In an alternate universe, I would wish everyone a Happy Earth Day, but today, there’s not a whole lot to celebrate.
Mother Earth is at risk and we’re not doing enough to save her. Or us.
The orange POS and his administration have been focused on reversing environmental regulations to boost domestic energy production, targeting over 460 environmental, climate, and public health safeguards for removal or weakening. Key initiatives include withdrawing from the Paris Agreement, rescinding the EPA’s Endangerment Finding to deregulate greenhouse gases and promoting “drill, baby, drill” fossil fuel policies.
California is battling federal efforts to expand oil drilling off its coast, with lawsuits filed to block the restart of Sable Offshore Corp pipelines near Santa Barbara, which were shut down after a major 2015 spill. While new drilling in state waters is banned, federal plans propose lease sales for new offshore drilling between 2027-2030, raising risks of oil spills and environmental damage.
This appalling administration is actively expanding oil drilling in Alaska, reversing Biden-era restrictions on millions of acres in the National Petroleum Reserve-Alaska and initiating lease sales in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. Projects like ConocoPhillips’ Willow and new auctions highlight a push for increased development amid lawsuits from environmental groups and support from state leaders.
Like I said, not much to celebrate. It’d be more accurate to say that we are in mourning…
I attended the very first Earth Day celebration in 1970 at Balboa Park in San Diego with a crowd of about 70,000 people. The weather was beautiful, about 68 degrees, and I must have skipped school that Wednesday.
I can’t remember who I went with or how I got there but I do recall walking from booth to booth looking for free stuff and having an unpleasant encounter with a San Diego cop, probably about being truant.
There is a vague recollection that I swore at him and he got all puffed up and intimidating, threatened to call my dad until I told him to go ahead, my dad was an attorney…and then he walked away. Miss you, Daddy, and thank you!
Video from San Diego’s first Earth Day April 22, 1970
Gaia, known as the mother goddess, was the personification of Earth. She’s described as a caring and nurturing mother figure to all of her children, plants, and other living creatures on this planet.
We’re all children of Gaia, Earth Mother, no matter where we live, and if we take care of Mother Earth, she’ll take care of us.
With this reckless administration of chaos and darkness, they seem determined to destroy as much of our environmental and animal protections as they’re doing to democracy and the constitution, so it’s not such a happy day, after all.
Have you ever experienced the feeling that you had a fever but you actually did NOT?
Somehow, as careful as I am, I got sick. It started with heavy congestion and a headache along with a low grade fever, then it spiked to 101.5 as all the other aches and pains descended upon my body.
After a couple of days of not getting any worse, I decided that I didn’t need to see a doc because my lungs were OK and that probably meant that it was a virus and not a secondary bacterial infection that would necessitate antibiotics as I’m prone to pneumonia.
I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, except for a cough and this annoying feeling that I have a fever but the thermometer says otherwise. I think I would be feeling a lot worse if I hadn’t been vaccinated for Covid and the flu, so I’m grateful for that. Ginger tea and Tylenol seem to help.
At the same time, my indoor plants are inundated with fungus gnats. They’re joyfully procreating and multiplying and are SO annoying. I sprayed the soil with a hydrogen peroxide solution that’s supposed to help–fingers crossed that it actually does. I’ve never had an infestation this severe and I’m not really happy about it.
If that wasn’t enough to put me in a foul mood, neighbors decided to build an absolute monstrosity of a remodel that looks more like an apartment building as it looms over my house. The construction noise has been ongoing for MONTHS and right now I’m listening to incessant sawing and hammering and nail guns along with an air compressor that goes off and on, off and on, off and on.
Closing the windows doesn’t do anything to muffle the noise and that’s almost impossible to do as temps are consistently in the 70s, so I suffer either way. When people drive or walk by, they look up at the giant structure and shake their heads, so I know it’s not just me.
Because of the way the wind blows (literally), all the sawdust and other building detritus comes my way so the side of my house was covered in sawdust, along with nails and paper from the insulation. I asked the neighbors to let their construction people know about it so they could clean it up and that didn’t happen so I sent them some pics and again asked to have something done about it, which they finally did about a month later.
Is there a real pervasive lack of basic courtesy and consideration nowadays, or am I the only one who thinks that?
