In my dream, I'm standing outside next to someone. We watch a third person make a rescue:
There is a small mammal (mouse? maybe bigger, but not a rat!) hanging from the underside of a bridge. It's a metal bridge and the animal is hanging by its front paws off the horizontal ledge of a steel girder. It's maybe 15 to 20 feet above where we're standing. We watch as the animal lets go -- and this third person is standing exactly where he should be to catch the animal. And he does so. I don't recall what he does with the critter, but it is a kindly thing for sure.
And then it is my time to do the same. I walk to the place where I should stand and see the next animal move down to the same metal ledge. The animal lets go and it slips/bounces off my hands and falls down a circular drain. I hadn't seen the drain as I was preparing to catch the animal. If I had, I might have positioned myself more carefully. The drain isn't deep, but its surface is coated with a chemical (oil, I suppose) that gives off that sheen that an oil slick gives off. I look down into the drain, but the animal is not in sight.
I drop to my knees and try to fish it out of the yucky water. It takes some time, but I get him/her and pull her/him out. Covered with the contamination fluid. It's alive, but not by much. I'm totally unprepared to clean up the animal, and hand it to someone else (I think the second person -- the "someone" mentioned above).
I feel bad for contributing to the animal's plight, but not as bad as I was afraid I was going to feel.
Friday, December 28, 2018
Thursday, December 27, 2018
I cried for my Mother. Finally.
Yesterday -- the day after Christmas. The radio station I was listening to... well, let's step back a bit:
My Mother was a church organist. She had her Master's Degree in Music, so her interest, knowledge, and enthusiasm for good music went 'way back. And of all the available Christmas music, she had two that affected her deeply.
She despised "Oh Holy Night." It was never clear to me exactly why this was. I asked her about it almost every time she heard it and reacted. Badly. I think she felt is was too smarmy or something. Overly dramatic. But another part of it related to a job she had playing music at a local church. There was this guy in the church choir who sang the song every Christmas during church service and he always (in her opinion) went 'way over the top in his performance -- and the congregation loved every note of it. And they told my Mom so. Ick.
So every time I hear that song, I smile -- remembering the response my Mother had. (BTW, she always recovered quickly from her snit. That's the kind of lady she was...)
The song she loved so dearly was "What Child is This?" She knew the song as "Greensleeves." It might have been something about the musical movement from the minor key into the major one. Wouldn't surprise me if that was an important part of it. How the music and the words reflected each other so fully.
And so I would remember her again when I heard that song as well. But it was always a smile that came from a deeper place than the "Oh Holy Night" smile.
But when I heard the song yesterday and remembered my Mother, I started smiling as usual. But all of a sudden it crashed down on me exactly how much I lost when my Mother died. And I cried. Hard.
Now, I cry for relatives that have passed away. A bit for my Dad and small oceans for my older brother. But never for my Mother. And I've always wondered why that was. I have occasionally "blamed" her for favoring my older brother over me (blamed entirely internally, of course!). But even if that were true (and of course I will never know for sure), it's easily understood for family reasons too complicated to go into here. So the "real" reason for feeling so ambivalent about her, I think, escapes me to this very day. But maybe as of yesterday, all that doesn't matter as much as it did. I cried. And felt cleansed.
Some of this is likely mixed up with a quick piece of arithmetic I performed yesterday. Our nuclear family was comprised of seven people: two parents and five kids. And now we are three in number. My next younger brother passed away several months ago -- taking us from "more than half" to "less than half."
I feel pretty good about crying about Mom. She was in so many ways a delightful, wonderful person and everything (you would think) a child could want in a Mom. I feel like I'm meeting her again for the first time.
My Mother was a church organist. She had her Master's Degree in Music, so her interest, knowledge, and enthusiasm for good music went 'way back. And of all the available Christmas music, she had two that affected her deeply.
She despised "Oh Holy Night." It was never clear to me exactly why this was. I asked her about it almost every time she heard it and reacted. Badly. I think she felt is was too smarmy or something. Overly dramatic. But another part of it related to a job she had playing music at a local church. There was this guy in the church choir who sang the song every Christmas during church service and he always (in her opinion) went 'way over the top in his performance -- and the congregation loved every note of it. And they told my Mom so. Ick.
So every time I hear that song, I smile -- remembering the response my Mother had. (BTW, she always recovered quickly from her snit. That's the kind of lady she was...)
The song she loved so dearly was "What Child is This?" She knew the song as "Greensleeves." It might have been something about the musical movement from the minor key into the major one. Wouldn't surprise me if that was an important part of it. How the music and the words reflected each other so fully.
And so I would remember her again when I heard that song as well. But it was always a smile that came from a deeper place than the "Oh Holy Night" smile.
