditty ", etc. &amp;nbsp;I sing, chant and wake up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The interesting part of this dream upon waking was that my conscious mind, identifying with dream Angelina, didn't know a simple song and had the belief that she couldn't learn it AND YET I was the dreamer and the content of the dream- the song, the singers, the scenery, the context and story all arose within the presence of what I am. &amp;nbsp;It interests me how the conscious mind adopts beliefs and limitations that are not only false but ludicrous in their smallness. &amp;nbsp;It interests me how even the dreaming mind chooses to identify with limited parts rather than perceive the whole. &amp;nbsp;It's as if the limited I/Angelina is threatened by its own magnificence and comforts itself with crumbs of consciousness, begrudging its lot, while seated at a banquet table unparalleled in its splendor.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-5150915445669240531?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/5150915445669240531/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=5150915445669240531' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/5150915445669240531'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/5150915445669240531'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2011/04/dreaming-i-am-in-traveling-troupe-of.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-6382384756255762746</id><published>2011-02-27T06:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-27T06:26:28.255-08:00</updated><title type='text'>rainbow baby</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;I have been having lots of dreams with disconnected imagery&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In this one Shane/not Shane was cheating on me. &amp;nbsp;It had become so ordinary that I didn't notice. &amp;nbsp;My house was full of extra children making messes, leaving food and bedding and crumbs everywhere, all of them boys. &amp;nbsp;The house was dark and under cared for. &amp;nbsp;There were puppies in the house too, lots of tiny puppies and I remember thinking, "Why didn't Shane have this dog neutered? My mom will think it is totally irresponsible to bring so many unwanted dogs into the world". &amp;nbsp;Next I am standing in a room/not room, my boys are nearby playing. &amp;nbsp;I am taking off the head of this human size knitted stuffed doll. &amp;nbsp;It is beautiful and knitted out of undyed wools of various colors. &amp;nbsp;I am pulling out the strings that sewed the head to the body, suddenly I realize that I am not okay with my life. &amp;nbsp;I turn to Shane/not-Shane who looks trim and gorgeous in tight geometric patterned pants and a button down fitted shirt, and say I am not okay with you visiting with another woman all the time. &amp;nbsp;I suddenly feel enraged about this and I cuss loudly, aware of my children and wishing I could contain my emotions for their benefit...too late. &amp;nbsp;I take the woman and her daughter, who are now in my house and I guess always have been but I never noticed them before, to the door. &amp;nbsp;The woman tells her daughter to be careful of the monsters and point toward the puppies. &amp;nbsp;With growing disgust I tell her those are just puppies and pick her up by the scruff of her jacket to throw her out the door that looks like a wall but is really a door. &amp;nbsp;There are a bunch of people staring angrily inside but when I open the door they fall down like inanimate props. &amp;nbsp;The woman leaves. &amp;nbsp;I see Shane leaving too. &amp;nbsp;He enters another house full of faceless people painted in the colors of a Tony Ortega painting. &amp;nbsp;He alone appears real but as he enters the room faces emerge and I realize how much more he fits into this other woman's Latin family, who except his loudness and weight without question. &amp;nbsp;Then I am witnessing everything from above thinking about the rainbow baby (?) and watching as this baby in a cradle sheds bark brown- blanket like coverings, one by one, like the passage of time. &amp;nbsp;I wake up, still watching, waiting to see her face.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-6382384756255762746?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/6382384756255762746/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=6382384756255762746' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/6382384756255762746'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/6382384756255762746'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2011/02/rainbow-baby.html' title='rainbow baby'/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-1299289371978143176</id><published>2011-01-07T05:06:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-07T05:06:23.429-08:00</updated><title type='text'>dreaming</title><content type='html'>I am sleeping in Ron and Joanne's basement.&amp;nbsp; There are bugs everywhere, literally all over the floor. Spiders and roaches.&amp;nbsp; They are crawling on me.&amp;nbsp; For some reason I feel that I have no where else to go.&amp;nbsp; I must sleep there.&amp;nbsp; When I decide to leave.&amp;nbsp; The bed is removed and the floors are cleaned.&amp;nbsp; There are no bugs and everything looks lovely and new.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am a little girl.&amp;nbsp; I live with my mom.&amp;nbsp; She expects me to take the blame for all her unhappiness and I do. I apologize for everything that happens and try to always make it better.&amp;nbsp; My father steps in once.&amp;nbsp; He is kind of invisible but he speaks to her while I am in the midst of a prolonged apology for existing.&amp;nbsp; He disappears but because of something he says she lets me talk to my sister, Ariel.&amp;nbsp; Ariel is a beautiful red-headed mermaid who has a will of her own.&amp;nbsp; I am so happy to be talking to her.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-1299289371978143176?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/1299289371978143176/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=1299289371978143176' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/1299289371978143176'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/1299289371978143176'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2011/01/dreaming.html' title='dreaming'/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-5587036494192015329</id><published>2010-12-06T16:10:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-06T16:10:33.241-08:00</updated><title type='text'>dreaming of buddhism</title><content type='html'>I am watching the spread of Buddhism, from its birth in India spanning continents.&amp;nbsp; I watch as the truth is filtered through the beliefs, cultural traditions, festivals and character of the people.&amp;nbsp; I watch an ornate hindu celebration merging with Buddhist philosophy and the many changes and alterations as Buddha's teachings spread and filter through China, Japan and Tibet.&amp;nbsp; Changing as it expresses through the culture, beliefs, thoughts, ideas, traditions, needs and expectations of the people and time.&amp;nbsp; The dream is very colorful, intimate and beautiful.&amp;nbsp; The truth remains true.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have traveled back in time and I am sitting in an audience listening to Paramahansa Yogananda give a talk.&amp;nbsp; I know I have traveled through time.&amp;nbsp; Shane is there too, but it is Shane and not Shane at the same time.&amp;nbsp; We both hold papers that tell us who we are pretending to be.&amp;nbsp; I am Paramahansa's wife (yes I know he wasn't married) and Shane is a high priest.&amp;nbsp; I realize this is a great honor.&amp;nbsp; I seem preoccupied by the thrill of being present at Paramahansa's lecture, so much so that I am not attending to what is being said.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-5587036494192015329?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/5587036494192015329/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=5587036494192015329' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/5587036494192015329'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/5587036494192015329'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2010/12/dreaming-of-buddhism.html' title='dreaming of buddhism'/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-7962555849311981769</id><published>2010-11-30T06:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-11-30T06:07:59.661-08:00</updated><title type='text'>stomach dream</title><content type='html'>I am ill. A paramedic comes and removes my stomach, I am laying outside on a hillside.&amp;nbsp; He makes a large U cut on my abdomen (where my lower intestines would be).&amp;nbsp; I am worried that my organs will fail because they won't get enough oxygen.&amp;nbsp; He places my stomach in a jar and tightens a vice around it from all sides (like a christmas tree stand).&amp;nbsp; He tells me that he will tighten it so much that drawing a breath will be automatic.&amp;nbsp; He does and the stomach breathes like a tortured lung.&amp;nbsp; He has notes about my organs.&amp;nbsp; I see that both of my ovaries are on one side of my body, always releasing two eggs at the same time.&amp;nbsp; I say, "That is why I make twins".&amp;nbsp; I walk around with a bandage on my stomach feeling very victimized and sorry for myself.&amp;nbsp; No one seems to notice my situation.&amp;nbsp; I need to get to the hospital to get my stomach back.&amp;nbsp; I finally collapse on a hill (really I kind of pretend to collapse).&amp;nbsp; My partner is unaffected&amp;nbsp;by my condition.&amp;nbsp; I arrive at the hospital.&amp;nbsp; It is open and airey.&amp;nbsp; A young woman is my surgeon and I am worried that she and her male assistant don't really know what they are doing.&amp;nbsp; I bless her hands in an effort to control the process.&amp;nbsp; She says that she will flush out my colon and abdomen cavity before replacing my stomach.&lt;br /&gt;I wake.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-7962555849311981769?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/7962555849311981769/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=7962555849311981769' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/7962555849311981769'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/7962555849311981769'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2010/11/stomach-dream.html' title='stomach dream'/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-3505529196503084144</id><published>2010-11-29T05:31:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-11-29T05:31:27.353-08:00</updated><title type='text'>dreaming</title><content type='html'>I walk into a small American town, a stranger, with my son.&amp;nbsp; We look very different.&amp;nbsp; I have just arrrived from the orient and am clad in indian style attire.&amp;nbsp; As we walk in people begin to whisper amongst themselves.&amp;nbsp; The time period seems early in this century.&amp;nbsp; My son and I progress through a beautifully landscaped area toward a large, ornate&amp;nbsp;stone hotel.&amp;nbsp; In a fountained foyer I meet a woman who nearly died within her marriage to a man, who was emotionally unavailable and disinterested in her.&amp;nbsp; She met a man who made her laugh and who spent time playing with her and her son.&amp;nbsp; Although they don't seem to have an intimate relationship, they are deeply happy with one another.&amp;nbsp; The husband is so disinterested he doesn't appear to notice although there is a tension in the woman that he may discover and disapproving, take her companion from her.&amp;nbsp; I walk toward the check in desk, past tables of men smoking cigars and women looking proper.&amp;nbsp; I hear them passing rumors back and forth about a black man, a dead man and me.&amp;nbsp; As I arrive at the desk I am now wearing army green military clothing, tailored in the style of the 40's or 20's.&amp;nbsp; I begin checking in and a rude man passes by with a friend and comments on the wrinkled, disarray of my clothing, "Perhaps when traveling by train, one could drape their shirt across a chair so as to avoid a wrinkled mess".&amp;nbsp; I am aware that I am extremely beautiful and these people are afraid of me.&amp;nbsp; After securing a room on the third floor, I remove my overshirt to expose a gorgeous black lace bustier and saunter to the elevator with my son, non plussed.&amp;nbsp; When I arrive on the third floor it is too dark to see the room numbers.&amp;nbsp; My son waits in the hall, I try a door 370 something which immediately opens from within.&amp;nbsp; I am pulled inside by the rude man who is mad with desire.&amp;nbsp; He is big and is planning to rape me.&amp;nbsp; Instead of struggling&amp;nbsp;I press against him enjoying the pleasure of sensuality and desire, not for him, just desire.&amp;nbsp; When I am satisfied I turn to leave.&amp;nbsp; My son is still in the hall.&amp;nbsp; There is a woman now watching at the front desk.&amp;nbsp; I can't get out without being seen.&amp;nbsp; I wait in the closet.&amp;nbsp; The woman comes in and glimpses me, she says nothing but ushers the man downstairs to show him something so that I can get out.&amp;nbsp; She is an understanding accomplice.&amp;nbsp; I take my son to our room to rest, knowing I will have to leave again tomorrow, because these people and their fear already have condemned me a witch.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-3505529196503084144?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/3505529196503084144/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=3505529196503084144' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/3505529196503084144'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/3505529196503084144'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2010/11/dreaming.html' title='dreaming'/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-2038169129208760111</id><published>2010-11-24T05:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-11-30T06:14:34.977-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>snippets.&lt;br /&gt;Someone is playing music by making signs over a water hole and the vibrations are absolutely beautiful.&amp;nbsp; I look and realize that behind him is the cave.&amp;nbsp; Noone else in the dream remembers the cave, but I have dreamt of it before and it is where fear dwells embodied as&amp;nbsp; monsters that eat people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am in a tall room.&amp;nbsp; A&amp;nbsp;lawyer of some sorts and I have been recieving hate mail in the form of CD's, I am suddenly worried about my children and I don't know where they are.&amp;nbsp; I call to Bart Zuber and a girl down below for help&amp;nbsp;(Bart is my nememsis, he represented my ex in our divorce for free).&amp;nbsp; I give my bird call repeatedly from the high window perch, then I just climb out and scale the side of the wall with skill, climb in another window where I meet Bart and his friend.&amp;nbsp; Together we find the "bad guys" and I take the worst one, which looks like a thick worm (could it get more freudian) and I squash it until all the insides come out and even then I stare down on it to make sure it is dead, feeling that it may not be.&amp;nbsp; I walk out into a field and kiss Owen's teacher passionately.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bizarre&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-2038169129208760111?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/2038169129208760111/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=2038169129208760111' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/2038169129208760111'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/2038169129208760111'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2010/11/snippets.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-340470730384174053</id><published>2010-11-22T05:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-11-22T05:48:53.910-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I have recommitted to writing down my dreams, here are a few from last night:&lt;br /&gt;1&lt;br /&gt;I walk past a pool where a toddler sits at the edge holding the foot of a submerged child.&amp;nbsp; I don't seem to notice really and I go to the bathroom.&amp;nbsp; When I come back I ask him what he is doing.&amp;nbsp; He sort of whimpers and then I realize there is a boy drowning.&amp;nbsp; I race over and pull the stiff boy from the water.&amp;nbsp; I give him mouth to mouth, all the while berating myself for not noticing sooner.&amp;nbsp; The boy finally comes too and I end up with a mouth full of his mucus.&amp;nbsp; Then I am worried about myself getting ill instead of the child and flush my mouth with water.&lt;br /&gt;2&lt;br /&gt;There is a man who has lost his wife when they were young and just married.&amp;nbsp; They both were knifed in the stomach.&amp;nbsp; The man lived but not the wife.&amp;nbsp; When he had to bury his wife he also buried the bible in another deeper whole and with every shovel of dirt he threw on it he gave up God and came to rely solely on his intellect.&amp;nbsp; He now runs a bookstore and is a specialist in folkloric traditions.&amp;nbsp; I walk by the door and often here a woman talking in a kind of caustic voice from upstairs.&amp;nbsp; I want to find out who she is.&amp;nbsp; After several days I enter the dark room of his shop which opens onto a stairway.&amp;nbsp; A young man comes down stairs.&amp;nbsp; I split myself into two me's and one escapes unnoticed up the stairs while the other remains down below and makes love to the man (really just non intimate sexual contact) smelling of fish.&amp;nbsp; Upstairs I see the woman.&amp;nbsp; I can see some of the wife's former beauty in her face.&amp;nbsp; She is seated on one end of a long table and the man is seated at the other end. It turns out that the man found her.&amp;nbsp; She had reincarnated as a dog.&amp;nbsp; Her face still bore a resemblance to her former self and she could speak with a gravely voice, but otherwise she was a red fox like border collie.&amp;nbsp; The man loved her with his whole heart.&lt;br /&gt;3&lt;br /&gt;I am trying to talk to my naturopath about my body.&amp;nbsp; I am surrounded by co-workers in a large airy room at the end of an outdoor walkway.&amp;nbsp; In front of everyone I tell her that in the morning I feel this sort of rage rising (around 9-10) and then I become very tired.&amp;nbsp; This passes and again in the afternoon I become very tired again and must sleep.&amp;nbsp; She asks me what happened at those times, looking at me significantly and I immediately remember the babies who died.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-340470730384174053?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/340470730384174053/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=340470730384174053' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/340470730384174053'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/340470730384174053'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2010/11/i-have-recommitted-to-writing-down-my.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-4967388697160276644</id><published>2010-05-08T07:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-08T07:15:36.666-07:00</updated><title type='text'>pigs and stars</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/S-Vxy9pbKrI/AAAAAAAAC_k/So0m_iv0_8A/s1600/pigs1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/S-Vxy9pbKrI/AAAAAAAAC_k/So0m_iv0_8A/s200/pigs1.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;There is a pig. &amp;nbsp;A huge pink pig. &amp;nbsp;He is probably 5 feet long and I adore him. &amp;nbsp;He sits when I say sit and waits when I say wait. &amp;nbsp;Then Shane builds a huge fire in the center of a circle of low metal kennels. &amp;nbsp;He puts all the pigs in the kennels. &amp;nbsp;My beloved pig wanders in by himself and lays down to get warm. &amp;nbsp;The door of the kennel doesn't shut. &amp;nbsp;I know Shane is roasting the pigs to eat. &amp;nbsp;"I don't eat pork...why would you?", I think to myself. &amp;nbsp;I know that I can not let my pig-friend get roasted. &amp;nbsp;I go to wake him up but he is already awake and backing out of the kennel. &amp;nbsp;I realize that the pig is actually my brother Dave and I tell him he has to shape shift back. &amp;nbsp;He says, "We have to free the pigs first!". &amp;nbsp;We do. &amp;nbsp;Then Shane comes back. &amp;nbsp;Suddenly, Shane, Dave and the pig are one person and I grab him by the ankles and begin whirling him over my head beneath the night sky, saying, "you are not a pig, nor a person...you are a star who has forgotten what you are" and I hurl him into the heavens.