Does everyone live in their own little bubble and not comprehend–or care — how their actions might affect others? Was I unreasonable to expect them to (promptly) clear away their construction mess? It’s definitely NOT my job to clean up after them and you can’t tell me that they didn’t look down from the scaffolding and see what was going on below them. Yes, SCAFFOLDING, because, like I said, it’s a huge, multi-story monstrosity.
Anyway…
I can’t take it much longer…I think I might have to scream into a pillow. SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP!
There’s still too much ugliness in this world, so I’m going to keep my rosebud colored glasses on a bit longer…
When I realize how many songs Leon Russell contributed his magic to, how he was the secret ingredient in hundreds of popular tunes, I am continually in awe and amazed.
My mom and I used to listen and sing along to all of Gary Lewis & The Playboys songs. We loved the perfect piano playing and we never knew it was Leon. We didn’t have a CLUE but what we did sense was that whoever played the piano was special and magical. It wouldn’t be the same WITHOUT Leon’s contributions– as arranger AND pianist.
Gary Lewis once said that eighty percent of his success was due to Leon, but I believe it’s closer to one hundred percent. If you take away the piano, you’re left with nothing special.
Leon morphed from this uber quiet, short-haired clean-cut session keyboardist to the coolest longhaired sunglass-wearing sexy visionary like a butterfly bursting out of a cocoon. The magic was always inside of him.
I didn’t write the following, but it’s worth sharing. (I did however, edit it a bit.)
If you listened to pop music in the 1960s, you heard Leon Russell play. You just didn’t know it.
That piano on the Ronettes’ “Be My Baby”? Leon Russell. The Byrds’ early records? Leon Russell. Beach Boys sessions? Leon Russell. Phil Spector’s legendary “Wall of Sound” productions? Leon Russell was there, in a suit and tie, hair neatly trimmed, playing whatever was needed, and here with the Monkees.
For nearly a decade, Leon was one of the most sought-after session musicians in Los Angeles. Producers loved him because he could play anything—rock, jazz, country, blues, gospel. You could hum a melody and he’d give you the perfect piano part. You could describe a feeling and he’d translate it into music.
Producer Snuff Garrett said, “I could talk style with him and he’d do it. I’d name a record and go, ‘I like the piano on this…’ and he’d go, ‘Okay,’ and play it.”
Leon Russell was on hundreds of hit records. He was the secret ingredient in countless songs you’ve heard a thousand times.
And for years, almost no one knew his name.
Leon was born Claude Russell Bridges in 1942 in Lawton, Oklahoma with a birth injury (cerebral palsy on the right side) and began playing classical piano at age four. By fourteen, he was sneaking into Tulsa nightclubs with a fake ID, playing backup for Jerry Lee Lewis.
The fake ID belonged to a friend. The name on it was “Leon.” He kept it.
At seventeen, Leon moved to Los Angeles to chase his dream of making it in music. He studied guitar with James Burton, one of the best session players in the business. He worked constantly—sessions during the day, clubs at night, whatever paid.
And he was good. So good that by his early twenties, Leon Russell was playing on some of the biggest records of the decade.
He backed the Ronettes, the Crystals, Darlene Love. He played on Phil Spector’s famous Christmas album in 1963. He worked with the Byrds, Gary Lewis & the Playboys, Herb Alpert & the Tijuana Brass, the Beach Boys, the Ventures, Jan and Dean.
Herb Alpert later recalled that Leon would sit at the piano and say, “I don’t know what to play.” Then he’d “chime in with something special and affect the groove in a very Leon Russell way that was always unique.”
For years, Leon was brilliant, versatile, and completely invisible. A studio ghost. The guy in the suit playing piano while someone else got famous.
Then in the late 1960s, something changed.
Leon grew his hair long. He stopped wearing suits. He gathered a commune of musicians around him in the Hollywood Hills.
He stopped being the anonymous session player and started becoming Leon Russell—the artist–The Master of Space and Time.
In 1970, everything exploded at once.
Leon released his first solo album, simply titled Leon Russell. The musicians backing him? Eric Clapton. Ringo Starr. George Harrison. Not exactly unknown names.
That same year, he organized Joe Cocker’s legendary Mad Dogs & Englishmen tour—a massive, chaotic traveling circus of forty-plus musicians, complete with a full horn section, backup singers, and absolute mayhem. It was revolutionary. The tour became the stuff of legend, and Leon was the mastermind behind it all.
He wrote “Delta Lady” for Joe Cocker. It became a hit.