But when I heard the song yesterday and remembered my Mother, I started smiling as usual. But all of a sudden it crashed down on me exactly how much I lost when my Mother died. And I cried. Hard.
Now, I cry for relatives that have passed away. A bit for my Dad and small oceans for my older brother. But never for my Mother. And I've always wondered why that was. I have occasionally "blamed" her for favoring my older brother over me (blamed entirely internally, of course!). But even if that were true (and of course I will never know for sure), it's easily understood for family reasons too complicated to go into here. So the "real" reason for feeling so ambivalent about her, I think, escapes me to this very day. But maybe as of yesterday, all that doesn't matter as much as it did. I cried. And felt cleansed.
Some of this is likely mixed up with a quick piece of arithmetic I performed yesterday. Our nuclear family was comprised of seven people: two parents and five kids. And now we are three in number. My next younger brother passed away several months ago -- taking us from "more than half" to "less than half."
I feel pretty good about crying about Mom. She was in so many ways a delightful, wonderful person and everything (you would think) a child could want in a Mom. I feel like I'm meeting her again for the first time.
Wednesday, December 26, 2018
Bad Dreams 12 -- Morning of 12/26/18
A dream that happened late in my morning sleep routine:
In my dream, I am in a room with several other people. One of them is addressing the rest of us. He reminds me a bit of Tom Buglio. All the other people -- with the possible exception of me -- are sitting cross-legged on the floor listening intently to him. Those who are sitting and listening are considerably younger than the speaker.
His method of explaining stuff has a pattern: an initial statement of an assertion followed by elaboration: a series of examples or other bits of information to support the initial assertion.
I have no problem with any of these initial assertions. They convey information that is useful to me. But the follow-on explanations are far more information than I really need. So I get up and do something else, which occasionally puts my back to the speaker. Now and then, I ask a question of the speaker. He responds with useful information, but my habit of turning away from him and doing something else continues.
I know this annoys him. And I think he answers my questions completely and without chastising me for ignoring his follow-on information -- because he doesn't want to interrupt the "lessons" he's providing for the rest of the group. I am grateful for the information he gives me/us, but doing these other things is equally important. And I feel compelled to continue doing those other things.
I think I "get it." In my dream, the speaker is God. He nourishes me in a number of different ways -- but in the dream, it's all about information. This lines up with the fixation I have about how it all has to make sense. Be logical. I ask and get answers, but then drift off into other things. It's not disrespect, it's just that I feel other obligations and pulls on my time. I feel a tug of envy that the others in the room can sit still and listen to the entire message. But I can't do that yet.
In my dream, I am in a room with several other people. One of them is addressing the rest of us. He reminds me a bit of Tom Buglio. All the other people -- with the possible exception of me -- are sitting cross-legged on the floor listening intently to him. Those who are sitting and listening are considerably younger than the speaker.
His method of explaining stuff has a pattern: an initial statement of an assertion followed by elaboration: a series of examples or other bits of information to support the initial assertion.
I have no problem with any of these initial assertions. They convey information that is useful to me. But the follow-on explanations are far more information than I really need. So I get up and do something else, which occasionally puts my back to the speaker. Now and then, I ask a question of the speaker. He responds with useful information, but my habit of turning away from him and doing something else continues.
I know this annoys him. And I think he answers my questions completely and without chastising me for ignoring his follow-on information -- because he doesn't want to interrupt the "lessons" he's providing for the rest of the group. I am grateful for the information he gives me/us, but doing these other things is equally important. And I feel compelled to continue doing those other things.
I think I "get it." In my dream, the speaker is God. He nourishes me in a number of different ways -- but in the dream, it's all about information. This lines up with the fixation I have about how it all has to make sense. Be logical. I ask and get answers, but then drift off into other things. It's not disrespect, it's just that I feel other obligations and pulls on my time. I feel a tug of envy that the others in the room can sit still and listen to the entire message. But I can't do that yet.
Sunday, December 23, 2018
Bad Dreams 11 -- Morning of 12/23/18
In my dream, I'm in a classsroom with a group of other people. We're all adults. We're in some kind of special group in that we take all our classes together. It's remindful of the Fellows Program, except that we're considerably older than college freshpersons.
The only person I recognize is Rob Vosburgh.
We're milling around waiting for a teacher or administrator or other person to come in and tell us something. I don't know exactly what -- and I think no one else in the class knows either.
Rob is chatting amiably with other students -- a gift he has in "real life" -- and I admire his ability to do this and am somewhat envious. I wish I could do chitchat as easily as he does.
There's something wrong with the class. Things are not going as they were designed to go. And I'm guessing that the person we're waiting for may tell us something about that situation and what the School is preparing to do about it.