&lt;br /&gt;I wake up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-4967388697160276644?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/4967388697160276644/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=4967388697160276644' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/4967388697160276644'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/4967388697160276644'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2010/05/pigs-and-stars.html' title='pigs and stars'/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/S-Vxy9pbKrI/AAAAAAAAC_k/So0m_iv0_8A/s72-c/pigs1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-4119972892588940492</id><published>2010-04-19T04:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-19T04:39:56.262-07:00</updated><title type='text'>rage</title><content type='html'>dreams&lt;br /&gt;I am at Berties (but it doesn't actually look like her house).&amp;nbsp; There is a cabinet kept in a special room.&amp;nbsp; In it is a pale blue box.&amp;nbsp; I recognize it but can't remember where. I open the cabinet door.&amp;nbsp; As I touch the carved lid of the box and begin to open it, I remember.&amp;nbsp; It is the box my father gave me for my marriage blessing ceremony, it is filled with small gifts from everyone dear to me, each one a blessing for a happy union.&amp;nbsp; The instant I open the box and glimpse the contents a rush of rage emerges like out of Pandora's box.&amp;nbsp; Bertie is beside me with her hand on my shoulder.&amp;nbsp; I know I wasn't supposed to open the box.&amp;nbsp; The rage consumes me like a demon until I begin to yell like an enraged animal.&amp;nbsp; Bertie stares at me for a while, calmly staring thru me to the truth.&amp;nbsp; While she does this I feel perhaps it can be controlled, but then she yells...a feeble yell beside the demon of rage, perhaps to frighten the demon back into the box...and then I know that the demon is stronger than her and the rage is taking me over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wake up terrified.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next dream:&lt;br /&gt;I am in my room.&amp;nbsp; I have left Shane it is one room, cinderblock in a poor neighborhood.&amp;nbsp; There is no bed just a frame of rough logs.&amp;nbsp; There is nothing really, no carpet, nothing comfortable.&amp;nbsp; I worry for the boys.&amp;nbsp; They will not like it here.&amp;nbsp; I feel deeply exhausted over trying to make do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next dream:&lt;br /&gt;I am in my bedroom and Don shows up at the house.&amp;nbsp; He is with my mom.&amp;nbsp; I see him in the hallway.&amp;nbsp; I am angry and not hiding it.&amp;nbsp; I make no mistake in conveying my disgust for him and my desire that he leave, NOW!&lt;br /&gt;He looks like a constantly shifting image of my children, Shane, my ex, my father, and stepfathers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wake feeling so sad and so confused&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-4119972892588940492?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/4119972892588940492/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=4119972892588940492' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/4119972892588940492'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/4119972892588940492'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2010/04/rage.html' title='rage'/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-9179318999873664718</id><published>2010-03-08T06:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-08T06:21:50.873-08:00</updated><title type='text'>March 8</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/S5UHondQ01I/AAAAAAAACxs/Kxk9EWLn4jU/s1600-h/12_77_5---Red-Rose_web.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 343px; height: 363px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/S5UHondQ01I/AAAAAAAACxs/Kxk9EWLn4jU/s400/12_77_5---Red-Rose_web.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446267718742365010" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;dreaming&lt;br /&gt;I have been given red roses- huge intricate glass roses, plastic pom-pom roses, delicate glass roses, silk roses and a few roses that live and resemble a person.  I place them all in a large bowl on an upper shelf because someone is coming... a representative of human-ness...a man.  I hide the roses, but first I pull from the bowl a living female doll.  She is about two feet tall with shoulder length brown hair.  I think I need her as a rouse.  The man brings with him processed meat, beef.  I don't eat cow.  I know there is something strange about the meat, something that is meant to hybridize the eater.  I prepare it and it looks more like a McDonald's burger than a homemade buffalo burger.  I tell the man that I will feed it to one child at a time (knowing that I will never feed it to my family).  I give it instead to the girl-doll-child.  I wake before she eats it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dream that Wind and I have a daughter.  She lives with me.  I am confused as to how I got her, but I love her so much.  She is around four years old with medium length soft brown hair.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"&gt;&lt;!--Session data--&gt;&lt;input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"&gt;&lt;div id="refHTML"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"&gt;&lt;!--Session data--&gt;&lt;input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"&gt;&lt;div id="refHTML"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"&gt;&lt;!--Session data--&gt;&lt;input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"&gt;&lt;div id="refHTML"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-9179318999873664718?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/9179318999873664718/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=9179318999873664718' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/9179318999873664718'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/9179318999873664718'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2010/03/march-8.html' title='March 8'/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/S5UHondQ01I/AAAAAAAACxs/Kxk9EWLn4jU/s72-c/12_77_5---Red-Rose_web.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-410824390655888175</id><published>2010-02-13T05:52:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-13T06:06:50.033-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>strange dream&lt;br /&gt;I am at my high  school reunion.  I don't recognize hardly anyone and hardly no-one recognizes me.  I realize that I am getting older.  The reunion is in California and I point upwards at this incredible grassy hill with craggy old windblown trees and I say "Just beyond those trees is my grandfather's house".  I am surprised by this.  I then tell whoever is with me that my grandfather once owned the whole hillside but he sold it in parcels and developers have destroyed it.  I felt so sad looking at it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I was at a dinner party with a man I loved.  It was a very regal dinner and I slurped my soup, ate with the wrong utensils and then stood up and began to clear the table.  All of these social  faus pas made the hosts and my date embarrassed.  When I handed the butler my plate I was beginning to cry and I left.  I crossed a canal and ran for some time until I felt free, than I lay down on the bank and stared upwards all these men were suddenly interested in me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I ran and slid down all these outdoor banisters with another woman.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was a lot of sexually charged imagery in this dream.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"&gt;&lt;!--Session data--&gt;&lt;input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"&gt;&lt;div id="refHTML"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-410824390655888175?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/410824390655888175/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=410824390655888175' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/410824390655888175'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/410824390655888175'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2010/02/strange-dream-i-am-at-my-high-school.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-5096724782776810265</id><published>2010-01-31T19:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-31T19:18:57.703-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Shane and I are standing outside a large room that seems more like a really huge room/bread oven.  There is a single opening in a stone wall (like a brick pizza oven).  Inside there are several couples and a facilitator.  Each couple steps forward and stand before the oven, they then kiss.  We didn't make it there in time to be with the other couples.  As each couple finishes they climb out of the oven/opening.  When they are all gone, I climb in very animated and excited and turn to Shane who is still outside and say, "Come on, it's our turn now".  I am kind of giddy.  Shane says no, with no hint of playfulness or abandon.  I try to cajole him.  The room is so warm and toasty, but he refuses to come in.  As I climb back out I wonder if the hole is too small for him to enter.&lt;br /&gt;I wake up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-5096724782776810265?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/5096724782776810265/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=5096724782776810265' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/5096724782776810265'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/5096724782776810265'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2010/01/shane-and-i-are-standing-outside-large.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-4120172624871568745</id><published>2009-12-04T04:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-04T05:16:58.209-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SxkLxTGptTI/AAAAAAAACkc/kNbgenTQp74/s1600-h/trippin+070.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SxkLxTGptTI/AAAAAAAACkc/kNbgenTQp74/s400/trippin+070.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411369368832030002" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am at some sort of global amusement park.  There is a room with a game in it.  I don't like video games and I tell them this and they say, everyone must try this game.  It is like a virtual video game in a very white room and the screen lights up.  It is difficult to tell the screen from my mind, but if you distance yourself a bit, you remember.  Suddenly the screen flashes with goals, different factors to look for.  At first the game is novel, "find the kitten on the touch screen".  But quickly it evolves, adapting to more emotionally charged settings.  Each won game is rewarded with a mardi gras style necklace.  Then the screen changes and I am floating on clouds with a sage in white robes, he smiles and asks "what is all this", I smile in return and say "God of course, all is God".  Next, the screen becomes violent and the game attempts to alter me so that I am more involved.  It grows a beard on my face and dictates that in order to remove the beard I have to complete the next game.  A gun appears instead of the touch screen and there are lots of people on the screen in different settings.  At first I am supposed to shoot ducks then target people.  I don't do this, but rather I begin swinging the gun and in so doing I short the game, so that static begins to separate the images.  Next, a man steps out of the image and takes the gun from me.  He says, "The game is over for you now and you will play again later".  I am angry that I had to play the game at all.  I tell him it is an awful game, manipulative and violent and I don't want to play.  I begin to leave but walk back to collect all my necklaces.  There are hundreds.  Many red and yellow ones and one long white necklace that trails the floor.  I leave the studio with a strong feeling that I am escaping.  I take back routes.  I find my brother Dave who was getting ready to play the game.  I tell him not to, it is a trick and somehow I feel that he would have a difficult time pulling himself out of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next I am walking past a beggar, who eyes my necklaces.  I give them all to him, except the white one.  As I walk away he says "You must have met Spirit, those necklaces are the most valuable.  Only a few ever get them, they haven't figured out how to remove that part from the game".  I walk into a room with lots of people. I sit down across from a young woman.  She is eager to hear about the game.  I tell her that the game doesn't matter.  I look in her eyes and she appears to be watching a video game or in deep REM sleep with her eyes open.  I take her face in my hand and ask her to look at me.  She tries.  I say, calmly, "GOD IS.  GOD IS. GOD IS.  All else is an illusion".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A spirit walker comes to me and I wake up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-4120172624871568745?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/4120172624871568745/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=4120172624871568745' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/4120172624871568745'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/4120172624871568745'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2009/12/i-am-at-some-sort-of-global-amusement.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SxkLxTGptTI/AAAAAAAACkc/kNbgenTQp74/s72-c/trippin+070.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-290751555188368324</id><published>2009-11-07T05:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-07T05:53:28.183-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SvV663RzuII/AAAAAAAAChg/uZK1NjbfiOo/s1600-h/endofsept+005.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SvV663RzuII/AAAAAAAAChg/uZK1NjbfiOo/s400/endofsept+005.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401358479790422146" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I(or a woman like me but shorter and with straight black hair) have sculpted several large pieces of standing art out of wire.  One of them is a bird woman standing 10 ft. tall.  Her body armature is a stylized metal skeleton with fleshier bones on the legs and arms but very visible sacrum and vertebral column.  The head is very well done.  I cant tell if the head is sculpted from metal or another substance- perhaps it is bronze work. The figure is standing erect with arms outstretched in a T.  The face is a bit severe, no false levity there, but very strong and wise seeming.  There is an open wire hooded cloak draped over the torso and arms.  On this there are thin, white, paper and newspaper, feathers, again these are very stylized and are much larger and shorter, a bit like leaves.  There are just enough feathers to imply "bird" but not so many that it appears over done.&lt;br /&gt;The effect is breathtaking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other sculpture is around 8ft. tall and is a cloaked figure of the wanderer/traveler.  This figure is almost completely concealed beneath a wire cloak.  The figures arm is outstretched holding a light or lantern extended in front.  The face looks a bit frightened and weary, but strong and seasoned too.  There are leaves covering the cloak and again these leaves are cut out of white paper and are too large to appear realistic but the effect is beautiful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some member of the dream begins poking fun of the wanderer, saying that for a self portrait, it doesn't look very similar to the artist.  I feel at first insulted, then I realize that I would rather it if they were not self portraits, than they would be more readily identified with by the viewers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was an inspirational "feeling" dream.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;TWO&lt;br /&gt;I am at Aunt Bertie's house.  It looks nothing like her house.  It is a single level ranch house with a light colored exterior.  The inside is light and airy with wooden floors, minimal furnishings, neutral paint and a feeling of expansive simplicity.  Bertie sits in  a single comfy looking white chair in the main room.  The exterior is an eden, with orchards, flower gardens, and vegetables everywhere.  There are tomato trees (yea trees) huge eggplants growing among flowers, gourds, squash and fruit everywhere.  The produce has been somewhat effected by the cold weather and some of the veggies and fruit are ruined, but surprisingly most of it seems to have weathered the seasonal shift.  I am surprised by this and assume that it must be warmer here.  There are forests on the larger periphery and an overall feeling of natural beauty and paradise within the untamed surroundings.  I feel at ease here.  There are no concerns and everything is provided for.  I feel peace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;THREE&lt;br /&gt;There is a compound, like a jail.  Elephants and bats keep getting trapped within the gates.  When the elephants are trapped they throw themselves onto the chain-link fence like the bats and each time they do this they look like enormous bats and the fence is splattered with blood.  People keep setting them free but each time they re-lock the gates they lock in the bats and elephants once more.   I am observing all of this from outside the gate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;FOUR&lt;br /&gt;Owen has to go to jail.  There are lots of others in jail.  It doesn't look very horrible, like a cabin-jail and Shane is the jailer.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-290751555188368324?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/290751555188368324/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=290751555188368324' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/290751555188368324'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/290751555188368324'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2009/11/ior-woman-like-me-but-shorter-and-with.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SvV663RzuII/AAAAAAAAChg/uZK1NjbfiOo/s72-c/endofsept+005.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-2323810474878047227</id><published>2009-10-24T05:16:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-24T05:30:00.632-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SuLyUmRe9BI/AAAAAAAACf8/kZlPLikExdY/s1600-h/illinoistrip+037.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SuLyUmRe9BI/AAAAAAAACf8/kZlPLikExdY/s320/illinoistrip+037.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396141739228460050" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dream Snippets&lt;br /&gt;An old woman walks naked through a house and into a bedroom.  Her large breasts sag to her waist.  An old man is in bed.  He laughs and says, "I'll just need two long boys to take care of this".  Although there is sexual innuendo the transaction seems utterly benign.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have two sisters.  I am sitting in the dirt, flanked by them and feeling the surprise and love of recently remembering that I have two sisters similar in age to me.  A family procession sweeps by (is it a wedding). They are all men.  I feel buoyed by my sisters' love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Julia Roberts is dancing, at the start of her career.  She looks plain as she dances, with obvious discomfort and awkwardness.  Then I see her off stage and she is playing with the music, dancing, having fun and her famous smile spreads wide across her face.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wake.&lt;br /&gt;I usually judge these non-eventful dreams, taking them to be barometers of my mind, my psyche and even my soul.  Often chiding myself for a preoccupation with the mundane.  I wondered, as I awoke, if my constant judgment of what is spiritual and luminous, in contrast to what is common and repetitive, isn't a large contributor to the anxiety I feel when facing life.  Perhaps I give everything I experience all the meaning it has for me.  