Then in 1971, Leon performed at George Harrison’s Concert for Bangladesh—one of the first major benefit concerts in rock history. He shared the stage with Harrison, Bob Dylan, Eric Clapton, and Ringo Starr. His medley of “Jumpin’ Jack Flash” and “Young Blood” was one of the standout performances of the night. He was ON FIRE.
Suddenly, Leon Russell wasn’t just a session player anymore. He was a star.
By 1973, Billboard named him the “Top Concert Attraction in the World.”
Read that again. The guy who had spent a decade playing anonymous piano parts was now filling stadiums on solo tours. His album Carney reached #2 on the charts. He was crossing genres effortlessly—rock, blues, country, gospel, bluegrass—and audiences couldn’t get enough.
He wrote songs that became standards. “A Song for You”—a tender, achingly beautiful ballad—has been recorded by more than 200 artists, including Ray Charles, Donny Hathaway, Whitney Houston, and Amy Winehouse. In 2018, it was inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame.
Another of his songs, “This Masquerade,” was covered by more than 75 artists. George Benson’s version won a Grammy.
Leon founded Shelter Records in 1969, creating wild, creative environments where musicians could live and work together. He established studios in Hollywood and Tulsa, fostering creativity without boundaries.
He produced and played on sessions for Barbra Streisand, Bob Dylan, Frank Sinatra, Ike & Tina Turner, the Rolling Stones. He toured with the Stones. He collaborated with Willie Nelson. He wrote and recorded hits like “Tight Rope” and “Lady Blue.”
For a brief, brilliant period in the early 1970s, Leon Russell was one of the biggest names in music.
By the 2000s, Leon was playing smaller venues. The stadiums were gone. A new generation of music fans had never even heard of him. He kept touring—because that’s what he did, that’s who he was—but he was a legend from another era that the world had moved past.
He was still brilliant. He was still performing. But the spotlight had moved on.
In 2009, Elton John decided to do something about it.
Elton had idolized Leon since the beginning of his own career. When Elton was starting out in the early 1970s, Leon was already a star. Leon’s influence shaped Elton’s sound, his flamboyant showmanship, his entire approach to piano-driven rock.
Elton had always called Leon a mentor and an inspiration. So when he saw that Leon had been nearly forgotten, he reached out and asked him to record an album together.
The result was The Union, released in 2010. It was a collaboration between two piano-playing legends—one at the height of his fame, one who’d been overlooked for decades.
The album was critically acclaimed and Grammy-nominated. Cameron Crowe made a documentary about the creative process. And suddenly, people were talking about Leon Russell again.
Elton championed him publicly. He spoke about Leon’s genius, his influence, his importance to rock history. And in 2011, Elton inducted Leon into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.
That same year, Leon was also inducted into the Songwriters Hall of Fame.
After decades of being overlooked, Leon Russell was finally getting the recognition he deserved.
But by then, his health was failing. He’d had a heart attack. He had brain surgery, but was looking forward to another tour.
On November 13, 2016, Leon Russell died in his sleep at his home in Nashville. He was 74 years old.
Elton John posted: “My darling Leon Russell passed away last night. He was a mentor, inspiration & so kind to me. I loved him and always will.”
Leon Russell left behind an extraordinary legacy: 33 albums, at least 430 songs (probably more), collaborations with virtually every major artist of his era. He’d been directly involved with hundreds of bestselling records over a 60-year career.
But more than the numbers, Leon Russell represented something rare in music—a musician’s musician. Someone who could play anything, work with anyone, cross any genre. Someone equally at home backing Frank Sinatra in a suit or leading a hippie commune with wild hair and a beard down to his chest.
He proved you could be both the anonymous session player and the stadium-filling star. The guy in the background and the guy in the spotlight.
Leon Russell’s story is a reminder that the most talented people aren’t always the most famous—and that sometimes genius hides in plain sight for years before the world finally sees it.
He played on songs you’ve heard a thousand times without ever knowing his name.
Then he stepped into the light and showed the world what he’d been all along: a master. Curated from NoCapArchives
As someone posted on social media, “Besides beautiful Leon’s awesome talents and accomplishments, the purity of his heart shines through.” His disability didn’t hold him back; he’s an inspiration.
Check out the genius of Leon during the Homewood Sessions…it captured a priceless moment in time:
The “Queen of the Tulsa Sound” is Ann Bell, a pioneering vocalist and performer instrumental in defining the unique musical style known as the Tulsa Sound alongside legends like Leon Russell, the one and only Master of Space and Time, and J.J. Cale.
