I'm in a rather large, old apartment that is furnished and decorated in the spare, 1950s-never-died look of genteel European poverty. A Roma family lives there, and the grandfather and some other members of the family are engaged in some kind of magic ritual. They have soaked a piece of cloth in saliva or urine, and they're burning something, I think, and then the cloth has to be laid across the rest of the ritual items and buried.
At the end of the ritual I can feel a change in the air, I can feel the power of what they have unleashed and I exclaim, "Wow, that was a kick-ass ritual!" I admire the gypsies' skill and discipline, yet feel apart from them, not a member of the clan.
In a living room that starts out as part of the same apartment, but gradually morphs into a room much more doily-nostalgic (now it's American genteel poverty), an old Black woman, very old, is lying on a chaise longue. In the dream she is my fiancée's mother. I walk up behind her, seeing her quaint, Victorian dressing gown and the grey in her hair. I am afraid of her, I feel tremendous, inhuman power and wisdom sizzling all around her and yet know she wants me to reach out to her in love and trust. I put my hand on her shoulder and she reaches back and takes my hand in hers. I feel an immense love from her, feel at home and at peace and free from all want.
* * *
Obviously: Black mother, scary yet loving = Kali. Her domestic, peaceful setting isn't as exciting as the gypsies' magick household, but for my admiration of them I know I'll never belong with them and so don't think of their life as an option for me. This is some kind of dream about my present life of domesticity with Kali's daughter, Sophia--wandering has ceased, the magick is more subtle, but the ocean-deep power is there, all around. If nothing else, the dream has reminded me to be grateful. I don't know what else it might mean. The gypsies' apartment looked like it could be part of "the Ocean place," a dreamscape I frequented in the early 90s, but it didn't have that realm's odd yellow light and it lacked the Ocean place's anachronisms; it felt firmly 2010.
* * *
Sophia as "fiancée" means I have to keep courtin' Sophia in order to have the best marriage with her.
Dream may have been a product of reading Emerson, whose "Self-Reliance" I [finally] see is the supreme Holy Guardian Angel text, containing all of Nietzsche, of Crowley, of evvvvAAHHreeBawdy ever to comment on the True Self...