Perhaps I can develop neutrality in seeing, by taking the first step toward embracing the range of my dreaming. Perhaps the sky is grey, perhaps a lone balloon floats in its breadth, perhaps I am neither, perhaps I am all, perhaps I am none of it.  Perhaps.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-2323810474878047227?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/2323810474878047227/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=2323810474878047227' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/2323810474878047227'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/2323810474878047227'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2009/10/dream-snippets-old-woman-walks-naked.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SuLyUmRe9BI/AAAAAAAACf8/kZlPLikExdY/s72-c/illinoistrip+037.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-509029533624575950</id><published>2009-10-18T05:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-18T06:32:32.128-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/StsYi6S-INI/AAAAAAAACcM/AAo079W4S1g/s1600-h/gardenday+097.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/StsYi6S-INI/AAAAAAAACcM/AAo079W4S1g/s320/gardenday+097.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393931966749745362" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am showing a man around my house (maybe it's my brother).  My house is spacious and lovely.  We stop in front of a large, beautiful cut stone fireplace and the man (my brother?) leans in closely to see several hand drawn cards displayed on the mantelpiece.  The cards are "I'm sorry" cards, that Shane and I have drawn.  There is a little tear drop character pictured in a variety of ways, all with the intent of apology.  As I look at the drawings, I am surprised to notice that Shane's are artistically better than mine.  His are simple, emotional and clear.  Mine seem a bit over done.  The man(my brother) picks up one card and the image falls off to reveal a  photo of myself and Shane or my ex...I can't really tell, the image seems to fluctuate in my memory... the photo slides off revealing a two sided postcard sized object.  On one side there are lots of expensive, coordinating fabric and texture samples for redecorating in hues of brown, on the other side there is a collage of various styles, thicknesses and colors of glass, all of them in shades of sea glass.  For some reason I feel very embarassed.  The man (my brother) looks at me and points at the side with all the fabric, (the same side the photo and "I'm sorry" card were attached to) and says, "You don't need to focus on this...", he turns it over to the glass side saying, "when this side opens onto all the world".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wake up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I sit for a time thinking about this dream.  I often approach my internal life with a re-decorator mentality, trying to change the furniture, air out the rooms, clean out the closet's, meditate to quiet the noise, connecting with God to bring in more light, etc.  In the hope that in doing so- I will grow, release and open.  I seldom drop the broom and fabric swatches in order to blur the edges of self and world.  The glass sampler seemed to encourage altering the walls of self---from solid walls promising isolation to beautiful glass opening onto life all around.&lt;br /&gt;Also, I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;try &lt;/span&gt;to forgive within my heart, dropping the blame and allowing God to breathe through me, but I suppose I do keep a mantel of "I'm sorry" card's tracking the reason's I have had cause to forgive- protecting each one within the defined boundaries of self.  Perhaps in blurring those walls I do gain the world.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-509029533624575950?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/509029533624575950/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=509029533624575950' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/509029533624575950'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/509029533624575950'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2009/10/i-am-showing-man-around-my-house-maybe.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/StsYi6S-INI/AAAAAAAACcM/AAo079W4S1g/s72-c/gardenday+097.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-7244800247511527262</id><published>2009-09-04T06:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-04T06:13:21.000-07:00</updated><title type='text'>rainbow</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SqESMC9pjMI/AAAAAAAACVA/5IvWD-DL5Y8/s1600-h/1-1220195601ohZh.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SqESMC9pjMI/AAAAAAAACVA/5IvWD-DL5Y8/s320/1-1220195601ohZh.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377599428220259522" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I had an interesting dream last night:&lt;br /&gt;I was a rainbow keeper and I was helping a few people escape the reach of the "beautiful people".  When we finally rose over a high grassy knoll scraping the sky we descended into a clean, airy and bright cave.  It felt like an adult Waldorf environment with beautiful wooden tables and a few white silk scarves...very natural and utterly devoid of clutter.  There were several people already there seated at the table.  The mouth of the cave opened to an Eden-like setting.  Someone asked me what it meant to be a rainbow keeper.  I held up my hand and you could see it become somewhat transparent.  Then I stood opposite the person who asked.  I closed my eyes and opened my heart...open and open and open until a huge flow of chakra/rainbow light flooded out like a rainbow, spreading and connecting.  The body become more transparent and then my body fell backwards and into the earth.  The earth reached up and my frame dissolved...I felt it dissolving, even gurgling as the oxygen escaped from my throat.  I knew Angelina had died.&lt;br /&gt;I woke up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-7244800247511527262?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/7244800247511527262/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=7244800247511527262' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/7244800247511527262'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/7244800247511527262'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2009/09/rainbow.html' title='rainbow'/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SqESMC9pjMI/AAAAAAAACVA/5IvWD-DL5Y8/s72-c/1-1220195601ohZh.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-145004820940117888</id><published>2009-06-22T06:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-22T06:35:26.662-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sj-ITnSH2hI/AAAAAAAAB-U/5kHEtVZgcL4/s1600-h/summer+144.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sj-ITnSH2hI/AAAAAAAAB-U/5kHEtVZgcL4/s320/summer+144.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350144752883325458" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Who is the Self who perceives the illusion?&lt;br /&gt;First Dream&lt;br /&gt;Our home is Aunt Bertie's house but the upper story is collapsing, the foundation is made of rotting wood and it is in danger of falling in at any time.  It is most likely to collapse where my old room used to be.&lt;br /&gt;Second Dream&lt;br /&gt;Angelina (Jolie) has a stalker, who is a malevolent energy housed in a human form.  I have to cast it out through fire and call on the Christ to keep it out.  Only the small children know what's real.  I still feel fear.&lt;br /&gt;Third Dream&lt;br /&gt;I am faced with a horrible scenario, in which an alien race has taken over human beings.  They seem to take them over harmlessly but totally alter their mental makeup to one of fear and ugliness.  This is evident in their faces which are no longer open and inquisitive.  I some how link up with a group of people who know how to escape the hole dilemma.   Miguel is driving a van.  I try to call Shane but realize my cell phone can be tracked and I throw it out the back.  Bodhi is in the child seat and he is immediately spotted due to his smiling open face.  We roll up the window.  We arrive at a garage and I climb out to help them in.  Miguel can't pull in the door easily.  The hesitation affords the aliens time to find the van.  The doors are closed.  When they finally open them, they tell me that Owen is okay but Shane and Bodhi have gone with them. Miguel has decided to go with them as a show of pride. They will give me three days to see Bodhi, and then I will have to live my life as a muerito (a little dead person).  There is a tunnel that leads into an ancient way of life, like the Aztecs or Mayans.  I am unwilling to relinquish my son.  I go through this tally of Masters asking who will help me... the Buddha will 30x, Jesus will 30x, Joel Goldstein will and on an on.  There are several teachers who are not on my wavelength. Their energy mounts in an offering bowl and then resides in my heart.  I wake up.  I am thinking over and over and over, "WHO IS THE SELF WHO PERCEIVES THIS ILLUSION,WHO IS THE SELF WHO PERCEIVES THIS ILLUSION,WHO IS THE SELF WHO PERCEIVES THIS ILLUSION".&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-145004820940117888?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/145004820940117888/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=145004820940117888' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/145004820940117888'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/145004820940117888'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2009/06/who-is-self-who-perceives-illusion-our.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sj-ITnSH2hI/AAAAAAAAB-U/5kHEtVZgcL4/s72-c/summer+144.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-307684338257101453</id><published>2009-06-05T06:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-05T06:42:34.573-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sikgk4eGcoI/AAAAAAAAB7M/vNrqr0ubb3Y/s1600-h/gardenday+097.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sikgk4eGcoI/AAAAAAAAB7M/vNrqr0ubb3Y/s320/gardenday+097.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343838250857820802" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am driving in my jeep and I realize that I am dreaming.  I think to myself, "Well lets just see what happens".  I start driving through villages, over buildings, everywhere.  I find myself in a large room beneath the sea, Chopra is there and he says he wants to show my something.  The sea room is beautiful.  The ceiling has orbs of luminescent plankton surrounding kelp, which creates a light-balloon effect.  Chopra takes me to a wall of coral and there are lots of little plankton fairies dragging away treasures.  One plankton hops up and sticks its tiny head in my ear.  It begins speaking in a high melodious talk, but I don't remember what she says.  I decide to swim and begin arcing through the water with a feeling of pure freedom, then I break thru the waves and am soaring through the sky, dipping in and out of clouds...FLYING.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-307684338257101453?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/307684338257101453/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=307684338257101453' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/307684338257101453'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/307684338257101453'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2009/06/i-am-driving-in-my-jeep-and-i-realize.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sikgk4eGcoI/AAAAAAAAB7M/vNrqr0ubb3Y/s72-c/gardenday+097.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-7171574394198468077</id><published>2009-05-30T05:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-30T05:57:48.120-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Strange dark dreams.  There were shadow-ish people living in the dark places of my house, they were human, but malevolent and all of them were men...my first boyfriend was part wolf with a power talisman, a living snake that passed malevolent messages to him through writing on his skin.  I chopped the snake into little pieces.  It became rigid like a pencil.  I put the knife to his neck but couldn't kill him, so I asked him to just let it go and be kind.  Nope, it wasn't gonna happen.  Next I was battling a whole group of men in the branches of a tree outside my window, most resembled men I had loved, admired or idealized.  I was overpowered and escaped inside, closing the window barely in time.  I yelled for help, but Shane was busy watching the game and my sons were too young.  I gathered my courage and then I realized somehow I had lost and was going to have to do what they told me.  I was going to have to work where they said and be who they told me to.  Suddenly, I felt like just an object measured by my youthfulness, beatuy and attractiveness.  Everything felt grey and smaller.&lt;br /&gt;I awoke feeling anxious.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-7171574394198468077?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/7171574394198468077/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=7171574394198468077' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/7171574394198468077'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/7171574394198468077'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2009/05/strange-dark-dreams.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-3572239614126399186</id><published>2009-05-18T05:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-18T05:30:53.875-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Dream snippets:&lt;br /&gt;I  am washing my hair in Wind's sink.  My hair is dread-locked and the water is so salty.  I keep getting it in my mouth and I feel like I am going to be sick, my whole tongue is swelling up.  Finally, someone agrees that the water is salty, this somehow validates my opinion and I leave the sink.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next, I have a baby and a doll.  I play with the doll as much as the baby and the baby and I love the doll.  We are on the earth outdoors playing with the doll when a woman walks by with her dog.  The dog tries to suckle at the baby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next, I am nursing again.  Bodhi is nursing and I have a lot of milk.  I feel a sort of unmatched fulfillment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next, I am at a beach and laying on the sand.  The beach is crowded and this family nearby is pouring artificial, styrofoam snow on the sand in a large square to immulate a bed, for the kids to sleep on.  I feel horrified at the evident disregard for nature.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-3572239614126399186?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/3572239614126399186/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=3572239614126399186' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/3572239614126399186'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/3572239614126399186'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2009/05/dream-snippets-i-am-washing-my-hair-in.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-1139801633328383236</id><published>2009-04-12T06:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-12T07:02:06.890-07:00</updated><title type='text'>polarity</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SeH0UQlHKKI/AAAAAAAABxM/agppAr5lXuw/s1600-h/waterdrop.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 286px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SeH0UQlHKKI/AAAAAAAABxM/agppAr5lXuw/s400/waterdrop.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323804863413823650" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My body is sitting on a grassy yard staring ahead at a stormy sky above the tree line.  I am watching just beyond my body.  There is a road on either side of me.  On my left there is a vehicle and some one like Dave opens the door and shadows, sorrows and a sort of hopelessness pours out.  There is a sense that I am looking at the stark underbelly of this life, the wars and killings, the lies and greed, the selfishness and fear, the destruction.  The shadow pours out and the field fills with hopelessnes in spite of the drivers assurances that we need a revolution, that we need to LOOK at these things and SEE them in order to change them.  My body remains sitting there, eyes on the approaching storm.  Then Aunt Bertie appears on my right, she quietly smiles and says, "I choose to focus on something else", the door of a white mini van slides open and light pours out, beautiful brilliant connecting light and HOPE fills the space between the darkness until all is connected and infinate and the approaching storm and the shadowy underbelly seem senseless amidst the glory and unity of unfolding truth.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SeH0UkpV__I/AAAAAAAABxU/Ts_uQd9HURI/s1600-h/tree+%283%29.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 93px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SeH0UkpV__I/AAAAAAAABxU/Ts_uQd9HURI/s400/tree+%283%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323804868800282610" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-1139801633328383236?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/1139801633328383236/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=1139801633328383236' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/1139801633328383236'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/1139801633328383236'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2009/04/polarity.html' title='polarity'/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SeH0UQlHKKI/AAAAAAAABxM/agppAr5lXuw/s72-c/waterdrop.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-2975484983908362321</id><published>2009-04-11T06:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-11T06:06:11.741-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Dream.&lt;br /&gt;There is a sister staying at our house for a while.  She is heavy with child.  I cross a wide room toward her, embracing her and telling her that I am so grateful that she has chosen to be with us and share this beautiful time with us.  I feel the baby moving in her body,then I feel it low in her back.  I say honey you are close.  Then I hear a soft baby cry, which doesn't make any sense.  I bend down and I can see the babies face through the outstretched skin of her right rear hip.  I know that it isn't the right position for the baby whose mouth is opening and closing, but still seems fine.&lt;br /&gt;I wake up, concerned and sad.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-2975484983908362321?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/2975484983908362321/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=2975484983908362321' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/2975484983908362321'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/2975484983908362321'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2009/04/dream.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-6317502620831892321</id><published>2009-03-15T06:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-15T06:25:43.609-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Dream  snippets&lt;br /&gt;Chris Kilgour ( love and comfort and anticipated discomfort) ... old ford trucks loaded with simple camping gear headed for the mountains... dancing with runners...young love and choices  ( here I was young and in love, it was sweet and innocent without the least hint of sexuality.  Next this young George Clooney sweeps me off my feet and takes me on long motorcycle rides complete with lovemaking beneath the moon, in the end I return to my young love and say to "George" you want to love with the angst and intensity of an adult, I want to enjoy the sweet innocence of my youth.)...the women at my work are gathered and judging the details of one another.  Belle is upset.  I stand and say, "Hey, Lets all drop the sharp edges and caustic wires of our judging and just enjoy eachother!", No one appears to listen.&lt;br /&gt;I don't remember much beyond these snippets.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-6317502620831892321?