Inducted into the Oklahoma Music Hall of Fame, Bell’s distinctive voice and deep involvement with the scene earned her that title for her significant contributions and ongoing legacy.
As a backup singer for the original Joe Cocker and Leon Russell Mad Dogs & Englishmen tour and album, she was an important part of the band and is remembered for her contributions to the “Tulsa sound” that Leon Russell helped create. She has also participated in reunion and tribute events in the years since.
I never get tired of hearing this story. I surely wish there was a recording of Leon that night….
Ann is one of the very talented backup singers here (wearing an awesome outfit), along with the GAP Band. I love this comment: “No matter how cool you think you or your band is, you will NEVER be as cool as Leon Russell and the Gap Band doing this Marvin Gaye classic.”
Sunglasses off, shirt open, those EYES...”Wait now. WAIT!” So much Leon joy…
Recorded for the TV show, Midnight Special with Wolfman Jack, “Ain’t That Peculiar” is a classic Motown song originally by Marvin Gaye, but Leon Russell turned it into something spectacular with his signature energetic performance. Watch the entire show here: https://youtu.be/19z9JSaTm8c?si=n96fSGGrQxQuer2R
This photo was taken at the beach on a spectacularly warm December afternoon. The sky was blue and the Pacific Ocean was full of sparkles; a magnificent day.
Photo by Enchanted Seashells
Ode To Our Ocean
The sea sings out to its many saviors: Teenagers with fists thrust into the air at climate strikes, Scientists converging around their data, A child who stoops to scoop up a piece of trash.
The sea sings out for its singular subjects: Arching whales that wave from their waves, Turtles that teeter down their shining shores, Coral reefs shining brightly as cities.
The sea sings out its suffering, Knowing too much of waste, screeching sounds And pernicious poison, its depths bruised by Atrocities in the Atlantic, Misery in the Mediterranean, Its tides the preservers of time past.
The story of the ocean and the story of humanity Are one and the same, a Great River that Knows no borders and notes no lines, Only ripples. While we might call it the Seven Seas, Today we sing out your true name: The one ocean. For no matter how we try to separate your waters, You are the colossus that connects us.
Water makes up 70% of Earth, 70% of the human heart, And 70% of the human being, All of us, bodies of water, For we, too are oceans, Or at least beings bobbing in the same boat. To stand up for for our ocean Is to stand up for our own ship The sea is a restless, strong collective of many pieces. So are we. The ocean can recover. And so will we. Let us not divide the tides, But discover all they have to teach us– Green meadows of sea grass that survive pathogens, Blue-bloodied marine snails that can fight off viruses. There are more lessons to learn, Still more work to be done. So we lift our faces to the sun. May the seas help us see healing and hope, May we sing out the ocean’s survival and revival. Being the people of this blue planet is our most Profound privilege and power, For if we be the ocean’s saviors, Then it is surely ours.
Written by Amanda Gorman for World Oceans Day. Harvard graduate Gorman is an American poet, activist, and model. Her work focuses on issues of oppression, feminism, race, and marginalization, as well as the African diaspora. Gorman was the first person to be named National Youth Poet Laureate.
I had a dream that seemed to last forever and here are some snippets that I can actually recall.
Leon Russell
For no apparent rhyme or reason, Leon Russell (yes, I know) was showing me a ballet move called développé à la seconde, which I thought was even more remarkable because he was slightly paralyzed from a birth injury on the side that was attempting the move.
I can’t even begin to explain how or why my mind connected the Master of Space and Time to a difficult dance position, but that’s the beauty of the subconscious, I guess. It doesn’t have to make sense.
When I was involved in ballet, this particular move was a struggle for me to master. I often uttered a silent groan when Madame Kaliskis said it was time for développé because I knew she’d eventually make her way over to me at the barre and watch me until I felt my leg was going to fall off. She’d say “encore” which meant I had to do it again and again, and then she’d hold my leg up where it SHOULD be, and my task was to hold it there, but I never could.
Here’s a vid of how it ought to look; sadly, my extensions were never this perfect no matter how much I practiced.
Anyway…
As soon as Leon finished with his (quite nice, better than mine ever were) développé, the dream became all about me.
