Magic Books in Dreams

by Valley Reed

Grimoirehands

Grimoire 1-9-14

On this morning, I woke with a dream in my mind, it was a dream of remembering. I could still feel the energy of it in my body upon waking. I could feel it deep in my belly.   The image that hovered in my waking memory was of coming upon a magic book which belonged to me in this dreaming reality. It was a Grimoire which held my name. I was dreaming of myself as a witch yet again, in another life. This dream showed me how it was passed down through my matrilineal ancestral line, and how my mother, sister, oldest niece and myself were all present in this life and carried the magic gifts of the craft. I did not recover my name upon waking, as it was written on this magic book. My body  however, continued to remember sensations of  feeling this beloved book in my hands and how intimate it was. I knew each page where I had written the magical words, from my experience as a witch.  I  saw in my dream, the energetic vehicle for my visit across time. It was a hexagon structure of sacred geometry. It looked much like an etheric geodesic dome. It was so familiar, I knew when I saw it that was how I had traveled to this dream space to remember.

grimoire

Book of the Ancestors – June 2001

“Earth, Air, Fire, Water,

Shower these upon my daughter

Give her power,

Give her strength,

Bring her everything she needs.”

These magickal words were spoken over me by an ancient crone. It was during a soul recovery training retreat I attended over 12 years ago with Robert Moss. The final conscious shamanic group journey we did of the training was to recover ancestral memory. In my journey, I found myself in a cave where not a soul could be seen. I thought I must have taken a wrong turn, or perhaps I was the only of my kind left, there was no one there but me. I felt completely alone. I then began to hear chanting coming from underground, and looked up to see the old crone approach me. She took me to a place in the cave and had me lie down on the earth on my back, as she sprinkled water over me and said those magickal words. The ground beneath me lit up with fire and my back was emblazoned with the design that was carved on the ground beneath me. The design of my clan was that of the turtle. She then took me up into a small room where an old wooden desk held a dusty old book and a golden key. She picked up the book and told me to open it and read the names. I looked at the pages and they were blank to my eyes. She began to beckon me stronger to read the names, I was afraid and could not see them because of my fear. Suddenly the names appeared, I looked at them page after page and found this book contained the names of shamans and magickal people from generation after generation. She beckoned me to read the names, but I could not. I was afraid I might find my name was contained in this book.

The Book of Uriel  01-15-12

I am conscious in my dream, in the twilight zone. That place in between waking and dreaming where dream exploration can become conscious. I saw a kind of pink lace design that caught my attention and as I looked closer, I suddenly saw a book appear in my hands. A yellow book covered with some kind of animal hide. The title reads, Book of Uriel. I open it turning the pages and find myself staring at a scene of a place that stirs such a longing to return here. I suddenly find myself transported inside the scene on the page of this book. There is a Roman arched bridge over a flowing river. On the other side sits a beautiful white castle with black turrets rising to the heavens. The ache inside my soul to return here is painful. It is a place I love deeply. If only I knew where this place was, that I have never seen before in my waking life. This location pictured below, may be in the right territory where my French Hugenout ancestors may have played out many of dramas here, or perhaps I was caught up in one of the German World Wars where this place was used as a hospital during WWI or  the experience of crossing over the river into freeedom in the war against the Nazis.  Whatever my connection to this place it was one that effected my soul greatly and a place I feel a great desire to return there. Especially when given the passport to do so in the book of Uriel, my guardian angel.

Chenonceau (02)
Chateau de Chenonceau, Indre-et-Loire, France

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