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/6317502620831892321/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=6317502620831892321' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/6317502620831892321'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/6317502620831892321'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2009/03/dream-snippets-chris-kilgour-love-and.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-589705585026838381</id><published>2009-03-03T05:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-03T06:33:29.618-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sa0_rH43V2I/AAAAAAAABpg/dlwmlRmSJj0/s1600-h/tree+%283%29.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 93px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sa0_rH43V2I/AAAAAAAABpg/dlwmlRmSJj0/s400/tree+%283%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308969545824163682" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am with a lot of friends, family and acquaintances in a large house (Aunt Bertie is there too), there is access to underground tunnels here too.  I remember this from another dream and everyone else seems to remember also, that there are horrible creatures that live in the underground who occasionally come up to the surface.  I remember the military battling them, with tanks and warfare and the creatures were hardly phased by all their violence.  There seems to be a consensus that these creatures are aliens of some kind that feed on human flesh.  Everyone is utterly horrified by this.  I suggest that a heavy consciousness like thiers is not so dissimilar from our own, which blindly kills and murders dolphins.  I explain that dolphins are just as conscious and intelligent as we are, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;more&lt;/span&gt;, because they consistently respond with joy and playfulness, regardless of our tendency to kill them.  We respond with fear.  Then one of the creatures emerges from the underworld, he is very large and reptilian, standing on two strong birdlike legs, with a powerful upperbody, long arms and strong talons.  His head is long and powerful in the front and back with immense jaws.  He comes directly toward me and wraps his hands around my neck.  Everyone jumps back.  I just begin to recite the "I AM" blessing that Bertie taught me and calling for Archangel Micheal.  My heart is full of love.  I decide that it is better to die in love than in fear.  The creature disappears.  Everyone is shocked.  My boss says, "I can't believe you did that".  This kind gentleman comes and takes me into a very comfortable closet with a window and a little nook.  He tells me to remain here.  I say "Why?".  He tells me that the creatures are coming in droves, they are attracted by electricity, by population (I know they are attracted by fear).  He says, "You are too special to die out there".  I say, "Won't they eventually find me in here?".  He says, "Yes, but you will be safe until then".&lt;br /&gt;I ask him to be kind and just kill me now, perhaps with a poison.  He shakes his head, No and leaves.&lt;br /&gt;Fear creeps in.&lt;br /&gt;The room begins to fill with the things I care about.&lt;br /&gt;Bodhi, Owen, Shane and Maia.  Then others show up.  All are oozing fear.  I decide we have to run away and live in exile.  Fear is overcoming me now.  I grab a few things, too afraid to leave the closet to even get a jacket or food or diapers for Bodhi.  I decide that we will head for the hills (which are crowded with the wasteful garbage of mankind) and hopefully beyond.&lt;br /&gt;I rise to the surface of sleep--- very, very, fearful---shallow breathing, rapid heart rate.  I say, "this will not do".  I go back down.  This time I ask Shane to care for those I love and I leave the closet.  I see Bertie and she joins me as do several others, including Teresa.  Then I enter the mouth of a cave diving down.  Davey is now on my right.  We are holding hands.  Bert and the others remain at the mouth of the cave, holding consciousness.  Davey and I descend.  We let fear fall away as we walk deeper and deeper into the underworld.  Soon we are surrounded by the creatures.  We keep walking, with eyes closed, feeling the light of our hearts.  We turn this light/love toward one creature, this creature becomes transparent and we see a man within and then it is just a man.  This happens to all the creatures nearby.  Dave and I realize that man is just another cloak hiding the brilliance of spirit and that underlying our exterior, emotions, attachments etc.,  there is consciousness...pure bright light consciousness.&lt;br /&gt;I wake up... there is nothing to fear.&lt;br /&gt;"Nothing real can be threatened&lt;br /&gt;Nothing unreal exists&lt;br /&gt;Herein lies the peace of God".&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-589705585026838381?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/589705585026838381/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=589705585026838381' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/589705585026838381'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/589705585026838381'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2009/03/i-am-with-lot-of-friends-family-and.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sa0_rH43V2I/AAAAAAAABpg/dlwmlRmSJj0/s72-c/tree+%283%29.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-2942770940269750705</id><published>2009-02-13T05:03:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-13T05:16:11.940-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SZVyP9lTYWI/AAAAAAAABno/WiXMrVM4z1E/s1600-h/mama+008.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 269px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SZVyP9lTYWI/AAAAAAAABno/WiXMrVM4z1E/s400/mama+008.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302269754853253474" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wind lives in a tree house and is surrounded by healthy food.  She offers a full breast to her new baby and pours milk all over...literally overflowing.  She shows me her right hand, we both have small tattoos of butterflies (blue) and she has a scarification of a small turtle.  We also have similar scars.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am in a restaurant in a foreign country, I work there and feel very comfortable.  There are people from all over the world here.  I am seated at a table with three me.  One of them has a tattoo on his neck that is like the sun on my back, he also has a tattoo of the Earth with an orbit around it.  He says, "Look she has a tattoo like mine".  They ask if I work here and if so if I will serve them.  I can tell they want to talk.  I go to the back of the restaurant to check in.  Everyone knows me and hugs me.  Many of the regulars are happy to see me.  It takes a while to get out front to where the men are, when I do they are gone but have left a note, written in Spanish with each of their names and numbers after a brief note.  One is named Bacchi, he has a very angular script.  The others name is Sascha and his script is loose and inviting, I can't recall the third name.  I call Sascha, he resides in California and his full name is Sascha Fortune.  It feels significant.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-2942770940269750705?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/2942770940269750705/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=2942770940269750705' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/2942770940269750705'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/2942770940269750705'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2009/02/wind-lives-in-tree-house-and-is.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SZVyP9lTYWI/AAAAAAAABno/WiXMrVM4z1E/s72-c/mama+008.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-8331196982313437553</id><published>2009-02-07T05:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-07T05:46:26.797-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Dreaming&lt;br /&gt;I have a parrot/parakeet.  It is small and green and is on the window side of a curtain rod, behind the curtain.  Owen tells me that I need to treasure the bird because it was a gift from my mom and very special to her.  I realize that he is right.  Just then our cat, Eli, comes in and grabs the bird and it's nest and goes running off with it.  I holler for Shane to help, he is just reclining on a lazy-boy with his hands behind his head and obviously doesn't care.  I run to Eli and grab the nest but have difficulty finding the bird.  Then I find her beneath his left arm, hidden (more like in a furry wing).  I take her and at first think she is dead.  She is bigger now and seems very precious to me.  I realize that she is in shock and I just need to give her attention and take far better care of her.&lt;br /&gt;Wake up&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-8331196982313437553?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/8331196982313437553/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=8331196982313437553' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/8331196982313437553'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/8331196982313437553'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2009/02/dreaming-i-have-parrotparakeet.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-3415702227823315504</id><published>2009-01-26T06:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-26T06:45:31.474-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SX3Mhjf8TFI/AAAAAAAABjA/KRVJM2bUrqE/s1600-h/lovely+vista.bmp"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 231px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SX3Mhjf8TFI/AAAAAAAABjA/KRVJM2bUrqE/s400/lovely+vista.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295613613694536786" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dreaming&lt;br /&gt;Davey and I are driving in the back seat of a car, looking out the window I see a person walking at the front of a procession in period garb.  I become excited because I have heard of these people.  Unlike 'normal' human beings who die after a lifespan of less than 100 years, these people live far beyond that, passing through time at their leisure.  We force/help Dan to stop the vehicle which he does in a beachy wetland.  We walk for some time until we find them.  There is a sort of entertainment going on because "normal" people don't realize that those in costume are masters and consider them circus performers.  I watch and then I see a sort of ripple along the surface of it all, like a great sea of energy.  I jump and dive into this unseen water and begin a sort of dolphin swimming along the surface.  As I swim through the air I realize that this is how they live so long.  They don't live life in a linear fashion caught up by the trappings of illusion, instead they swim in time emerging for a breath in a different moment, but always aware of the unseen waters.  I become tired.  I am not accustomed to this kind of swimming.  I am very high in the sky now.  I struggle.  I can not dolphin kick my self above the surface for a breath.  I falter.  Then there is someone beside me, a very large energied person, who buoys me up and I feel instantly secure.  S/he asks smiles at me and says you have come far, were you afraid.  I look back and respond, "Love is not afraid of loves-self", S/he smiles again and I realize I am one of them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next Dream:&lt;br /&gt;Robin and Ned are building a home in the back.  They plan on renting it out.  I imagine how wonderful it would be to live there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wake up feeling a luminosity lingering around my heart.  I imagine having a simple yurt and living near the Ocean, perhaps in Hawaii, of swimming thru the trappings of life and taking breath of clean air.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-3415702227823315504?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/3415702227823315504/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=3415702227823315504' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/3415702227823315504'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/3415702227823315504'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2009/01/dreaming-davey-and-i-are-driving-in.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SX3Mhjf8TFI/AAAAAAAABjA/KRVJM2bUrqE/s72-c/lovely+vista.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-2610322345507478211</id><published>2009-01-19T05:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-19T05:30:36.453-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SXR_oc00bDI/AAAAAAAABg8/_7MJbL3f_FU/s1600-h/stuff+217.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SXR_oc00bDI/AAAAAAAABg8/_7MJbL3f_FU/s320/stuff+217.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5292995794976402482" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dreamt of monkeys forced to sing and parade about, acting like ill behaved humans for advertising companies.  I saw the horrible treatment of these beautiful creatures at the hands of those who treated them like a commodity.  I saw the similarities between slavery and I saw the wretched little we have done to overcome our arrogance... we have exchanged it but not overcome it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dreamt of a mother, heavy with child, lying on a table in a spacious and modern restaurant. Her belly exposed.  Her husband stood beside her rubbing his knuckle in a circle around her navel.  He said, "We will be making a landing pad" (bruise), implying that everyone would perform this same knuckle treatment on the mother.  Meanwhile the child in eutero squirmed to move away from the accosting knuckle.  I thought how much I miss community and want a child to be born into a circle of friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dreamt of a man trapped by his inabilities, who disguises them with masculinity.  I watched him escape through a very long, narrow, vertical window with slatted glass, tear each panel off one at a time and squeezing through, run wildly down the road.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dreamt of a road that was covered with snow and steeper than a sheer cliff.  I dreamt of the impossibility of reaching its end.  Then someone told me to call on the keepers of the road, who have been there since the dawn of time to provide safe passage.  I called, a woman showed up... she told me something, but I don't remember what.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dreamt that I had left Bodhi in the care of my very aged grandmother and forgotten.  I had gone to Urban Outfitters to buy clothes and accessories.  When I realized what I had done, I tried to check  out early by telling them my son needed me.  They didn't care, so I abandoned the basket of stuff and hurried out the door, complaining to another employee about my treatment as I left.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I awoke feeling panicked about the state of my mind, about its preoccupation with the mundane to the exclusion of the divine.  Panicked about its servitude to my ego, my self, with all its petty irritations, desires and prides.  I felt an abiding sorrow, like one who has lost something very dear, dearer than the self that cries, but can't remember what it was.  I woke feeling terribly alone, hopeless and lost.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-2610322345507478211?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/2610322345507478211/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=2610322345507478211' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/2610322345507478211'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/2610322345507478211'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2009/01/i-dreamt-of-monkeys-forced-to-sing-and.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SXR_oc00bDI/AAAAAAAABg8/_7MJbL3f_FU/s72-c/stuff+217.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-7604526151360867924</id><published>2009-01-07T08:38:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-07T08:42:36.138-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I have been bombarded by dreams lately... here are some of last nights snippets,&lt;br /&gt;Michelle Obama and her oldest daughter were being baptized but instead of leaning back over water they were leaning over a cavernous cliff.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;A man was telling me of his sorrow.  He had lost his wife.  While she was well he had not appreciated her but then she became ill and developed this rotting disease... where her face rotted just like an old pumpkin.  He realized how much he loved her as she was dying.&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;Several end of the world dreams... forest images and more&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-7604526151360867924?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/7604526151360867924/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=7604526151360867924' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/7604526151360867924'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/7604526151360867924'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2009/01/i-have-been-bombarded-by-dreams-lately.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-6119832960448659577</id><published>2008-11-22T03:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-22T03:52:57.588-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>So many dreams gone unrecorded of late but here is a snippet from last night.&lt;br /&gt;I am walking with Owen along a trail.  There is an incredible animal up ahead, positively beautiful like a cross between a child, panda and bird.  We stare in awe for sometime and then a woman loudly proclaims "Oh that's just a  ____________bird (can't recall the name), and the spell is broken.  Owen and I walk on and I tell him, "That's the power of words Owen, they can steal the magic and the power of the thing they describe unless the person who is giving you the word understands the nature of the thing and imbues the word with magic, with respect, with awe".  We see a Mountain Goat lying in the shade of a great rock (reminding me of Bodhi) and stare in wonder.&lt;br /&gt;I wake up&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-6119832960448659577?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/6119832960448659577/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=6119832960448659577' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/6119832960448659577'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/6119832960448659577'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/11/so-many-dreams-gone-unrecorded-of-late.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-1405577004063382799</id><published>2008-11-12T05:29:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-12T05:40:49.421-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SRrc3Fp2l3I/AAAAAAAABHU/IKguw3BRjI4/s1600-h/redflowerdetail.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 129px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SRrc3Fp2l3I/AAAAAAAABHU/IKguw3BRjI4/s400/redflowerdetail.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267765553131853682" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am in this odd trailer house.  I think it is a pensione of some sort, but every traveler and occupant has left a few bags or piles of stuff and the small rooms are brimming with it.  I have to use the restroom.  I find one near the back of the house and begin to groan slightly with the effort.  Just then I hear a toilet flush immediately to my right, just beyond a thin separating wall.  I feel mortified.  A man walks out, having to pass through my bathroom to exit.  He is short of stature, smooth skinned and radiating a good nature.  He smiles broadly at me from my throne of humiliation, says something in a joking tone, steps to me and places his lips on my third eye (just between the brows) and blows a kiss into my skin.  I feel a strange sensation.  Like my third eye is opening, filling with energy, so much energy in fact, that it is almost uncomfortable.  It becomes filled with light and pulsing with energy.  We both comment on the strangeness of the experience.  We are now forehead to forehead and I am still seated on the toilet.  He leaves.  I realize that I have pink blood all over my hands.  I stand and see the toilet bowl full.  It is menstrual blood, but innocent lovely clean vital blood.  It is all over me.  My fluid white pants bloom red in beautiful patches.  I think how lovely they look.  I am supposed to be packing my stuff to leave this place.  