I was at Arcosanti. Usually, Arcosanti dreams involve odd road-trips or airport anxiety, but not this time. No; this time I was changing into clothing and was worried that I was going to be walked in on in a state of undress. I'm not recalling much about the room that I was in other than it was rectangular and had white stucco walls—I couldn't even tell you what part of Arcosanti I was in, only that I was there. Somehow, I managed to get pants on before anyone could enter the room.
A guy, I can't recall if it was C.A. or D.R. came in. "Whoa!" He pointed to my chest. "That's some cut you've got there."
I looked down. Earlier in the dream (or at least in the dream's story line), I had cut my myself just below my left pectoral muscle with a very long kitchen (Chef's) knife. I had a finger-length slice oozing blood. "Uh, yeah," I said, looking at the red opening. "I probably should have gotten it stitched shut." The more I looked, the wider and deeper the cut became, until I was looking underneath a hunk of my crimson flesh. It didn't hurt, but there was a sense that I had this big gaping wound that needed more than just a bandaid.
And then the dream went on to other things.
I woke up with Sting's 1988 song, "Lazarus Heart" in my head (which I haven't heard in ages, and on those instances when I do recall it, I normally just recall the phrase, "lifts her eyes to the sky / like a flower to the rain"). I'm not quite sure what prompted this dream, although I have been reading books on the tarot and Kabbalah before going to sleep, so maybe I picked up wounded heart symbolism from Dion Fortune.
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