I feel that I will be removed from the class. I'm not frightened about that or angry or relieved or much of anything. It feels like it's simply inevitable. I will survive this, but things will be different.
The only person I recognize is Rob Vosburgh.
We're milling around waiting for a teacher or administrator or other person to come in and tell us something. I don't know exactly what -- and I think no one else in the class knows either.
Rob is chatting amiably with other students -- a gift he has in "real life" -- and I admire his ability to do this and am somewhat envious. I wish I could do chitchat as easily as he does.
There's something wrong with the class. Things are not going as they were designed to go. And I'm guessing that the person we're waiting for may tell us something about that situation and what the School is preparing to do about it.
I feel that I will be removed from the class. I'm not frightened about that or angry or relieved or much of anything. It feels like it's simply inevitable. I will survive this, but things will be different.
Bad Dreams 10 -- Morning of 12/19/18
This dream happened several days ago -- and I am just finding the time to document it. So some of the details have slipped away in the intervening time.
I am driving around in a car with another guy. Someone who reminds me of Jack Klugman. Which is a good thing as far as I'm concerned -- I've always been a Jack Klugman fan. However, the two of us are, like, gangsters. He's the senior member of the duo, but I'm driving the car. I feel he's in the car with me to show me the ropes of this line of work.
We're driving around a lot.
He's been told we should drive behind a big building, stop, and wait in the car. We do that and wait for some time, but no one shows up. We don't get any further instructions. I start driving away -- slowly. I tell him I think we're being set up for a hit. He doesn't respond.
(There feels like some kind of hitch/reset/change in the dream at this point.)
We drive past two enormous flags. They're set at angles to each other with the flagstaffs crossing about midway. One, I think is a Maryland state flag. I don't recall clearly what the other one was, but it might have been a Confederate flag. There are two guys standing close to the flags who are dressed like Civil War reinactors.
The other guy in the car is in the back seat. I talk over my shoulder to him but he doesn't respond. I look back to look at him. He's thinking. I understand that he thinking that I was right -- that we were being set up. And he didn't see that coming. And he's concerned.
I am driving around in a car with another guy. Someone who reminds me of Jack Klugman. Which is a good thing as far as I'm concerned -- I've always been a Jack Klugman fan. However, the two of us are, like, gangsters. He's the senior member of the duo, but I'm driving the car. I feel he's in the car with me to show me the ropes of this line of work.
We're driving around a lot.
He's been told we should drive behind a big building, stop, and wait in the car. We do that and wait for some time, but no one shows up. We don't get any further instructions. I start driving away -- slowly. I tell him I think we're being set up for a hit. He doesn't respond.
(There feels like some kind of hitch/reset/change in the dream at this point.)
We drive past two enormous flags. They're set at angles to each other with the flagstaffs crossing about midway. One, I think is a Maryland state flag. I don't recall clearly what the other one was, but it might have been a Confederate flag. There are two guys standing close to the flags who are dressed like Civil War reinactors.
The other guy in the car is in the back seat. I talk over my shoulder to him but he doesn't respond. I look back to look at him. He's thinking. I understand that he thinking that I was right -- that we were being set up. And he didn't see that coming. And he's concerned.
Sunday, December 16, 2018
Bad Dreams 09 -- Morning of 12/14/18
In my dream, I am a fairly new employee of a company that does sales-type work. I am accompanying a senior member of the company on a customer visit. We walk through hallways and spend some time in an office.
The conversation between my "superior" and the customer seems to go well. There is friendly chatter mixed in with the business issues that we were there to discuss. My job is to stay quiet and listen and observe. Learn the ropes. Watch the pro do his thing.
The conversation wraps up and the two guys shake hands and smile. My "superior" and I walk out of the building and (I suppose) towards the parking lot. But I'm deeply concerned:
Listening as carefully as I could, I thought I had heard Customer say that our company would be doing "X" part of the upcoming project. And I also thought I heard my guy say that the customer would be doing "X" instead. And the pleasant chatter between these two kind of covered over this possible misunderstanding. (The non-commitment from the two of them to do "X" was separated by a minute or two of pleasant conversation. So misunderstanding might easily have happened.)
So I bring this to my guy's attention as we stand there outside the customer's building -- thinking that he might want to clarify this before we left to go home. He seems irritated and told me not to worry. Not my job. And I try (internally, of course) to figure out if he's angry at me for mouthing off or he's angry at himself for missing this mistake and worried about the consequences. And doing "X" will cost a lot of money for either us or them. The words he uses to tell me not to worry carry a veiled threat -- about my professional future in and continued employment at the company. I back off.
