I’ll put these two together even though I woke up between them. They seem geographically linked.
I am on a Caribbean Island which has a South American feel. I get off a train on an overground railway and descend a staircase into a partially lit underpass. There is a news stand there selling newspapers and cigarettes. Next to the stand are two young men with djembe drums. They are both Afro-Caribbean. One of them has a tatty looking hat. A young boy comes up to me and asks if I like Djembe. I say, “yes I do”. On hearing my reply, the young men strike up a call and answer Djembe beat. This goes on for a while.
Soon more performers join in and quite quickly there are a multitude of performers along with some very energetic dancers. There is a carnival feel and it is very colourful. I lie down on the ground to watch. A young, well fed, South American black woman sits herself astride me and starts to grind. She looks over her shoulder and notices that her boyfriend, who is a gangster, has noted. Even though it is not my fault he will be angry. She says that I had better leave.
I get up and start to walk away. Around the boyfriend a gang of men gather. They have sticks which reach from their hands down to the ground. Some have machetes. The atmosphere is very threatening. I continue walking away. They ominously start to follow me. I am feeling threatened, but I know that this is a dream. All I have to do is wake up and I will be back here in Brittany.
I wake up feeling a heightened awareness that one gets from threat. It is 3:13 AM I go downstairs and have two yoghurts. I go back to bed and am awake for an hour or so.
I am in Brazil somewhere inland and far from the coast. It is a kind of mission station with bungalow buildings each with a veranda equipped with a fly screen. Just outside the village in a cleared area there is a small crowd of people. I go over and they are cutting up and moving the big tree which has fallen during the night. The tree is enormous, and the understanding is that it has stood there for hundreds of years. It has had a special role in the lives of the people.
When the tree has been cut up and stacked. They start to work on a new bed, turning the earth over with care. Along with others I start to bring whitewashed stones. These stones are very white and the size of a rugby ball. There are others much smaller, the size of a hand. They are flat. We place the big white stones around the edge of the flower bed. In the middle of the bed the priest and an elder are planting a sapling which is about six feet tall and securing it to a wooden post. There is a sense that this is an energised spot. This tree will, in time, replace the big tree. The villagers and I place the smaller flat stones onto the bed. Interspersed with the white flat stones are some black ones to make a fairly intricate pattern. When the work is done, we all stand back in a loose circle and admire the handiwork. There is a sense of good will and satisfaction.
I awake and find myself once again in our bed in Brittany.