Dreamed of the gathering of souls again last night. It's a recurring theme in such dreams. Either we're gathering and preparing or we've gathered, not going to take it anymore, and the government comes and shoots our children.
This time is was a campout gathering in the woods such as subcultures have on occasion. I was reminded of Walking the Thresholds, which I've attended two or three times. At first I wasn't there, I was in my backyard where the trailways grow wide in the realm of dreams and split. The trees spoke to me, especially the big one, but dammed if I remember what was said. I followed the water outwards, to the highway, and my car broke down.
There were people I knew - one of them was my mate - who was too busy partying to be serious and help. My father was also goofing off. Furious, I went home without them and seethed.
To the gather, then, where the boy children were hidden away in one area and the girl children in another. There were werewolves, but this was not a bad thing, as I travelled from area to area as I do. The leader of the gather resented my presence - some really old bad blood - and the two women who followed him eyed me angrily when they could find me to see me.
There was a microphone where people got up, and sometimes they sang. Dreaming Squirrel got on the mic for a moment, even. His was the only face I recognized that evening.
The microphone was near a small fire in a sheltered copse.
I offered to tell a story, and the people running the gather said perhaps later - during storytime. I wanted to sing - I have a voice, a good one, and I never get to use it. But I could not think of a good song for them.
I walked away, disappointed that they would not let me share this part of myself, and through where the boys slept.
Little Indian (red like me) Children with glittering black eyes, I crawled past them. Someone was with me, I do not know who they were, that matched my pace. A friendly person; a werewolf maybe. I smelled wolves right about then, and I vibrated to match the wolves. Camouflage.
I was walking down the main trail, just walking, when the leader in furs and antlers came around the corner behind, just past the boys. He glared at me, I looked at him, then he entered his tent. The emotion of "You are not welcome" was strong. The two women - one was blonde - followed him in, and they closed the flap on me.