I realize that it will be easy for me to be the fall guy in this event. That I may well be blamed for not clarifying the "X" situation. And the result being that it will cost my employer extra money (if we do "X") or else lead to ill will between my employer and the customer (if they have to do "X"). Either way I could "take the fall." But I don't see any way to avoid this -- and I'm curious to see how the situation will unfold. More curious than frightened or cowed.
There is some interruption in my dreaming -- perhaps I almost wake up or something -- and when I return to dreaming, I see a small metal frame that is holding onto a baby doll's head. And a hand comes in from the left side of the "scene" and removes the head from the frame. This may be totally unconnected to the "story" of the first dream, but I thought I would mention it.
The conversation between my "superior" and the customer seems to go well. There is friendly chatter mixed in with the business issues that we were there to discuss. My job is to stay quiet and listen and observe. Learn the ropes. Watch the pro do his thing.
The conversation wraps up and the two guys shake hands and smile. My "superior" and I walk out of the building and (I suppose) towards the parking lot. But I'm deeply concerned:
Listening as carefully as I could, I thought I had heard Customer say that our company would be doing "X" part of the upcoming project. And I also thought I heard my guy say that the customer would be doing "X" instead. And the pleasant chatter between these two kind of covered over this possible misunderstanding. (The non-commitment from the two of them to do "X" was separated by a minute or two of pleasant conversation. So misunderstanding might easily have happened.)
So I bring this to my guy's attention as we stand there outside the customer's building -- thinking that he might want to clarify this before we left to go home. He seems irritated and told me not to worry. Not my job. And I try (internally, of course) to figure out if he's angry at me for mouthing off or he's angry at himself for missing this mistake and worried about the consequences. And doing "X" will cost a lot of money for either us or them. The words he uses to tell me not to worry carry a veiled threat -- about my professional future in and continued employment at the company. I back off.
I realize that it will be easy for me to be the fall guy in this event. That I may well be blamed for not clarifying the "X" situation. And the result being that it will cost my employer extra money (if we do "X") or else lead to ill will between my employer and the customer (if they have to do "X"). Either way I could "take the fall." But I don't see any way to avoid this -- and I'm curious to see how the situation will unfold. More curious than frightened or cowed.
There is some interruption in my dreaming -- perhaps I almost wake up or something -- and when I return to dreaming, I see a small metal frame that is holding onto a baby doll's head. And a hand comes in from the left side of the "scene" and removes the head from the frame. This may be totally unconnected to the "story" of the first dream, but I thought I would mention it.
Saturday, December 15, 2018
Tears
Over the last several weeks, I'm finding that I am close to weeping at almost any time. It doesn't take much to "reduce me to tears."
And I recall the wisdom of that psychologist in Toronto back in 1970 (or thereabouts...) who pointed out the considerable difference between crying and weeping: you cry in times of pain, sadness, feelings of loneliness, and the like. You weep when you are simply overcome with emotion. And that's what I've been doing.
I feel that my emotions, my sensitivity to people and events around me, are closer to "the surface" than they have been. That my defenses are lowered. My openness to emotion is... well, more open.
And that's a good thing. I think I would miss this openness if it weren't somehow presented to the "everyday" me. And I welcome this.
My feeling is that it lines up with my newly re-found ability to remember dreams and wherewithal to write them down.
It's time for a major shift and much in my life is readying itself for that to happen.
It's a ticket to Somewhere.
And I recall the wisdom of that psychologist in Toronto back in 1970 (or thereabouts...) who pointed out the considerable difference between crying and weeping: you cry in times of pain, sadness, feelings of loneliness, and the like. You weep when you are simply overcome with emotion. And that's what I've been doing.
I feel that my emotions, my sensitivity to people and events around me, are closer to "the surface" than they have been. That my defenses are lowered. My openness to emotion is... well, more open.
And that's a good thing. I think I would miss this openness if it weren't somehow presented to the "everyday" me. And I welcome this.
My feeling is that it lines up with my newly re-found ability to remember dreams and wherewithal to write them down.
It's time for a major shift and much in my life is readying itself for that to happen.
It's a ticket to Somewhere.
Wednesday, December 12, 2018
Bad Dreams 08 -- Morning of 12/12/18
In my dream, I start off outside a (college?/high school?) classroom building. It's a brick building located slightly uphill from where I'm standing. (I'm outside the building at the start of the dream.)
As I look up at the building, I see, in a window in an upper floor, a solitary light. Maybe it's a candle -- either wax or electric. It's daytime, but the light is easy to see anyway. I don't see anything else interesting about the building, but the light is of serious interest.
I am standing on the upper floor looking at the light, which is right in front of me -- sitting on a pedestal. I can clearly see out the window to roughly where I was standing when the dream started. Green grass and some trees.
