I sat straight up from a nightmare. As an exercise program I cannot give this much recommendation.
I don’t know where I get this stuff. In the dream, I was in my living room looking out at a dusk which could have been early or late; from a van in my driveway were disembarking a posse of women whom I understood to be Greek ecstatic priestesses or possibly goddesses, in town for an annual convention of some kind, intent on combing my house for things that rightfully pertained to the leader of their order, a deity or chief priestess named Athelgusa (she was actually leading the posse, and radiated the ruthless numen of someone that only a fool would fuck with). Frustratingly, this was their second pass in as many years. They had already searched the place last summer, but apparently my father (who’s been dead six years, already) had ratted to them that I might still have something that belonged to them. He was trotting right along beside them, fatuously assuming that I would not mind this intrusion because it was, after all, the right thing to do. I felt apprehensive, invaded, and annoyed all at once, wondering if the damned women would care enough not to let the cats slip out. And why wasn’t everything in my house mine, at this point, anyway?
I’m going to be puzzling over this one for a while. There is no Athelgusa in anyone’s lexicon, but Adalgisa (a name of Lombard provenance) is the name of the lunar priestess in Bellini’s Norma — the younger one who has fallen for Norma’s two-timing Roman lover. It does not seem to have much to do with house searches, and while there’s something lunar about all goddess religion, this crowd seemed disturbingly Dionysiac, grim, and unforgiving all at once.
Nor would my father have known a mystical religion if it hit him in the face with a cricket bat. Repeatedly.
Where is Dr. Jung when you need him?