But stuff seems like such a burden and I can't really tell what is mine and what was already here when I arrived.  Plus I don't really want it all.&lt;br /&gt;I wake up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-1405577004063382799?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/1405577004063382799/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=1405577004063382799' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/1405577004063382799'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/1405577004063382799'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/11/i-am-in-this-odd-trailer-house.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SRrc3Fp2l3I/AAAAAAAABHU/IKguw3BRjI4/s72-c/redflowerdetail.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-9042655245376110672</id><published>2008-10-24T05:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-24T06:06:10.390-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SQHIM5VEMYI/AAAAAAAABCs/hJOrh9lb8oQ/s1600-h/botanicalmom+036.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SQHIM5VEMYI/AAAAAAAABCs/hJOrh9lb8oQ/s400/botanicalmom+036.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260705963618611586" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am dreaming&lt;br /&gt;I am escaping something.  I have a travel companion.  I am walking through the fruit orchard of my youth.  There we find a naked female dummy.  I pick her up and throw her in the trash, she has an upraised delicate tattoo across her bum (the body seems a bit too lifelike).  We continue on.  I am afraid of what is chasing me.  I carry little with me other than a grocery bag of food.  These two cousins catch up to us,  One has two heads on long leg-like necks.  He is hurt and wants to hurt us.  In the end he falls in love with us and we are able to leave.  This delay has given our pursuer time to catch up.  It is my first boyfriend Jason Wolfe.  He has razor blade finger nails that he flicks at us like daggers, then spikes and more razors.  I pick up several and shoot them back at him, eventually slicing his throat with one of his razor's.  As I do I realize that he has a female counterpoint.  She is rotund and looks like my moms dear friend Nanceye(whom I love very much).  I cut her head off also, pulling out part of her spine like a stem.  Her face shrinks and wilts like a sunflower.  I hold her up and think how beautiful she is.&lt;br /&gt;Oddly the dream doesn't 'feel' very violent once the fear is gone.  I am not angry, just matter of fact.  I wake up&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-9042655245376110672?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/9042655245376110672/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=9042655245376110672' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/9042655245376110672'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/9042655245376110672'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/10/i-am-dreaming-i-am-escaping-something.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SQHIM5VEMYI/AAAAAAAABCs/hJOrh9lb8oQ/s72-c/botanicalmom+036.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-383277490944031773</id><published>2008-10-21T06:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-21T06:18:04.853-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SP3WX1SG_gI/AAAAAAAABCk/Kn0drmmfvTE/s1600-h/DSC01516.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SP3WX1SG_gI/AAAAAAAABCk/Kn0drmmfvTE/s400/DSC01516.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259595644766977538" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am sitting with several people in a large room.  They are all talking of death, of cremation and of burial.  I guess I am inside the waiting room of a indoor crematorium.  One older woman says that she doesn't care for the tradition of cremation.  It is so removed from the Earth, she will prefer burial.  I think it is odd that there is no ritual involved.  I look down at a bowl of food I am eating.  It is ground meat, rice and seasoning.  It occurs to me that I am eating my father.  I continue eating for a time, more as a burial rite and ritual for my Dad than out of hunger.  I am a vegetarian and the notion of eating meat, even my Dad, sickens me.  I eat half the bowl and put it down.  I have eaten enough and my Dad will always be part of me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-383277490944031773?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/383277490944031773/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=383277490944031773' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/383277490944031773'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/383277490944031773'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/10/i-am-sitting-with-several-people-in.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SP3WX1SG_gI/AAAAAAAABCk/Kn0drmmfvTE/s72-c/DSC01516.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-3259957866175564427</id><published>2008-10-14T07:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-14T07:50:13.744-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I dream of a cat... white with brown and black spots.  I am trying to put the cat out because it is being naughty.  The cat won't have it.  It is scratching and yelling.  I grab it by the fur at its neck and back and carry it to the door.  Its claws are out and looking for a fight, it squirms around and wraps all its limbs in a body bind on my right hand and wrist.  I ask for help.  Shane and my brother help me shake him off.  I leave and the boys go outside.  I turn around in time to see that they are trying to crush the cat with the legs of a weight bench.  I am appalled.  I rush outside and tell them to STOP.  They do.  I am so disgusted with them.  I walk away.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-3259957866175564427?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/3259957866175564427/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=3259957866175564427' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/3259957866175564427'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/3259957866175564427'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/10/i-dream-of-cat.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-6149810362502028039</id><published>2008-10-06T06:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-06T06:51:22.147-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Dreaming&lt;br /&gt;I am taking off in a "boat" from Catalina Island (I say Catalina but it looks more like Coronado),  Bodhi is with me (although maybe it isn't Bodhi just a child the same age).  The boat consists of a small upper platform on which sits a throne-like wooden chair.  Instead of a sail there is a mosquito netting canopy suspended from above and cascading over the sides of the chair.  This Bodhi/child runs around the perimeter of the chair on the 1 foot buffer before the waves.  I know this boat is a bit like an iceberg, much larger at its base but hollow inside.  It is night and we are sailing through midnight waters and starry skies.  The throne is also a self-digesting toilet which I utilize by squatting.  As soon as this is finished it returns to a throne with pillows.  I pull the child close to me and sleep beneath the netting and stars.  When I awake I find that I have drifted close to shore (Oceanside, but maybe what it looked like 200+ years ago).  My boat is now a sea kayak and I paddle to shore.  I love California as I do and feel a deep longing and belonging.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dream 2&lt;br /&gt;My mom has created a potion, using yeast as a binder and distilling the essence of a single beautiful pink rose.  These potions are for love, kindness, and forgiveness.  Owen and I dipped paper and string in the solution and strung them over head filling everyone with love, kindness and forgiveness as they passed beneath.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-6149810362502028039?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/6149810362502028039/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=6149810362502028039' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/6149810362502028039'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/6149810362502028039'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/10/dreaming-i-am-taking-off-in-boat-from.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-1662698181553637621</id><published>2008-10-02T06:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-02T06:50:30.477-07:00</updated><title type='text'>mom,death, flowers</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SOTRPED31LI/AAAAAAAAA_c/TPJCwHfv9-E/s1600-h/IMG_1679.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SOTRPED31LI/AAAAAAAAA_c/TPJCwHfv9-E/s400/IMG_1679.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252553122139067570" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dream&lt;br /&gt;My mom has died.  I find this out at her house.  Her female roommate or lover is there waiting, she is young and blond.  I make it clear that the house belongs to the family.  I ask what happened.  They tell me she must have frozen in the woods one afternoon while walking the dogs.  I know this is false.  I demand an inquiry, suspecting foul play.  I become so sad and upset.  I start to wail and my heart swells to breaking with sorrow.  I am furious and sorrow-filled all at once.  Mom gone?  How could that be.  I find the people who did this.  A man, he looks like Don, is a King.  He was behind it.  He captures me along with a number of other men.  My family is nearby.  My hands are tied.  He thinks its over and stands above me to illustrate the point.  I reach up with my head and bite his penis.  I bite off several pieces.  He falls.  I stand.  I say, "Now you owe me a favor!"  He looks at me horrified.  I realize that he will go on hating me and that will lead to ongoing strife.  I say you must marry into my family.  I have a sister that loves him, she is physically blind.  I tell him that he will marry my sister.   I lay out her dowry consisting of several pieces of fine jewelry (very simple in design).  I look to him.  He is smiling softly.  He loves my sister.  He walks toward her, as he gets closer his hard shell falls away.  His heart opens and suddenly they are both beautiful flowers, speaking a language that I cannot understand.  There is no deformity in either of them, they radiate beauty.&lt;br /&gt;I wake.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-1662698181553637621?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/1662698181553637621/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=1662698181553637621' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/1662698181553637621'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/1662698181553637621'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/10/i-dream-my-mom-has-died.html' title='mom,death, flowers'/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SOTRPED31LI/AAAAAAAAA_c/TPJCwHfv9-E/s72-c/IMG_1679.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-6613725400681711889</id><published>2008-09-22T05:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-22T05:53:15.580-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I am in a battle of some kind, with supernatural forces.  I go into a lodegepole canvas tent with my daughter or sister.  We sit and we wait.  The door opens and a big breeze blows in... my sister/daughter turns to me and says, "Open your heart and let no fear enter".  I do this and suddenly I see this incredibly powerful being, clad for battle and glowing with power.  She gives us a red mantle, a light weave, with woman power symbols throughout. We go back to our regular lives.  In the middle of the night I feel that there is approaching danger.  I take up the mantle and go on a journey to bring it to several women, Kelly Duvernet, Shannon, Kathryn.  Somehow it symbolizes a time to act and carries with in a power that I don't understand, but believe deeply in.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-6613725400681711889?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/6613725400681711889/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=6613725400681711889' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/6613725400681711889'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/6613725400681711889'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/09/i-am-in-battle-of-some-kind-with.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-812095283306565955</id><published>2008-09-20T05:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-20T05:41:15.305-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SNTvKyBe23I/AAAAAAAAA8A/2BL7dSW2qH4/s1600-h/peopleVintagePoorWomenChild.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SNTvKyBe23I/AAAAAAAAA8A/2BL7dSW2qH4/s400/peopleVintagePoorWomenChild.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248082434299190130" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am in bed with my first boyfriend.  I love him with such sweet innocence and the complete abandon of youth.  His long black hair is shorn close to his head, I caress his head, softly.  We curl against one another, aware that this may be the last time. I seem to have all the dimensionality in the dream.  I am pleasing him and I have a revolting taste in my mouth... I need to vomit.  I get up.  I realize that I have a larger life now.  I go to pick up my sons.  He remains in bed.  I look lovingly at him, his gaze is fairly absent, and I pick up my boys and walk out.  Knowing that time and time again, I will choose my boys over him or any other reclining man, disinterested in my children.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-812095283306565955?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/812095283306565955/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=812095283306565955' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/812095283306565955'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/812095283306565955'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/09/i-am-in-bed-with-my-first-boyfriend.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SNTvKyBe23I/AAAAAAAAA8A/2BL7dSW2qH4/s72-c/peopleVintagePoorWomenChild.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-1888243248864393741</id><published>2008-09-19T05:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-19T06:05:28.364-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Lots of dream images last night...&lt;br /&gt;I am in a public restroom- it is spacious, sunlit, with lovely windows, more like a public bath.  As I enter with a friend, I tell her that the facilities are always dirty in here, "I know", I say, "because I dream of them often".  We walk passed nasty baths overflowing with human waste trying to find a clean place to use the facilities.  Everywhere there is waste.  It disgusts me, but I think to myself in the dream, 'I dream this often and there is usually a clean spot over here".  I find it and we use the restroom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next dream.  I am facing a battle.  All my people are on the roof blending into the surroundings.  The enemy arrives and I, a child, am placed inside the walls of the house.  I have to climb through the walls to the highest point to escape.  I am not found I escape.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wake up feeling blue, irritable and crabby.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-1888243248864393741?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/1888243248864393741/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=1888243248864393741' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/1888243248864393741'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/1888243248864393741'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/09/lots-of-dream-images-last-night.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-5258916054089353983</id><published>2008-09-18T08:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-18T08:16:32.754-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SNJwqqcir0I/AAAAAAAAA74/BzDjxv3-d4M/s1600-h/cabin+weekend+2008+054.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SNJwqqcir0I/AAAAAAAAA74/BzDjxv3-d4M/s400/cabin+weekend+2008+054.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247380394090868546" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I awoke in a sweat last night, chest tight, throat clenched... full of longing.  These late nights of sheet tossing have become more frequent.  In those moments I seem to be facing the bottomless pit of my own unknowing, my forgetfulness, my ache.  I fill it with thinking, with babble brain, but I don't rest until I am spent from all the thinking and the flow of longing subsides into the quietude of sleep.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-5258916054089353983?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/5258916054089353983/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=5258916054089353983' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/5258916054089353983'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/5258916054089353983'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/09/i-awoke-in-sweat-last-night-chest-tight.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SNJwqqcir0I/AAAAAAAAA74/BzDjxv3-d4M/s72-c/cabin+weekend+2008+054.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-991780946520999559</id><published>2008-09-17T05:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-18T08:18:16.794-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SND_yrrQSpI/AAAAAAAAA7o/1WkH1HasUpM/s1600-h/hikeatLongLake+041.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SND_yrrQSpI/AAAAAAAAA7o/1WkH1HasUpM/s400/hikeatLongLake+041.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246974812069317266" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am at Lynn's house for lunch with her and Joanne.  Her home is very simple, a couch made of a long covered pillow with a back, throw blankets, a few plants, wood floor and windows.  The kitchen is in the same room with a lovely window opening onto a pine grove.  I dish up all the soup bowls and the bread.  When we have finished eating I clean everything up and then I begin folding up throws and arranging pillows.  Joanne leans over toward me and says, don't clean everything up, you did everything already.  She should do something.  This shocks me.  I remember that I should have brought a salad and I feel mortified.  Joanne looks at me and laughs, "You should do this all the time.  Have guests over, since you love doing it so much, serving people".  Internally I bock at this.  I don't like having guests over, it is too much work.&lt;br /&gt;I wake up.&lt;br /&gt;I think that I probably don't love serving any more than I love control... having the environment just so, making sure everything flows smoothly, etc.  Turning the crank of the universe, in Atlas worthy grandeur, surely I am not nearly that important.  Letting go could be a worth mantra for my life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-991780946520999559?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/991780946520999559/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=991780946520999559' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/991780946520999559'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/991780946520999559'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/09/i-am-at-lynns-house-for-lunch-with-her.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SND_yrrQSpI/AAAAAAAAA7o/1WkH1HasUpM/s72-c/hikeatLongLake+041.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-4827121109089513656</id><published>2008-09-07T06:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-07T06:26:32.384-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SMPWhrFqRwI/AAAAAAAAA5g/kJDcwdS-B5A/s1600-h/birdEagleSkyCloseup.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SMPWhrFqRwI/AAAAAAAAA5g/kJDcwdS-B5A/s400/birdEagleSkyCloseup.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243270265179883266" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have dreamed a lot lately, that I can fly.  Except I seem to require wind currents to do it---which are often unpredictable.  &lt;br /&gt;Last night I could fly, I think I turned into an Eagle when I flew, I remember rescuing someone and looking down to find them carried in my talons.  