There is a rectangular cover over the light -- either glass or plastic, I don't know. And that cover is somehow lifted away from me so that the light is now within easy reach. I realize that I am part of something of a conspiracy to take an electric module out from inside the pedestal. I understand that would be easy to do. (But I don't recall actually doing it!)
Time shift alert!
I am standing at the bottom of a wide staircase, on which many people are walking up or down. I know I should be walking up the stairs to get to where the light is and take the module. I feel good and confident in getting to the light and taking the module to where the conspirators want it to be. Piece of cake.
So I start to act a bit goofy -- showing off for the girls around me. I am failing miserably at trying to impress anybody with my antics. Everyone who is paying any attention to me has a look of distaste, concern, or mild fear. I try harder and nearly lose my balance and fall over.
I wake up.
As I look up at the building, I see, in a window in an upper floor, a solitary light. Maybe it's a candle -- either wax or electric. It's daytime, but the light is easy to see anyway. I don't see anything else interesting about the building, but the light is of serious interest.
I am standing on the upper floor looking at the light, which is right in front of me -- sitting on a pedestal. I can clearly see out the window to roughly where I was standing when the dream started. Green grass and some trees.
There is a rectangular cover over the light -- either glass or plastic, I don't know. And that cover is somehow lifted away from me so that the light is now within easy reach. I realize that I am part of something of a conspiracy to take an electric module out from inside the pedestal. I understand that would be easy to do. (But I don't recall actually doing it!)
Time shift alert!
I am standing at the bottom of a wide staircase, on which many people are walking up or down. I know I should be walking up the stairs to get to where the light is and take the module. I feel good and confident in getting to the light and taking the module to where the conspirators want it to be. Piece of cake.
So I start to act a bit goofy -- showing off for the girls around me. I am failing miserably at trying to impress anybody with my antics. Everyone who is paying any attention to me has a look of distaste, concern, or mild fear. I try harder and nearly lose my balance and fall over.
I wake up.
Bad Dreams 07 -- Morning of 12/10/18
An abbreviated dream:
I had a dream this morning before this one, but didn't have the wherewithal to write anything down about it. I went back to sleep and had this one:
I'm in my car and driving slowly through a parking lot. The ground is just bare earth -- no asphalt -- the parking places are not lined off, and one parks with front or back of car close to trees and bushes. There are a considerable number of cars already parked, and I'm looking for an available space for me.
I think I see a parking spot off to my right and slightly ahead. As I get closer, I realize that I would have needed a special sticker to park there, so I have to keep on looking. I drive a bit farther.
Then, I remember that I have a sticker in my pocket. It's stuck to a yellow piece of paper roughly six inches by three inches. The sticker itself is white, so it doesn't show up that easily against the yellow paper.
I realize that sticker is exactly the one I would need to gain access to a number of parking spaces, and that makes me very happy.
I wake up.
I had a dream this morning before this one, but didn't have the wherewithal to write anything down about it. I went back to sleep and had this one:
I'm in my car and driving slowly through a parking lot. The ground is just bare earth -- no asphalt -- the parking places are not lined off, and one parks with front or back of car close to trees and bushes. There are a considerable number of cars already parked, and I'm looking for an available space for me.
I think I see a parking spot off to my right and slightly ahead. As I get closer, I realize that I would have needed a special sticker to park there, so I have to keep on looking. I drive a bit farther.
Then, I remember that I have a sticker in my pocket. It's stuck to a yellow piece of paper roughly six inches by three inches. The sticker itself is white, so it doesn't show up that easily against the yellow paper.
I realize that sticker is exactly the one I would need to gain access to a number of parking spaces, and that makes me very happy.
I wake up.
Saturday, December 8, 2018
Bad Dreams 06 -- What's happening
So I've been having these very vivid dreams lately. Over the last several weeks. At the end of some of them, I'm awake enough that I can make a few notes as to the content of the dream and then try to get back to sleep. Which normally takes 60 to 90 minutes. Then, when I'm fully awake, I can use the notes to recreate the dream with a pretty good level of detail. And those are the dreams that I've posted in this blog.
But some mornings, I wake up knowing that I've had one or more equally "realistic" dreams, but simply didn't wake up enough to write them down. And I have only the most vague notion as to what the dreams were all about. I may well have had more of them than dreams that I have documented.
I'm guessing that, at some unconscious level, the work I've been doing for The School of the Spirit has caused this "awakening" of my dreaming. I don't mind the dreams -- I think I understand the nature of dreaming enough to recognize that any and all dreams may have insights/information/messages that the Deeper Levels of Self are trying to pass along to the fully conscious me. And that's a good thing.
As a matter of fact, I hope the dreams continue. I can "feel" that I'm changing inside in a good way.
