The Flowers at the Table
The overlays may continue. But the key is to recognise the real connection beneath the noise.
Last night's dream encounter: I sat at an open table, framed like a gathering.
At the head sat an older woman — cast by the program overlay as "host" or "authority."
Yet through that framing, she stepped forward with something genuine: A small bundle of flowers was placed in my hands. These weren't decorative; they were herbs.
They carried medicinal frequencies — a triad of healing threads:
Silver-green — clearing overlays, dissolving fog and static.
Golden, bitter-sweet — digesting and integrating impressions, strengthening discernment.
Deep red-green — anchoring the body-field, protecting against dispersal.
Together, they form a living prescription: clear, integrate, anchor.
I recognise her now as the same supportive female figure who has appeared across many dreamscapes — often quietly redirecting me away from scripted influence. This time, she came closer and more direct, leaving the herbs for me to carry into waking life.
The table scene was partly overlaid, and I have no recollection of most of it, but the flowers were real. Their memory remains active in the field; recalling them reactivates the triad sequence, useful whenever noise or confusion arises.
Reflection
What stays with me most is not the table or its overlay framing, but the older woman who carried quiet authority and care.
In earlier dreams, she appeared at the edges, guiding me subtly. Last night, she stepped into the center, steady, and placed medicine in my hands. This shows me something about our real allies: they don't always come with speeches or titles. Sometimes they arrive, carrying a gift that holds more than words.
Her act, though simple, sent a clear signal:
Presences are walking with us, willing to step closer when we are ready to receive.
_