I begin my decision to fly as Angelina, than I run and leap off something, at this point I shift into an Eagle and catch a current.  One time I didn't catch a current and transform, I fell hundreds of feet into the Ocean below.  It was huge and seemed perilous, but a dolphin came and helped me to a dock.  I climbed up through many layers of life.  I seemed to be hiding, in fear of being discovered, lest I become like everyone else...people who thought the level on which they were standing was the only level.  I ascended many levels before I saw the true sky again and longed for flight.  I got distracted however, by the dramas of life and forgot to fly for quite some time.  I wonder if I was on yet another level.  It was desire that made me forget.  Desire to help a man I thought I loved, but probably just desired.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-4827121109089513656?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/4827121109089513656/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=4827121109089513656' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/4827121109089513656'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/4827121109089513656'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/09/i-have-dreamed-lot-lately-that-i-can.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SMPWhrFqRwI/AAAAAAAAA5g/kJDcwdS-B5A/s72-c/birdEagleSkyCloseup.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-926834604253033580</id><published>2008-09-02T05:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-02T06:14:24.827-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SL08LBxXwqI/AAAAAAAAA44/421u2p8kuhQ/s1600-h/cabin+weekend+2008+061.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SL08LBxXwqI/AAAAAAAAA44/421u2p8kuhQ/s320/cabin+weekend+2008+061.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241411701480866466" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am walking near the ocean and I see Tom Cruise get out of his car with his daughter.  She is shrouded in a tent from the hospital.  She has cancer.  I go to him and ask if I can be of assistance.  He hesitates, so many people barrage him daily to get a photo.  People rarely genuinely care about him or his family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next dream&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am married to a man that I deeply love.  We have a girl child together.  My husband cheats on me.  I love him still.  There is a scandal but I don't leave him.  He is from another dimension or planet.  There are several others like him.  Some warring against others, but beneath the war they seem to get along, if not actually like each other.  We wear Victorian clothing and talk on cell phones.  It is a contradiction.  His people are vulnerable to dirt.  Dirt thrown on them, or into their mouths can kill them or make them very ill.  Water also makes them ill but they need to drink it.  On their planet, they fly in machines that are akin to highly mechanized hang gliders.  The warring faction of people, come and take our daughter.  They want my husband to do something for them.  My husband cries from the depth of his heart.  Somehow we get her back and then we are gathered with all the people from his planet.  I tell them that we have hang gliders similar to the machines they flew back home.  I also tell them that humans are vulnerable to dirt, but in a different way.  I am about to tell them about germs, bacteria and viruses, but I realize that they may use this knowledge to harm others.  They look at me and laugh, saying inhabitants that live on a planet where weather changes constantly and fire gives way to water are impervious to anything.  &lt;br /&gt;I wake up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-926834604253033580?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/926834604253033580/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=926834604253033580' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/926834604253033580'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/926834604253033580'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/09/i-am-walking-near-ocean-and-i-see-tom.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SL08LBxXwqI/AAAAAAAAA44/421u2p8kuhQ/s72-c/cabin+weekend+2008+061.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-5676732622017998496</id><published>2008-08-30T05:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-30T05:47:35.816-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I can't remember any real dreams, only details, I can fly, I am flexible, I am living in the woods, I am not afraid.  I awoke feeling deeply peaceful and rested and content.  I was repeating to myself, "almost, nothing, almost, nothing, almost, nothing...........".  Almost is so similar to nothing...almost reaching the top is not reaching it...almost waking up is still sleeping...almost seeing is still not seeing...I felt recharged by this idea of almost, nothing.  The message? Keep going, even in the darkest hour, even when slumber beckons with all its might, even when the mind lulls toward complacency- with love and gentleness and kindness- keep going...almost reaching the aim isn't what I choose...I can just keep reaching toward the good, the wise, the true...keep reaching until at last my hand finds a hold and my foot discovers solid ground.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-5676732622017998496?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/5676732622017998496/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=5676732622017998496' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/5676732622017998496'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/5676732622017998496'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/08/i-cant-remember-any-real-dreams-only.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-5485956844262881082</id><published>2008-08-26T06:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-26T06:46:37.072-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SLQI59iOHVI/AAAAAAAAA2w/mTMptyOxK_k/s1600-h/birdEagleSkyCloseup.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SLQI59iOHVI/AAAAAAAAA2w/mTMptyOxK_k/s320/birdEagleSkyCloseup.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238822058402389330" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Owen and I get onto an elevator.  It goes down, sways and seems to go sharply forward.  We work together to balance the sway against the motion.  When we exit, we are far away from our initial destination and have no real idea how this happened.  We are jogging thru Mexico/Prescott on our way back.  We pass through markets and bars, at each one I think to myself how sad the loss of culture is and how we (as people)throw on a new coat of paint and cover years history.  We finally arrive near the elevator (now it is Danny and I) we try to tell mom about our experience but it doesn't make sense.  We step out and see an eagle who comes to us and gently cleans us all over with her/his beak, even removing any particles of excrement from Danny/Owen.  Then we realize that whatever happened in the elevator will only happen when it is accompanied by an Animal omen such as this.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-5485956844262881082?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/5485956844262881082/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=5485956844262881082' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/5485956844262881082'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/5485956844262881082'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/08/owen-and-i-get-onto-elevator.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SLQI59iOHVI/AAAAAAAAA2w/mTMptyOxK_k/s72-c/birdEagleSkyCloseup.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-4630028369898517214</id><published>2008-08-24T06:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-24T06:58:34.996-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SLFo_-kSSAI/AAAAAAAAA2E/Yru3GfE0-3Y/s1600-h/catfish.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SLFo_-kSSAI/AAAAAAAAA2E/Yru3GfE0-3Y/s320/catfish.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238083289944836098" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am seated at a long table across from the one I love, there is a mirror behind each of us, so that we can see the other as well as ourselves.  (I can't really distinguish if I am the man or the woman, however I think I am looking through the man's eyes at the woman).  I say I love you, but this shadow voice beneath the words says I hate you- suddenly I can see our shadow selves , with their vacuum black eyes and colorless faces.  Than I see that our bodies have become mere shells, through which the shadow speaks and acts.  Then I see the true self briefly inhabit the form- the eyes are beautiful, rich and deep, like the eyes of a seal, full of kindness and a penetrating depth.  Then the empty eyes return and the shadow self speaks again.  All this happens relatively quickly while the one I love and I sit across from one another and feelings of rage and love, and all the variants in between seem to pass through that moment.&lt;br /&gt;_________________Next dream......&lt;br /&gt;I am with several other people here on planet earth, who are not from planet earth, we have adopted the physical form of those around us, however we do not age the same way.  We seem to possess certain elemental and animalistic qualities.  Together, we are climbing a tree.  I say, that in human time I am already 80 years old, but have much to do in order to turn things about.  I seem to have feathers or bark, unseen beneath the surface of my body.  There is a young girl with me and a man.  We are climbing the tree.  It seems important to do so.&lt;br /&gt;________________Next dream......&lt;br /&gt;I am fishing in a large pond.  The person I am fishing with is enjoying him/herself.  We are catching a lot of fish.  A stranger shows us this cache at the edge of the pond where you can pull buckets of fish out of the water.  We do.  Suddenly I feel that we have far too many fish.  I see them dying in the bucket and I feel terrible.  I am now in a kitchen, preparing to clean the fish.  Many of them aren't fresh any longer, because we caught so many.  I see the brain scans of all the dead fish, and many of the brains have become contaminated, "like the brains of dragons", making them unsafe to eat.  They will need to be thrown away.  I feel awful about this.  That I took part in taking the life of these fish and for nothing- to waste them and their sacrifice.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-4630028369898517214?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/4630028369898517214/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=4630028369898517214' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/4630028369898517214'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/4630028369898517214'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/08/i-am-seated-at-long-table-across-from.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SLFo_-kSSAI/AAAAAAAAA2E/Yru3GfE0-3Y/s72-c/catfish.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-5246389030346759737</id><published>2008-08-18T05:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-24T08:30:43.295-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SLF-m3MGlBI/AAAAAAAAA2M/cfCFBDF4Vs4/s1600-h/recyclerrr.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SLF-m3MGlBI/AAAAAAAAA2M/cfCFBDF4Vs4/s320/recyclerrr.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238107047723439122" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had a series of strange and highly vivid dreams&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am with Michelle and we are trying to find a recycling plant.  It is on 12 and some other street that begins with a D.  We drive all over in search of it.  We climb steep hills trying to find it and brave strange settings.  We finally find this briefing about recycling.. on it there is a list of recycling items, a why statement about recycling and some innovative recyclers...one recycles old items into tears and jewelry.&lt;br /&gt;  There were several other dreams and vivid imagery, but my bed is calling me back.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-5246389030346759737?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/5246389030346759737/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=5246389030346759737' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/5246389030346759737'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/5246389030346759737'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/08/i-had-series-of-strange-and-highly.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SLF-m3MGlBI/AAAAAAAAA2M/cfCFBDF4Vs4/s72-c/recyclerrr.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-7990327936231003825</id><published>2008-08-14T12:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-14T12:38:09.850-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>There is a large goose.  It has been shot, repeatedly.  The bullet holes left huge holes in the goose's body.  Within these holes are small tide pools.  The goose is still moving about.  I feel incredibly sad when I see it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is a man who has lost his way.  He is otherwise a good man.  He plans to harm me, but I don't believe he is malevolent.  I feel sad.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-7990327936231003825?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/7990327936231003825/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=7990327936231003825' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/7990327936231003825'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/7990327936231003825'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/08/there-is-large-goose.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-8525554556164186796</id><published>2008-08-11T10:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-24T08:28:59.060-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I have just heard of a mentally challenged child that is an orphaned distant relative of mine.  I fly a great distance to get him, pay the adoption fees and bring him home.  He is one child of twins, his brother died at birth.  He is very small.  I bring him home he grows rapidly into a very shy 5-7 year old. He has straight dark hair that falls across his eyes.  He is easily angered and a bit explosive.  I love him and understand him.  He is bright and not truly mentally challenged, he is just wild and refuses to be tamed by the world.  I see the end of his life...he dies an old man in Hawaii, land surfing into a hairpin corner which he can't quite make.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am talking to a beautiful young woman, as we are talking I realize that she has some kind of disease which causes her to age disproportionately.  She is still beautiful with her gray hair and wrinkled face (her body is that of a nineteen year old).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-8525554556164186796?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/8525554556164186796/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=8525554556164186796' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/8525554556164186796'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/8525554556164186796'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/08/i-have-just-heart-of-mentally.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-7214142288388415083</id><published>2008-08-05T07:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-24T08:32:13.832-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I am talking with this woman at her home.  I tell here, the only thing we really need to do to wake up is to let go of all attachments to the body.  She says to me, that she doesn't feel that is quite right.  I say, the body attachment and its emotions and feelings are what confuses all of us into the insanity of form.  She listens than explains that our feeling are essential, sure our feelings take us into suffering but they also give us the longing for God, the ache for our Self, for union.  (At this point she began telling me a detailed philosophy on the topic, I thought to myself, is she reading this, because it was like a perfect soliloquy on the topic).  Still uncertain, we were now sitting on the sofa and her beautiful blond haired daughter came in, she climbed up into my lap in a full hug.  I said this is why I want a girl, because they keep on loving you and hugging you.  I asked how old she was, she said-- eight,eighteen,eighty--all slurred together.  The woman was now preparing an incredible meal, our men were at a concert drinking beer and she said that it would be nice to make sure they had a beautiful table cloth to picnic on.  "You're such a babushka", I tell her.&lt;br /&gt;Wake up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-7214142288388415083?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/7214142288388415083/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=7214142288388415083' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/7214142288388415083'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/7214142288388415083'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/08/i-am-talking-with-this-woman-at-here.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-8364130493358412260</id><published>2008-08-02T05:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-02T05:22:51.164-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I have inherited a business and home from an uncle or something.  Unwittingly by inheriting this I have stepped into a terrible intrigue.  There is some kind of paranormal research going on, some kind of danger.  I begin to see what is happening too late.  We (My family and I) are turned handed over to some very angry men by a man we trusted and cared about.  The men enter my home and kill each of us.  First we are placed on top of a rope net, which breaks, we descend hundreds of feet and are shot at on the descent, we land on a series of other nets before falling into a vat of acid.  Mom and I are preparing to go at the same time, she asks me what will happen and I tell her to just hope we die along the way...We do and suddenly I have reincarnated three generations prior to the beginning of all this insanity with the hope of ending it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-8364130493358412260?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/8364130493358412260/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=8364130493358412260' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/8364130493358412260'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/8364130493358412260'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/08/i-have-inherited-business-and-home-from.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-3224917951249105744</id><published>2008-07-31T05:39:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-31T05:58:37.963-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>There were a number of competing dream images that filled my mind upon waking.  Most of them seemed to be thematically related around male/female imagery.  There was one interesting dream in which my teacher and I were meeting with a leader in the spiritual movement.  She was a prominent figure who had, for one reason or another, been at odds with us.  She was a very confident and elegant woman.  Upon discussion, we discovered that there was very little that we did not agree on.  We stood and hugged one another--there was a beautiful heart opening energy exchange, during which time she said to me, "You give freely from your liver.  It is a gift, almost professional."  I continued hugging her and felt a huge outpouring of energy, but I was a bit confused because it felt to me like I was opening my heart.&lt;br /&gt;Wake up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Interestingly after a bit of research I unearthed a few things that I suppose I already knew in the recesses of my thinking but they hadn't made it to the forefront until this dream called them up.&lt;br /&gt;The Roman physician Galen located the seat of the passions in the liver.  The liver and gallbladder duo is most often linked to anger.  Hence, my dream may be letting me know something along those lines.  A bit disturbing really, but I don't usually question the authority of my subconscious in giving me a true take on what is going on.