BTW, I titled my first dream description here "Bad Dream 01," because it was unsettling. But now I'm more comfortable with the process. It's okay. Let it flow.
But some mornings, I wake up knowing that I've had one or more equally "realistic" dreams, but simply didn't wake up enough to write them down. And I have only the most vague notion as to what the dreams were all about. I may well have had more of them than dreams that I have documented.
I'm guessing that, at some unconscious level, the work I've been doing for The School of the Spirit has caused this "awakening" of my dreaming. I don't mind the dreams -- I think I understand the nature of dreaming enough to recognize that any and all dreams may have insights/information/messages that the Deeper Levels of Self are trying to pass along to the fully conscious me. And that's a good thing.
As a matter of fact, I hope the dreams continue. I can "feel" that I'm changing inside in a good way.
BTW, I titled my first dream description here "Bad Dream 01," because it was unsettling. But now I'm more comfortable with the process. It's okay. Let it flow.
Thursday, December 6, 2018
Bad Dreams 05A -- Morning of 12/6/18
After writing up notes on Bad Dream 5, I went back to be and went back to sleep. (Bed sox are a huge help here!)
And what I encountered was a rash of quickie half-dreams -- maybe 4 or 5 -- that came in rapid succession. I think I woke up briefly, interrupting the dream as it unfolded -- and did this again and again.
They were all interesting. None of them seemed especially dangerous or upsetting, and I'm kind of sorry that I didn't have a chance to experience fully each and every one of them.
But since BD 5 had wound up so late, I guess I was coming up out of REM sleep, getting ready for my normal first wake-up time, which is around 5:00.
It's interesting that this should unfold this morning, since I got to sleep last night particularly early -- probably by 8:30 or 8:45. You might have thought that the nighttime "schedule" would have shifted to an earlier time or stayed the same, but it seems to have shifted to a later time.
And what I encountered was a rash of quickie half-dreams -- maybe 4 or 5 -- that came in rapid succession. I think I woke up briefly, interrupting the dream as it unfolded -- and did this again and again.
They were all interesting. None of them seemed especially dangerous or upsetting, and I'm kind of sorry that I didn't have a chance to experience fully each and every one of them.
But since BD 5 had wound up so late, I guess I was coming up out of REM sleep, getting ready for my normal first wake-up time, which is around 5:00.
It's interesting that this should unfold this morning, since I got to sleep last night particularly early -- probably by 8:30 or 8:45. You might have thought that the nighttime "schedule" would have shifted to an earlier time or stayed the same, but it seems to have shifted to a later time.
Bad Dreams 05 -- Morning of 12/6/18
(I found it interesting that this dream seems to have taken place at roughly 4:30 AM, while previous BD's took place around 2:00 AM. Just sayin')
In my dream, I am in a classroom with others. Everyone seems to be an adult, but we are somehow acting like we were still school-age.
People are walking around a bit, chatting. I'm not certain whether we've actually been given an assignment that we're all shirking at the moment or whether we're waiting for the Instructor.
Dick Rainer starts walking my way and I hear his voice over the cacophony that currently exists. He asks me if I had done [can't make out what it is that he's asking me about...] but since I can't understand the word and I don't recall having done anything about which Dick would have any interest or involvement, I tell him "No." He smirks at me and says "You will." He fades into the background.
I feel I need to visit the bathroom to urinate and, since there doesn't seem to be any plan or program taking place -- and therefore no one to ask if I can leave the room -- I exit the classroom.
The hallway looks like the classical school hallway with terrazzo flooring, cinderblock walls, recessed lighting in the drop ceiling. I don't know which way to go, so I pick a direction (left from the classroom door, I think) and start walking. I turn a corner to find another similar hallway and walk its length, looking at the doors, hoping to see a "Boys" or "Men" sign posted on a door. No luck.
I continue walking and make several more turns. Always the same décor. Once or twice, I see glass paneling on the right showing staircases. From the view out the outside windows, I can see that I'm on an upper floor. I squelch the idea of going upstairs or downstairs and continue walking the hallways. I pass a sign on a door that says "Girls," and suppress the notion of knocking loudly on the door to see if someone is in the Girls bathroom -- and if there isn't, using the facilities myself. I continue walking.
At the end of one hallway a different kind of door leads into an office complex with carpet on the floor, a number of separate offices around a central area that is clearly there for secretarial personnel and a receptionist. I know I don't belong there and might get in trouble if someone there notices me, so I turn around and go back into the hallway.
