A prominent female journalist has died. Instead of going to the funeral, I stay outside with J. and help her bake cookies. A circus troupe pulls up and begins a show, so I get distracted with the baking and watch the performance. J. gets upset and cries. An A/V tech person checks on us and wants us to tune in to the journalist’s funeral. “It’s at 12,” he says. The circus troupe perform acrobatics on a prop that looks like a tree. I speak to a woman about to go on with the tree, but she ends up doing a great trick: standing sideways and then doing a back flip off a bench onto the ground. The troupe uses an effect that involves pepper spray, so the audience ends up taking their jackets off. I am not effected.
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Earlier, I dreamed that I was at a larger circus with a troupe performing on a suspended platform. One of the performers wanted to take me home with her. I also guessed their finale correctly, chalking it up to my carny experience.
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I also dreamed a fragment of an old photo of me walking in a funeral. I have bushy sideburns and a big hoop ring in my right earlobe. I am part of an important funeral procession.
The Sun Ra Ship is Leaving this Planet!