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-3224917951249105744?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/3224917951249105744/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=3224917951249105744' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/3224917951249105744'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/3224917951249105744'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/07/there-were-number-of-competing-dream.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-1111818725868260786</id><published>2008-07-30T05:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-31T05:39:43.839-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I dream of fleas.&lt;br /&gt;Fleas everywhere in my home(not my home in Lakewood, but some otherwise unknown dream home), on the carpet, climbing up my legs...everywhere.&lt;br /&gt;I think I got them by holding rats or cats.  I worry about the plague briefly.  Shane goes and gets some kind of insecticidal foam spray and sprays it on all the carpets.  I worry about Bodhi who is sleeping nearby.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-1111818725868260786?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/1111818725868260786/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=1111818725868260786' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/1111818725868260786'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/1111818725868260786'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/07/i-dream-of-fleas.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-2147985757767241522</id><published>2008-07-28T05:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-28T05:40:49.991-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SI297Xwj0nI/AAAAAAAAAw8/PF5rTPIiSmQ/s1600-h/cityGoldenGateBridge_2b.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SI297Xwj0nI/AAAAAAAAAw8/PF5rTPIiSmQ/s400/cityGoldenGateBridge_2b.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228043570134635122" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am living in San Francisco again, with Shane's parents I think.  We are in Cole Valley/Noe valley.  I decide to look for a job.  I only live a few blocks from the clothing store I used to work at.  I get a job there for 10$ an hour and clothing benifits, but arrive late.  I apologize profusely and say that I am going to quit because it is sometimes difficult to be on time when I have a young child.  Patty and Rainie both love me and they insist I stay. Soon I am surrounded by old friends and I feel such a strong sense of well being and belonging.&lt;br /&gt;I wake feeling joyful and the sense of well being carries over.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-2147985757767241522?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/2147985757767241522/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=2147985757767241522' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/2147985757767241522'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/2147985757767241522'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/07/i-am-living-in-san-francisco-again-with.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SI297Xwj0nI/AAAAAAAAAw8/PF5rTPIiSmQ/s72-c/cityGoldenGateBridge_2b.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-5982021967645224291</id><published>2008-07-26T05:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-26T05:45:50.353-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='art'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='desert'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bathroom'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='wolf'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fear'/><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SIsb_3SvS1I/AAAAAAAAAuk/Q_b7lilmoSU/s1600-h/wolfGrayLR.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SIsb_3SvS1I/AAAAAAAAAuk/Q_b7lilmoSU/s320/wolfGrayLR.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227302576481848146" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Owen is in a public restroom.  He is scared. I walk in and he tells me that he is afraid of violent people and that someone may try to hurt him.  I tell him to lock the door.  He ignores me.  He tells me that in his fears he is in a desert.  Suddenly we are both in a desert, no water, food or shelter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A group of women are gathered together doing art.  Three people are destined to know eachother deeply.  One of the three really needs the connection and friendship.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am in a bar, there is a beautiful Jamaican man with dreadlocks looking down at me from the bar, which is unusually high up.  He calls, "What you lookin' for child?".  I don't know.  I go into the restroom and try on my first boyfriends hat.  It is a red baseball cap with a wolf on top.  It seems wonderful to me.  Shane sees me trying the hat on.  I dismiss it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wake up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-5982021967645224291?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/5982021967645224291/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=5982021967645224291' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/5982021967645224291'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/5982021967645224291'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/07/owen-is-in-public-restroom.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SIsb_3SvS1I/AAAAAAAAAuk/Q_b7lilmoSU/s72-c/wolfGrayLR.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-4954185682999766633</id><published>2008-07-24T05:36:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-24T05:53:35.047-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SIh7SmzcRRI/AAAAAAAAAuc/0daRzOs4YIk/s1600-h/beachShoreBird.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SIh7SmzcRRI/AAAAAAAAAuc/0daRzOs4YIk/s320/beachShoreBird.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5226562927147631890" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dreaming&lt;br /&gt;Several disjointed images&lt;br /&gt;1   I am in a house, the rooms wind and twist.  I am trying to reach Shane. I have to pass through a number of rooms.  I walk through one room which is obviously haunted by a woman.  I feel this seep of darkness and negativity.  I begin chanting prayers, as protection against the feelings rising within.  I find Shane.  I tell him of the haunted room.  He is interested but unafraid.  I am afraid and chant my prayers of protection louder and more frenetically.  Shane merely walks into the room.&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;2   I am working at a clothing store similar to the one I worked at in SF.  My boss is there and I am late.  There is a woman selling jewelry outside.  Beautiful handmade jewelry, but I don't have the money to purchase it at present.  There is a man dining in a boat down by the water.  He is wealthy.  I speak to him.  He says it costs a fortune to dine with this view, but a little less if you dine with your back to it.  I can see the view  of the sea for free, he has his back turned and can only see his costly meal.  I walk up to work, now I am very late.  I think that I don't have my keys to lock my car, but as soon as I say this I realize I must have them.  I lock up and come to work.  My boss is looking at clothes.  She wants this skirt.  It is just two sticky pieces of cheap pink twill, wrapped around and stuck onto her body, the edges raw.  It is very short and she is middle aged.  She says that she likes the look, "Like all the young people are wearing", with tall boots, black flared leggings and plenty of attitude."&lt;br /&gt;Okay.&lt;br /&gt;3.    Several other images: dirty diapers, cars, busyness&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;....&lt;br /&gt;I long for my more luminous dreams... ones that give me sustenance.  Of late I seem to be processing the daily grind, the daily crap, with mindless repetition... and yet the images are mine and their message is valid.. I seem to resist the mundane... perhaps there is a lesson in that.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-4954185682999766633?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/4954185682999766633/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=4954185682999766633' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/4954185682999766633'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/4954185682999766633'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/07/dreaming-several-disjointed-images-1-i.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SIh7SmzcRRI/AAAAAAAAAuc/0daRzOs4YIk/s72-c/beachShoreBird.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-180111407953728678</id><published>2008-07-16T05:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-16T05:21:05.081-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SH3nqh2fKhI/AAAAAAAAAog/FZRQDtRrSKw/s1600-h/Blue+hills.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SH3nqh2fKhI/AAAAAAAAAog/FZRQDtRrSKw/s400/Blue+hills.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223585860647070226" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dream&lt;br /&gt;There is a war between the US and the Middle East, specifically Iran.  It is taking place on US soil.  There are hundreds of thousands of people displaced from their homes.  I am trying to communicate with them, to say something. I feel this strong pull of Spirit to speak.  I feel that Spirit has something to say and I am the vehicle chosen to say it.  I can't get the collective attention.  I try again and again, but to no avail.  I stand on a hilltop overlooking the scene and feel a deep penetrating sadness.  I think to myself.  This is just like when we tried to get the native tribes of North America to ban together against the English invasion.  They were too isolated in thought and culture to unite and so they fell.  I stare out and begin to cry, saying, "We are like that.  Unable to relinquish our class, beliefs, status, and culture, in order to join together for the common good of our planet.  We are unwilling to release our limitations of consciousness so that together we can steward the Earth".  I feel an agonizing sorrow.&lt;br /&gt;I wake up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-180111407953728678?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/180111407953728678/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=180111407953728678' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/180111407953728678'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/180111407953728678'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/07/dream-there-is-war-between-us-and.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SH3nqh2fKhI/AAAAAAAAAog/FZRQDtRrSKw/s72-c/Blue+hills.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-2136144359820470320</id><published>2008-07-16T04:51:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-16T05:11:25.543-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SH3lZTwMV8I/AAAAAAAAAoQ/rWPx-e8Xb3s/s1600-h/rider-waite-03676.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SH3lZTwMV8I/AAAAAAAAAoQ/rWPx-e8Xb3s/s400/rider-waite-03676.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223583365781542850" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1&lt;br /&gt;I am at a house.  Someone (a child I think) has torn the pages from a large illustrated tarot book.  An ex boyfriend is down stairs.  He wears the bottom half of a round box, tied with a string, around his neck.  He is talking to an ex girlfriend of his, about allowing her to sleep over.  I can tell that he is trying to hurt me.  It works.  I stand up and yell an obscenity at them.  I go upstairs.  All the torn tarot pages are now blowing across the yard and some of them are pressed against the glass windows.  The tarot seems interspersed with retablos and such, but I don't seem to notice they all look like tarot to me.&lt;br /&gt;I wake up&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2&lt;br /&gt;I am in a used clothing store managed by Emory, my old boss from Lifeway's (a new age personal growth bookstore).  He is hiring some questionable characters to manage the shipping and delivery.  I am looking around with friends.  I am looking for a few things to take to Hawaii.  I find some interesting things.  Women are also getting their hair done in a shoppe nearby (this seems to be a village of some sort).  I receive a call from my step mom, saying that she is coming to Hawaii with me.  I feel upset because I don't want her to come without my Dad.  My mom says she will handle it.  It grows dark and I lose my dog, Anna, in the store.  She makes it out but won't come when I call.  My mom is busy training dogs and inadvertently she is training horses and cows.&lt;br /&gt;I wake up, feeling strange, uneasy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-2136144359820470320?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/2136144359820470320/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=2136144359820470320' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/2136144359820470320'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/2136144359820470320'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/07/1-i-am-at-house.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SH3lZTwMV8I/AAAAAAAAAoQ/rWPx-e8Xb3s/s72-c/rider-waite-03676.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-4026255633245258469</id><published>2008-07-10T11:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-10T11:20:44.297-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I had a difficult time sleeping last night.  I lay awake from 1:30 to 5:00AM unable to sleep and feeling progressively more anxious.  A ball of tension that began in my throat, spread across my chest and into my solar plexus.  When I finally managed to stumble into sleep (after a stiff sleepytime tea and a chapter in a rather dull book), this was the dream I was met with:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Owen is the same age as Bodhi.  He is at his uncle's house (My ex's brother) and I discover him seated at the base of the toilet in the upstairs bathroom.  He is covered in dried urine and it's sticky yellow nastiness is on his hands and clothes.  I pick him up just as he is about to put the mess in his mouth.  I say, "Let's wash you off sunshine".  I do.  I feel furious at my ex, furious.  Later, when Owen is no longer with me, I confront him.  He says he will take him away from me.  I say, "Like hell you will".  I call my divorce lawyer, Brent and the whole divorce drama starts all over again.&lt;br /&gt;I wake up.  I have continued feeling anxious and tense all day long.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-4026255633245258469?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/4026255633245258469/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=4026255633245258469' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/4026255633245258469'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/4026255633245258469'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/07/i-had-difficult-time-sleeping-last.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-5565090927257619838</id><published>2008-07-06T06:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-06T06:38:21.789-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I am in a large home.  My boys and I are climbing up the side of a cliff to a cliff dwelling.  The boys are leading the way.  There are two others with us, one is a kind and gentle man.  I am the last to come.  I hear a knock at the door and so I leave the cliff after I have made sure that the boys are safe at the top with the others.  It has grown dark and the sides have become almost too shear to traverse in the poor light.  I walk to the door.  It is my ex husband( looks a bit like a heavier, middle aged version of Micheal Douglas).  He has come to give me a refrigerator.... I know with this gift he will try to take my children.  I refuse the fridge, he tries another door and another, this goes on until morning.  The boys climb down (a bit more like my brothers now) and they are aghast that I have refused the fridge.  They accept it and my ex walks right in to my home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next dream.  &lt;br /&gt;I am in a foreign country, maybe Mexico with a European flair.  I have two daughters and a baby boy on my back.  My wife (Shane-a is a woman in this dream) is buying a few hand tooled light leather belts (2$ each), some other incidentals and I am trying on a vest in shades of pink Guatemalan fabric.  I look into my face in the mirror.  I am beautiful, fairer and more refined looking, without the obvious signs of age that line my face.  I am wearing a bohemian tiered skirt in shades of pink, teal, greens and white, a shear white t-shirt, the vest (very fitted) and a newsboy cap over my blond, straight/wavy hair.  I am worrying about something- my kids I think.  &lt;br /&gt;I wake up&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-5565090927257619838?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/5565090927257619838/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=5565090927257619838' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/5565090927257619838'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/5565090927257619838'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/07/i-am-in-large-home.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-9034167600338341682</id><published>2008-07-05T06:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-05T06:33:36.317-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>There is a man, he looks like a combination of Baraak Obama and Tiger Woods.  He holds me close in an embrace and says,&lt;br /&gt;"You need only follow your bliss."&lt;br /&gt;I reply, "Yeah well it isn't always that easy to find"&lt;br /&gt;He responds, "Of course it is, you know your own joy it is a matter of trusting not finding'.&lt;br /&gt;The whole time he is holding me to his chest in a lovely warm, unobtrusive embrace.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-9034167600338341682?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/9034167600338341682/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=9034167600338341682' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/9034167600338341682'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/9034167600338341682'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/07/there-is-man-he-looks-like-combination.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-74267496651059762</id><published>2008-07-04T04:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-04T20:21:44.003-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SG4TIxHx7ZI/AAAAAAAAAk4/zAlu3SmHAAg/s1600-h/jessica_biel1ALT_300_400.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SG4TIxHx7ZI/AAAAAAAAAk4/zAlu3SmHAAg/s400/jessica_biel1ALT_300_400.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219130059514834322" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am about to be kidnapped.  There is some sort of gathering outside our home, FBI, I think.  At first we believed that I could escape in a car destined for Chicago, but it becomes clear that I can't.  I call Shane-a and tell him what is happening and ask him to make sure and tell my Mom and Bertie.  He asks what they are going to do, I reply, "Brain research".  I go willingly so that no one is hurt.  Suddenly I am Jessica Biel and the captors I am with are using me to study the effects of beauty on animals to see if there is a change in the neuro-chemicals in response to human beauty.  I am talking to Sharks than swimming with them and later I am in a room with all these underdeveloped lions- actually deformed lions (their hindquarters are severely deformed) and they look more like men in lion getup.  One lion isn't fully buying the whole setup.  He is talking and trying to remember who he is .  Then he remembers something important.  He stands erect (He is a man) and walks toward the two-way mirror and says.  I want to speak to my father.  A tall black man enters the room and prepares to sedate his son.  The son says why did you do this to me.  The man replies that It was in the name of science (apparently they perform memory washing on the test subjects but his son didn't wash clean). The boy scowls, raises his arms and all the vines and natural elements surrounding him rise up and wind their way up and over the father, lifting him off his feet and pulling him apart.  