Somehow, I find my way back to the classroom where my dream started -- and am surprised how easy it was to get back there. When I walk in, small groups of "students" each have a gray cardboard box with something inside. I know which group is mine, so I walk over to it just as they are opening our box. There is dead vegetation -- leaves, small branches, etc. -- that someone in the group starts pulling out. All the vegetation comes out as a bunch. Nestled within the vegetation is a snake -- beautiful sky-blue scales with a white underside. I understand that the snake is not dangerous, although some members of the "class" are clearly anxious and fearful of getting too close to it. The snake is roughly 3 1/2 feet long. It's being held by a male member of my group -- roughly halfway down the snake's body. It is moving gently, bending this way and that. And watching the snake, I understand that the bending is necessary for the snake to remain perfectly upright. If the snake were to stretch out perfectly straight, it would likely roll over on its side. Not good.
I feel my hands getting ready to handle the snake. I'm a bit anxious -- as much that I don't hurt the snake as that I might be in some kind of danger. So I feel my hands gently holding the air and allowing my imaginary snake to bend left and right as it feels it should. I look forward to holding the snake.
_________________________________
When I ask myself "Why Dick Rainer?" the only thing I can think of -- and thought of quickly -- was that Dick has been struggling with excessive drinking and has had trouble with the law as a result. And I find myself imbibing more than is healthy for me...
Snakes/apples/sin/alcohol? Um, maybe...
In my dream, I am in a classroom with others. Everyone seems to be an adult, but we are somehow acting like we were still school-age.
People are walking around a bit, chatting. I'm not certain whether we've actually been given an assignment that we're all shirking at the moment or whether we're waiting for the Instructor.
Dick Rainer starts walking my way and I hear his voice over the cacophony that currently exists. He asks me if I had done [can't make out what it is that he's asking me about...] but since I can't understand the word and I don't recall having done anything about which Dick would have any interest or involvement, I tell him "No." He smirks at me and says "You will." He fades into the background.
I feel I need to visit the bathroom to urinate and, since there doesn't seem to be any plan or program taking place -- and therefore no one to ask if I can leave the room -- I exit the classroom.
The hallway looks like the classical school hallway with terrazzo flooring, cinderblock walls, recessed lighting in the drop ceiling. I don't know which way to go, so I pick a direction (left from the classroom door, I think) and start walking. I turn a corner to find another similar hallway and walk its length, looking at the doors, hoping to see a "Boys" or "Men" sign posted on a door. No luck.
I continue walking and make several more turns. Always the same décor. Once or twice, I see glass paneling on the right showing staircases. From the view out the outside windows, I can see that I'm on an upper floor. I squelch the idea of going upstairs or downstairs and continue walking the hallways. I pass a sign on a door that says "Girls," and suppress the notion of knocking loudly on the door to see if someone is in the Girls bathroom -- and if there isn't, using the facilities myself. I continue walking.
At the end of one hallway a different kind of door leads into an office complex with carpet on the floor, a number of separate offices around a central area that is clearly there for secretarial personnel and a receptionist. I know I don't belong there and might get in trouble if someone there notices me, so I turn around and go back into the hallway.
Somehow, I find my way back to the classroom where my dream started -- and am surprised how easy it was to get back there. When I walk in, small groups of "students" each have a gray cardboard box with something inside. I know which group is mine, so I walk over to it just as they are opening our box. There is dead vegetation -- leaves, small branches, etc. -- that someone in the group starts pulling out. All the vegetation comes out as a bunch. Nestled within the vegetation is a snake -- beautiful sky-blue scales with a white underside. I understand that the snake is not dangerous, although some members of the "class" are clearly anxious and fearful of getting too close to it. The snake is roughly 3 1/2 feet long. It's being held by a male member of my group -- roughly halfway down the snake's body. It is moving gently, bending this way and that. And watching the snake, I understand that the bending is necessary for the snake to remain perfectly upright. If the snake were to stretch out perfectly straight, it would likely roll over on its side. Not good.
I feel my hands getting ready to handle the snake. I'm a bit anxious -- as much that I don't hurt the snake as that I might be in some kind of danger. So I feel my hands gently holding the air and allowing my imaginary snake to bend left and right as it feels it should. I look forward to holding the snake.
_________________________________
When I ask myself "Why Dick Rainer?" the only thing I can think of -- and thought of quickly -- was that Dick has been struggling with excessive drinking and has had trouble with the law as a result. And I find myself imbibing more than is healthy for me...
Snakes/apples/sin/alcohol? Um, maybe...
God of Groundhog Day
That would be "Groundhog Day" the movie.
In the film, Phil Connor has a considerable list of changes that he needs to make to escape from living February 2nd over and over. It's not given to him that this learning is what he needs to do. He just does it as he becomes increasingly aware of things like civil conduct, care for others, appreciation of the gifts he has and the friends he might make, what true love (as opposed to lust) consists of, and the fact that he is not the Center of the Universe -- not even his own Universe. He makes it.