I was driving from my house to Catalina Island which is not at all possible as it’s about seventy-five nautical miles from my area and can only be reached by boat or air, but there I was, driving along a very narrow path with water on both sides of me, sometimes lapping up ever so slightly over the road, which totally freaked me out. This wasn’t a fun part of the dream as I was in a constant state of anxiety and vigilance so I wouldn’t miss the road and end up in the ocean.
I remember taking the ferry back from Catalina Island but not sure what happened to the car that I drove along the non-existent road to get there. On Catalina, visitors can’t bring their own cars; most people use golf carts or bicycles. Only a very limited number of residents and businesses have vehicle permits and there’s a years-long waiting list for them.
Since I used to work for the (now defunct) company that used to go to Catalina Island from San Diego, it’s not too unusual to dream about it, but the more than four hour-long one way trip was often referred to as the “vomit comet” because, well, you can probably figure out WHY, haha.
I didn’t often accompany passengers over there for that reason, and because I generally get seasick. Ick.
After I was safely back on terra firma, my subconscious decided to go on another exploration of past memories and my often dreamed about kitty, Bandit, returned to snuggle with me in bed. She loved freshly washed flannel sheets as much as I do and we kept each other warm. The dream ended far too soon, along with the feeling of being safe and loved by a purring machine. That morning I had changed the sheets to soft, fragrant flannel ones, so THAT part of the dream fused with reality.
Strange dream, right? I can’t even begin to figure out what it all means, but it really wasn’t embarrassing at all because I’m fascinated with the human mind during different sleep states.
Back To The Island is playing in my head, so here’s the Leon connection, and to reiterate, this song was written and composed by Leon Russell, NOTNOTNOT Jimmy Buffet, and of course, Leon does it better.
Mad Dogs and Englishmen, the 1971 concert film mostly about a Joe Cocker tour, was just released on YouTube. The timing of this release coincides with Joe Cocker being inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame on Saturday.
Joe Cocker was an English singer who rose to fame in the 1960s after his performance at Woodstock. Known for his distinctive voice and dynamic stage presence, Cocker was a gifted interpreter of other artists’ work. His cover of the Beatles’ “With a Little Help from My Friends” at Woodstock became his signature song and an anthem of the era. Cocker’s other notable covers include “Feelin’ Alright”, “The Letter”, and Leon Russell’s “Delta Lady”.
Leon of course
Joe Cocker’s management had organized a tour of the U.S. for him but he was left without a band. His producer at A&M records was Denny Cordell, who happened to be starting his own label with Leon Russell called Shelter Records.
Cordell and Cocker asked Leon to assemble a band for the tour, and Leon agreed only if they could do it like no one had done before.
Through his many connections to outstanding musicians through thousands of studio sessions with the Wrecking Crew, Leon was quickly able to gather together an ensemble of more than twenty musicians, including three drummers, and a backing choir. Leon was the lead guitarist, pianist, arranger, band leader, and musical director.
Leon said, “I will put together the band and I’ll do the arrangements and I’ll do everything but I have to be driving this bus. Nothing will go on unless I say so.” https://musicdayz.com/
Leon also insisted that a camera crew follow the tour, which became the Mad Dogs and Englishmen documentary film, one of the essential rock n roll films that depicted that era of music.
It became the Leon Russell show because his powerful charisma was undeniable.
From musician Chris Stainton, “I admire Leon Russell so much. He’s an exquisite piano player, especially in that Louisiana style. He was so hot then, at the top of his playing ability. When Leon played piano, I’d play organ, and then I’d switch to piano when Leon took over on guitar.”
The tour would become legendary and the ensuing live album would reach #2 on the U.S. Billboard Top 200. Performances of The Band’s “The Weight,” Traffic’s “Feelin’ Alright,” and The Box Tops’ “The Letter” highlighted the setlist that was capped off by a wild and rousing rendition of Leon’s own “Delta Lady.” Leon and Joe would duet on their version of Bob Dylan’s “Girl from the North Country.”
The tour served as an opportunity for Leon to showcase his own material, as he would be given stage time to perform “Hummingbird” and “Dixie Lullaby,” which were both to be released on his debut album.
Mad Dogs and Englishmen introduced Leon to the world. Although headlined by Joe Cocker, it wouldn’t have been possible without the visionary genius of Leon Russell as Master of Space and Time.
While the tour catapulted both Leon and Cocker into the pinnacles of rock n roll stature, the magnitude served as a rift between the two of them, and they would choose to pursue their careers separately from that point forward.
