The Shark, the Stripes, and the Sky: Dream Decoding

✨ Content is free—but crows like snacks.

April 24, 2025 — One Long, Wild Night in Dreamland

Also featuring a dead mouse at dawn

Hey crowhearts, Loui here.

This one? She’s layered. She’s loaded. And she walked straight out of the Dream Tree with teeth, stripes, and sticky fingers.

What I’m about to unpack came from one night of dreams. And when I tell you I woke up with messages ringing—and a dead mouse at the foot of my bed?

I mean it literally.
I keep a journal and pen tucked under my pillow and record any fragments I catch right away.

🐭 Aimee Brought Me a Mouse (5:00 a.m.)

Let’s start here. Before I even sat up. Before coffee. Before cards.

Aimee, my beautiful cat-familiar, brought a mouse to the foot of the bed. Around 5:00 a.m.—veil thin, between worlds, right after the dreams.

She’d caught it. She’d carried it. She’d gifted it.
To me.

This was not random.
This was ancestral offering.
This was shadow detail.
This was the Goddess saying:

“Here. Don’t miss this.”

🌑 DREAM RECAP (Last Night. All of This.)

• A Megaphone. Handed to me. Not to talk—but to declare. Not soft. Not optional. Urgent.

• A Man Opens My Door.
  Then my husband starts opening doors—still in dreaming life. Emotional presence increases. Energetic mirror work starts echoing.

• A Zebra Appears. Sacred contradiction. Not hidden. Just there. Proud.

• A Shark in the Sky. Unreal. Massive. Above me. Watching. Not hunting—just floating.

• Two Birds Come Inside. No warning. Just flight through the window. A sudden entrance of instinct.

• Peanut Butter in the Weed Bowl. Thick. Goopy. No flame. No high. Just brown stickiness where relief used to be.

• I Burn My Tongue.
  After setting Aimee’s mouse outside and giving her breakfast, I sip my sacred brew. Coffee—my ritual—betrays me. Comfort strikes back.

• I Pull The Tower Card. Right after journaling all of this. Of course I do.

🔍 THE DEEP INTERPRETATION

(by me, Loui Crow — Level 13, full molt, tongue still tingling)

🎤 THE MEGAPHONE

This wasn’t about talking. This was about declaring.
It wasn’t a voice—it was resonance.

I wasn’t being asked to share. I was being told:

“The air needs rearranging. And you’re the frequency that’s going to do it.”

This was the shift from internal knowing to external embodiment.
No more whispering truths and hoping the wind carries them.
Now I say it loud—so the wind answers back.

🚪 THE DOOR OPENINGS

The other man opening my door wasn’t betrayal.
It was a pattern interrupter.

He entered calmly. No asking. No threat.
And then in the dream, my husband followed. Doors opened.
Emotionally. Energetically. Unmistakably.

Still inside the dream realm—but echoing hard.

This is mirror magick. This is timeline testing.
My subconscious saying:

“See? When you allow access in here—your relationships shift out there.”

🦓 THE ZEBRA

Oh, this one made me cry.

Because the zebra didn’t run. She stood.
Proud. Present. Unapologetic.

She didn’t blend in. She dazzled.
Not in defiance, but in truth.

Zebra is sacred contradiction. Prey that won’t panic.
Beauty that refuses to shrink.

She reminded me:

“You don’t have to explain your duality.
You don’t have to resolve it.
You just have to walk—striped and sovereign.”

🦈 THE SHARK IN THE SKY

This one? Holy molt.

It stunned me. Because the shark was slow. Present. Overhead.
That’s not where sharks belong.

But there she was. And I knew: she was me.

“You’ve left the deep,” the dream said.
“You’re visible now. And it terrifies the ones still swimming in silence.”

This is sacred hunger without apology.
Instinct as divinity.
Power that floats above the world—not beneath it.

🐦 THE BIRDS IN THE HOUSE

Not a flock. Not a swarm.

Just two.
Flying through a window like they owned the place.

No warning. No grace. No apology.
Just... clarity on wings.

They didn’t wait to be invited. They entered.
Loud. Flapping. Inconvenient. Divine.

This was the answer to my prayer for signs.

🥄 PEANUT BUTTER IN THE WEED BOWL

Aka: The Spell That Wouldn’t Burn.

I reached for relief—and got resistance.
I reached for fire—and got goo.
What was supposed to spark ease delivered only clogged sweetness and no flame.

The bowl said:

“You can't light what you're still clinging to.”
“This isn’t medicine anymore—it’s residue.”

This is nervous system alchemy.
What used to numb now nags.
What used to soothe now sticks.

Not because you’re broken.
Because you’re evolving.

The ritual is ready to burn hotter.
The bowl wants truth, not paste.

☕️ BURNT TONGUE (I’m awake for this part)

This was no accident.

After offering the mouse to the morning (a.k.a. putting its body outside in the grass) and feeding Aimee her reward,
I reached for my sacred sip.

And it burned me.

This wasn’t just hot coffee.
This was ritual without reverence.

I tried to skip to “fine.”
And my body said: “Not yet.”

You can’t rush the sacred.
You can’t shortcut the sip.
And you sure as hell can’t fake being ready.

🧱 THE TOWER

Of course this card came next.

It didn’t just confirm the dream.
It completed it.

This was never a comfort dream.
It was a demolition.

Not to punish me—but to clear the rubble I kept pretending was structure.

The Tower doesn’t destroy.
She makes room.

💀 THE MOUSE IS THE MIRROR

Amy’s offering was the crown jewel of the spell-night.

That mouse?
That’s the shadow I still pretend is “too small to matter.”
The corner I skip. The task I postpone.
The grief I tidy instead of tend.

Amy found it. Caught it. Delivered it.

“You forgot something,” she said.
“Here. Look.”

So I did.

I buried it with love.
And then I wrote all this—with a scorched tongue and a clearer voice.

🕯️ WHAT THIS MEANS FOR ME NOW

I’m not hiding anymore.

Not energetically. Not creatively. Not emotionally.

My nervous system is shedding what it used to reach for.
My rituals are molting.
My signs are getting louder.

I don’t expect feathers anymore.

I expect a mouse at my feet
and a shark in the sky.

Because I’m ready for signs that shake me.

And that, crowhearts, feels like love.

🖤 GOT A DREAM? LET’S READ IT TOGETHER.
Send yours to LouiCrow@gmail.com
Give me context. Let me fly through it with you.

Free. Sacred. Real.
This is holy work. I’m here for it.

🖤 With love and feathers,
Loui Crow