I do not see the father's demise but I know it happens.  Than I am Julia Roberts running through the streets as a middle aged woman and rescuing people.  Than I am in a highschool class with a bunch of boys.  I have been signed up but I tell them there is no way I will be allowed to come...my captors never let me socialize or have a normal life.  This time they do.&lt;br /&gt;I wake up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-74267496651059762?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/74267496651059762/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=74267496651059762' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/74267496651059762'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/74267496651059762'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/07/i-am-about-to-bee-kidnapped.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SG4TIxHx7ZI/AAAAAAAAAk4/zAlu3SmHAAg/s72-c/jessica_biel1ALT_300_400.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-3162290318619726303</id><published>2008-07-01T05:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-01T06:04:47.364-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SGorR4-eECI/AAAAAAAAAkg/EJDLqlPYvHI/s1600-h/duckWhite-frontedGoose.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SGorR4-eECI/AAAAAAAAAkg/EJDLqlPYvHI/s400/duckWhite-frontedGoose.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218030704614314018" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Snippet&lt;br /&gt;I am traveling underwater looking up at the surface of a great river.  I am watching geese from below, watching them swim.  I can see beyond to the sky and geese in flight.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-3162290318619726303?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/3162290318619726303/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=3162290318619726303' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/3162290318619726303'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/3162290318619726303'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/07/snippet-i-am-traveling-underwater.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SGorR4-eECI/AAAAAAAAAkg/EJDLqlPYvHI/s72-c/duckWhite-frontedGoose.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-7890512224806025332</id><published>2008-06-30T05:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-30T06:08:05.625-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SGjaqMiuS3I/AAAAAAAAAjI/5LlqOyYNaMA/s1600-h/lsSunSculpture.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SGjaqMiuS3I/AAAAAAAAAjI/5LlqOyYNaMA/s400/lsSunSculpture.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217660586764946290" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dream&lt;br /&gt;I have two children.  One boy, who is probably 4 years old, and a little girl who has just been born and is in the hospital.  She is very small.  I go in to see her and she is so hot that no one can touch her.  The doctors, in their white coats are preparing to intervene in some way.  I say, NO!  I know that this is a part of my children's development- the way they transform.  They become very hot at the brink of transformation to the next level.  I think to myself, "They take after their father".  My son is beside me, holding my hand.  He becomes uncomfortable and wishes us somewhere else.  Suddenly we are on the sand dunes in the Sub-Saharan Africa.  I say, "This is beautiful.  Let's come here again to look around, but for now we need to get back to your sister". He has a difficult time wishing us there because he doesn't really want to return.  He wishes us close though and we journey a short distance back to the hospital.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next dream&lt;br /&gt;I am sitting with Shane in a room, finishing a book.  I stand up and say, I am going to go and buy the next book in this series.  Immediately I fly up and out of the house.  Shane calls up, that Greece isn't open at this hour.  He is right.  I fly around a bit and find a little bookstore on the other side of the bay.  They don't have the book I am looking for, but it is an enjoyable trip.  I fly off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wake up feeling a deep joy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-7890512224806025332?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/7890512224806025332/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=7890512224806025332' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/7890512224806025332'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/7890512224806025332'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/06/i-dream-i-have-two-children.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SGjaqMiuS3I/AAAAAAAAAjI/5LlqOyYNaMA/s72-c/lsSunSculpture.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-5099742210944849565</id><published>2008-06-27T04:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-27T05:14:47.457-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SGTW0Cmfa-I/AAAAAAAAAiY/8B_Ci1ehrkM/s1600-h/warPotholes_b.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SGTW0Cmfa-I/AAAAAAAAAiY/8B_Ci1ehrkM/s400/warPotholes_b.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216530457941732322" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is a house on a hill.  The sky looks a bit bleak and foreboding.  The house seems a bit gray.  I walk in and it is the home of an almost president (no idea who).  They show me around and take me to the basement.   The almost president's wife is there.  She is doing all kinds of traditional American arts but they are all housed in these preservation tubs.  The tubs contain things like:  embers which are dehydrating jerky, a crochet project of an apron, pickling eggs, knitting, and tons of other stuff.  The woman begins pouring vinegar over the surface of things to preserve them.  The almost president gets a call on the phone telling him that there is a plot on his life and the lives of all non-republican candidates.  He gets ready to leave.  &lt;br /&gt;There I am in this underground room, when these "bad guys" show up.  I have a knife fight with them and think I defeat them but then I wake up battered and bruised some time later.  A sort of epic battle ensues.  In the end it turns out that the "bad guy" is this young man who is a part of the masonry of the house. I see his boots, bricked into the wall and barely showing.  I break them open and they are literally "full of beans".&lt;br /&gt;Really weird and unsettling dream.  I wake feeling OFF and unsettled.&lt;br /&gt;I look up the origins of the statement, "full of beans" and here is what I find-&lt;br /&gt;"Throughout history, the poorest people could only afford to eat beans as a dominant source of protein. Therefore "your full of beans" was a derogatory statement meaning you aren't worth much".  Interestingly, it seems like a random jumbling of social commentary with an undertone addressing the divisions between classes etc.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-5099742210944849565?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/5099742210944849565/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=5099742210944849565' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/5099742210944849565'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/5099742210944849565'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/06/there-is-house-on-hill.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SGTW0Cmfa-I/AAAAAAAAAiY/8B_Ci1ehrkM/s72-c/warPotholes_b.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-8881228852227718118</id><published>2008-06-25T05:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-27T07:32:04.390-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I am standing in somebodies back yard, when two stags come running up, neither of them has a head and one of them is missing a leg as well.  They are still going through the motions of grazing.  Now I hear someone cock a gun and a few hunters step forward.  The headless dears turn and run into the forest.  I begin to cry, a deep wailing cry.  I feel so anguished over what is happening, this blatant disregard for nature.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-8881228852227718118?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/8881228852227718118/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=8881228852227718118' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/8881228852227718118'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/8881228852227718118'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/06/i-am-standing-in-someones-back-yard.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-6503143121155813106</id><published>2008-06-24T07:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-24T07:54:42.880-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SGEKc-XkCpI/AAAAAAAAAgg/GFY2jusxQpM/s1600-h/grassByWater2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SGEKc-XkCpI/AAAAAAAAAgg/GFY2jusxQpM/s400/grassByWater2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215461336366189202" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I walk out of this stone house and onto a stone path.  Suddenly everything exudes light, dazzling light, like energy pouring out of every cell- shining.  I am dazzled.  I lay down on the rocky path/road and stare up at the yellow leaves of an aspen/Cyprus tree.  It is so beautiful, golden light upon blue sky, then all the dust particles are visible.  Each exuding light, shining, radiant, awesome.  I then become self conscious, I am lying in the middle of the road.  A bit odd really and people are surely going to think me strange.  I stand up and walk further.  Then I am walking along a flat zen-like wooden bridge/pier from a beautiful glass building toward a rocky shore (looks like Ireland or Scotland).  The water is lapping on both sides, reflecting light and sky.  I am carrying two staffs: one is tall and topped with an amethyst stone, the other is shorter and has some other stone.  I am using the staffs to propel me forward in a fun swinging fashion.  I find the small staff to cumbersome so I cast it off and use just the long staff.  Swinging side to side while swinging my feet high with each stride like someone taking off on a high jump.  I come to the other side where there is a strong weathered fisherman and his son.  I get the impression that the fisherman is a really beautiful person.  The boy is playing an accordion (which is more like two laundry baskets).  I am about to walk on when I decide I should wait.  I turn and walk to him.  He asks where I am from.  I say Avalon.  I invite him to return with me.  His eyes sparkle than he turns to his father and seeing his dad beside the water staring back.  He says, "No.  I will remain here".  I put my hand on his shoulder and say, "Alright.  Than I will give you a single key.  Remember this, that all life can offer you is nothing compared to this one thing- love.  That is all you need to know."  I walk on and wake up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-6503143121155813106?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/6503143121155813106/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=6503143121155813106' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/6503143121155813106'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/6503143121155813106'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/06/i-walk-out-of-this-stone-house-and-onto.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SGEKc-XkCpI/AAAAAAAAAgg/GFY2jusxQpM/s72-c/grassByWater2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-4247872799947623962</id><published>2008-06-24T07:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-24T19:32:06.089-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SGEIpaelhvI/AAAAAAAAAgY/27S445pxWcI/s1600-h/New+Picture.bmp"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SGEIpaelhvI/AAAAAAAAAgY/27S445pxWcI/s400/New+Picture.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215459351047014130" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am in Hawaii, driving through inclement weather (snow) in disbelief on my way to the North Shore/Napali coastline.  Shane is with me, as are Owen and Bodhi.  Shane and Bodhi decide to play by the ocean.  Owen and I walk to the walled city (not really a place I've ever seen in or near Hawaii).  It is like being thrust thousands of years back in time and suddenly we are entering the walled village of Hawaii.  The paver's are all lava stone as are the side walls and pillars.  There is a sharp descent.  I say to Owen.  This is where the ancients lived.  We begin descending and are barely able to keep our footing.  When we are close to the base, I turn and look up.  It is so sheer, I don't see anyway that we can get back.  I briefly worry about Bodhi and Shane.  Then we are at the bottom and there is a fruit stand full of fresh strawberries, guava and mango.  There is woman who is holding a strawberry, she crushes it in her hand and begins reading the pulp.  She is telling me some kind of prophesy (which I don't remember) and there is a lot distracting us in the background.  I try to keep Owen paying attention out of respect, but he keeps staring at the strawberries in a sort of hungry rapture.  Then I hear the prophesy, that the ancients will transport a few of the human race when the world collapses, they will pass through the chaos to the other side to begin again.  Suddenly everything begins to shake, an earthquake maybe.  I am in this underground cavern lined with lava stones and people are running in a panic.  Suddenly this light and a sonic boom sounds and this transparent light being (like a Greek Hawaiian Atlas) literally lifts the energy surface Owen and I are standing on.  We easily run up and over the crowd and out of the walled village.  The whole time I am running I have this coil of light around my head and I am obviously a man.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-4247872799947623962?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/4247872799947623962/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=4247872799947623962' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/4247872799947623962'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/4247872799947623962'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/06/i-am-in-hawaii-driving-through.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SGEIpaelhvI/AAAAAAAAAgY/27S445pxWcI/s72-c/New+Picture.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-2419023601133698970</id><published>2008-06-24T07:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-24T19:36:41.334-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Recent dreaming</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SGEHASHzx8I/AAAAAAAAAgI/SvwFeAmKd0s/s1600-h/beachShoreline.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SGEHASHzx8I/AAAAAAAAAgI/SvwFeAmKd0s/s400/beachShoreline.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215457544917731266" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was this beautiful young woman, who had really poor relationships with men.  Over the years I watched as she systematically chose men who were unkind, selfish or already involved.  By the time she was in her late 40's she was embittered and had a wall around her heart to any man.  Than this young man showed up (He looked a little like a combination between Baraack Obama and Tiger Woods), he was kind and generous and open and giving and available and genuine.  At first the woman’s walls were too heavy and he was too young and too good to be true etc.  Then she began to see what a rare seed he really was.  She began to open, to blossom, and to love.  Within two weeks they were married and passionately deeply and fully in love.  The woman appreciated him in a way she never could have before because of all the pain she had been through and how many bad apples she had snuggled up to at night.  They were walking along a beach on their honeymoon and he told her he was leaving- she was shocked but his kindness was so pervasive that she didn't become reactionary, she just listened and waited.  He explained that he was dying, dead really, but that he had been given a window.  She was his window.  He had already died several years earlier. Suddenly she was 23 years old again and waking up in a strange bathroom.  She was thoroughly disoriented as she looked in the mirror at her young face and full breasts.  She was dressed in a satin negligee with circle appliqués on the breasts- a bit tasteless really.  In the background she could hear the voice of a man talking to his mother.  She began crawling toward the front door.   The man whose voice she had heard (apparently whom she had been sleeping with) walked forthright toward the kitchen passing her as she crawled to the door, without any show of affection or even recognition, he opened the door and she passed through.  The vacuum of loss she felt at the realization that she had lost her man was unbearable, yet the memory filled her with a sort of hopefulness.  She couldn't believe that 25 hears of her life had been a dream but there was really no other way to explain it.  She told a few friends, who obviously thought she was teetering off the deep end, but something about her was different- she was vastly more mature, in possession of a stronger vocabulary, a more formed sense of self and confidence.  Then she met him.  He was there, a good man, a genuine man, her man.  The real 23 year old woman, relatively untouched by pain and disappointment, would have passed him by for the better looking one, or more rebellious, or....  She didn't.  She knows that he will die of a heart attack sometime in his early 40's and she will be deeply and utterly sad but with an open heart she embraces love while it is offered her.  &lt;br /&gt;The end of that dream.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-2419023601133698970?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/2419023601133698970/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=2419023601133698970' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/2419023601133698970'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/2419023601133698970'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/06/recent-dreaming.html' title='Recent dreaming'/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SGEHASHzx8I/AAAAAAAAAgI/SvwFeAmKd0s/s72-c/beachShoreline.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8060741870219340090.post-6346281950033779798</id><published>2008-06-24T06:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-24T07:21:09.021-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SGECxNplzKI/AAAAAAAAAf4/31W8oOddI3Y/s1600-h/New+Picture+(1).bmp"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SGECxNplzKI/AAAAAAAAAf4/31W8oOddI3Y/s400/New+Picture+(1).bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5215452887972695202" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dream snippet:&lt;br /&gt;I am standing over a large underground water system that is extremely polluted.  The waterway is full of garbage, plastic and trash of all kinds float down stream.  The stream is a volcanic tributary that is heading toward the center of the volcano.  I worry, as I stand above the scene, unsure if the fire of the volcano can eliminate this much garbage.  I wake feeling concerned about the state of our environment.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8060741870219340090-6346281950033779798?l=angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/feeds/6346281950033779798/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8060741870219340090&amp;postID=6346281950033779798' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/6346281950033779798'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8060741870219340090/posts/default/6346281950033779798'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://angelbirddreaming.blogspot.com/2008/06/dream-snippet-i-am-standing-over-large.html' title=''/><author><name>Angelina Lloyd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14653683200528876825</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/Sr-KEpSmALI/AAAAAAAACYQ/kolx8TafM2Y/S220/endofsept+076.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_qdqm-NdUU9E/SGECxNplzKI/AAAAAAAAAf4/31W8oOddI3Y/s72-c/New+Picture+(1).bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