To this day, however, the two will be forever connected as having orchestrated one of the great happenings in the history of rock music. (From LeonRussell.com)
My favorite part starts at 4:03 and it’s Leon taking charge just being Leon and leading Will The Circle Be Unbroken.
I don’t know who owns the rights to the rest of the video, but there reallyreally needs to be another documentary, this time showcasing Leon Russell’s live performances, including Hummingbird, Dixie Lullaby, and the duet with Joe Cocker of Dylan’s Girl From The North Country, along with Leon’s amazing arrangement of Cry Me A River.
George Harrison invited Leon Russell to play piano on Badfinger’s third album in the summer of 1971. The piano part complemented Pete Ham’s and Harrison’s dual slide guitars on “Day After Day.” (Church Studio)
I always loved the way the piano sounded on this tune and when I found out that it was Leon I was blown away. It’s like so many songs I’ve loved over the years only to discover that Leon’s contribution was the magic that made them so memorable.
“He just sat down, closed his eyes, and played the part in one take.”
According to sound engineer Richard Lush, Russell nailed the “Day After Day” piano line almost instinctively.
I’m repeating a comment from YouTube about this recording. “George Harrison asked Leon Russell to add the piano accompaniment. They played the tracks that had already been laid down, as Leon sat in the studio by himself. After listening to it once, he sat at the piano with his eyes closed. George thought he had fallen asleep and said Leon’s name a couple of times over the speaker. Leon held his hand up and then a moment later told them he was ready and to roll tape. He played the part in one take. Don’t know if it’s true, but a cool story.”
Russell – like so many greats – had an almost spiritual sense for when not to play, and on “Day After Day” he seems to materialize only at the emotional inflection points. He doesn’t play on the piece – he haunts it, and once done, disappears from the song again like incense in a draught. He is a spectral presence, and this plays on my imagination as a strange portent for the tragedy that would befall Badfinger the band. https://danegiraud.substack.com/
Of course it’s true. I’m not at all surprised. Leon was a visionary, a musical genius, and will always and forever be the master of space and time.
PS I know there was a tragic end to Badfinger but this isn’t an exposé, just another example of the hundreds of songs that were all the better because of Leon Russell’s magic touch.
It’s a bit unsettling to not be absolutely certain if something is real or a dream, right?
A couple days ago, I went to sleep about 10:30 pm or so. That morning I received my Covid booster and yearly flu vaccine. Because I have a sensitivity to vaccines, I usually get them separately, but this time I opted to try them at the same time just to get it over with.
At some point, my bed started shaking like we were having an earthquake, but I was also dreaming.
I was in the middle of a dream about my mom. I was in my bed and she was in her bedroom and when the earthquake started, she told me not to worry, everything will be OK, and I should stay in bed until it was over.
Since my mom died a long time ago, I guess that part was some sort of a dream, but in real life, the real or imagined earthquake woke me up to reality because at 11:00 pm I woke up/entered another dimension. I checked the earthquake app on my phone and there had been NO earthquake anywhere around here, which was slightly worrisome because whatever it was woke me up.
That’s crazy, right? When we are having an earthquake at night, my bed DOES shake back and forth just like it did in my dream state.
My heart was racing but I wasn’t scared. I kept going over the dream/not dream in my mind because I couldn’t figure it out. I felt what I felt, but if it wasn’t an actual earthquake, what was it?
Earthquakes in lucid dreams can also be a positive symbol reflecting a major shift or movement in our life. These can be personal changes that need the destruction of the old for the new to rebuild.
Houses in dreams are a symbolic representation of the dreamers sense of self. The bed can also be a symbol of what might lay dormant within, as being asleep is opposite to being awake. It might also suggest the symbol of death and rebirth. The bed as an ancient dream symbol has a wide range of interpretations attached to it, connecting the dreamer to intimacy, relationships, and security.
The earthquake part didn’t upset me, but what I couldn’t make sense of is why it felt so real. Maybe the vivid dream was caused by the vaccines?
Later that day, I did experience all the usual side effects that means my immune system is robust and working properly: aches, chills, low grade fever, fatigue, sore arm — so that might have been the reason, but I can’t shake (haha) the real-ness of it all…and how nice it was to see my mom again, no matter how it happened, and to know that she’s still looking out for me.
Enchanted Seashells | Princess Rosebud 