twice changing dream

In itself it is a chapter growing out of a much longer story, mostly hidden or already forgotten. The setting looks deep rural South: dirt roads, tall trees overhanging, paint-peeling wooden houses slowly degenerating to their origins. The house where I am belongs to a kind, peaceful man, around 65 years old. He is tall, mustached, pot-bellied, silver shoulder-length hair. Mellowed Chicano Hippie is how I'd describe him. He's sort of a friend, possibly a mentor. At the least, a pleasant host. He has a sadness about him, from his own stories untold. But we are content, in the moment, to work in quiet cooperation.

We have a project of some kind to do together, he and I. And we've come to a point where we need some help. A battered old truck rattles by, on the road which passes right in front of the house. There are three strong men inside, all 35-40ish. We signal, asking them to stop. They brake, stirring a small fog of dust, and put the truck (a 60's Ford or Chevy, blue or green) in reverse. We're apprehensive as they pull even with our roadside workspace. For one, we know that these men have great power, and we're not sure how they will use it: to help or to harm us. But the need is enough that we have to ask them, either way. We need assistance dealing with forces far beyond our abilities. I think these forces are in the house, but I'm not sure.

The other reason for our wariness is this: this scene has already happened once before. In a kind of rewind and instant-replay, there has already been the moment in which we flagged them down, their truck rolled back toward us, and they climbed out, ready to assist us, but humming with an undefined danger. In that other scene, they quickly donned costumes appropriate to the significance of the work: a sort of protecting or clearing ritual is what it seems we're asking of them. Or perhaps, instead of costumes, they enacted in a flash some essential transformation, that added to our awe and our wariness. Because in their changed state they were much more than three guys from the hood. They were at once clearer and more ambigious, but intensely full of purpose. They would not be stopped from their task, once we had engaged their help and allowed them entry.

But this time around, their presence is a little different. Only slightly less threatening, but it's enough that we can all sit down together, in our dilapidated wooden chairs near the cluttered workbench, and talk things over a bit. Not that there's that much to talk about: they already know our situation, and what has to be done. They get out their costumes and begin to put them on: slowly, carefully, deliberately this time. My host and I watch quietly, giving them our complete attention. At first I'm surprised, and a little disappointed: these costumes seem simple, even crude. Certainly handmade, and probably with found materials. But my suprise turns to elation as I begin to understand: this time, they're even more powerful than they were before. When they finish putting on their costumes, they will have become what they are dressed as, in all its strength. In total disregard of appearances.

The scene ends here. I won't write more about these three, because there are details here that ask for much reverence. They bring images that come from my time in la danza, and my astonishment at receiving such ones in my dreamwalk is matched only by my gratitude, for whatever they come to offer and teach. And that, within this repeated moment of watching power come to light, I was aware that whatever the intention of these three toward us, personally, it was certain that in the greater outcome we (and our work in this quiet place) would fare very well indeed, thanks to their help.