As I proceed into the exercises of The School of the Spirit, I sense that little things are happening around me and to me that... oh, just don't seem perfectly "normal" or "usual" or "average." Get a luck break here, escape a close call there, find something that I didn't know I had/wanted/needed. Get "called" to say something nice, something gentle, something supportive when I don't think I would have done so a year ago.
So unfortunately, there are two reasonable explanations (define "reasonable" if you dare!) for this:
-- One, life is actually proceeding "normally" (see above) and I'm just sensing it, seeing it differently. Thinking about how God might be planting these things in front of me to get my attention. But as I think about this, I recall that Phil Connor never is given any explanation as to why he re-lived 2/2 again and again. But as you watch the movie every 2/2 as we do, you see the changes in his behavior gradually take place, iteration after iteration. His behavior at the Groundhog Day Ball is splendid.
-- Two, God may actually be planting these things in front of me. Trying to get my attention. Trying to show me a better way.
Oh, and exactly why would two reasonable explanations be a problem? Hmmm?
Aren't I the guy who has lately become enamored with Non-Dualism?
In the film, Phil Connor has a considerable list of changes that he needs to make to escape from living February 2nd over and over. It's not given to him that this learning is what he needs to do. He just does it as he becomes increasingly aware of things like civil conduct, care for others, appreciation of the gifts he has and the friends he might make, what true love (as opposed to lust) consists of, and the fact that he is not the Center of the Universe -- not even his own Universe. He makes it.
As I proceed into the exercises of The School of the Spirit, I sense that little things are happening around me and to me that... oh, just don't seem perfectly "normal" or "usual" or "average." Get a luck break here, escape a close call there, find something that I didn't know I had/wanted/needed. Get "called" to say something nice, something gentle, something supportive when I don't think I would have done so a year ago.
So unfortunately, there are two reasonable explanations (define "reasonable" if you dare!) for this:
-- One, life is actually proceeding "normally" (see above) and I'm just sensing it, seeing it differently. Thinking about how God might be planting these things in front of me to get my attention. But as I think about this, I recall that Phil Connor never is given any explanation as to why he re-lived 2/2 again and again. But as you watch the movie every 2/2 as we do, you see the changes in his behavior gradually take place, iteration after iteration. His behavior at the Groundhog Day Ball is splendid.
-- Two, God may actually be planting these things in front of me. Trying to get my attention. Trying to show me a better way.
Oh, and exactly why would two reasonable explanations be a problem? Hmmm?
Aren't I the guy who has lately become enamored with Non-Dualism?
Tuesday, December 4, 2018
Bad Dreams 04 -- Morning of 12/4/18
In my dream, Deb and I are off somewhere -- I think doing shopping -- but I find myself in some need to get some cash. Not a desperate need, but it would be helpful to replenish my in-pocket cash supply.
The building where we are is clean enough, but feels like some kind of building loaded with big mechanical stuff -- much of it located overhead. The light is perfectly adequate here, but aloft, it's hard to make out the details of the machinery. We can walk around comfortably, but the machinery is never far away. Overhead and on either side.
I guess I tried using my credit card in an ATM or something similar to get the cash I wanted, but something happens about this and the cash is not forthcoming. Something's not working. This requires me to talk to someone who's operating in an official capacity.
The guy (now known as "Guy 1") is a big man in a dark suit. I explain the situation to him and he frowns and tells me that I have to take the situation up with his boss (now known as "Guy 2").
He and I walk some distance through the building and find Guy 2 in his office. (Deb seems to have disappeared by this time.) As opposed to Guy 1, this fellow is slender, younger, looks as if he keeps himself fit, and he takes too much time making sure his hair is perfect. His suit fits beautifully and is immaculate.
As we walk into Guy 2's office, he is sitting at a horribly garish electric "piano." It's covered with gingerbread decorations, and the keyboard is almost difficult to find under all the decorations. He is plinking out a tune with one finger -- I think it might have been "Here Comes the Bride."
He gets up from the piano and turns around to face us. He gives me this ingratiating (read "smarmy") smile and holds out his hand. He asks me "What can I do for you?" or something similar.
Guy 1 explains the situation to Guy 2. Guy 2 nods and smiles again as if he understands exactly what's happened and how he (Guy 2) can remedy the situation.
As Guy 2 explains to me, all I have to do is X, which sounds pretty simple and not completely out of the question for me to do. Then he can do his part to fix the problem. But the tone in his voice, his facial expressions make it clear to me that he also expects a considerable expression of gratitude to him (Guy 2) coming from me as and after he completes the things he has to do to enable me to get my money.
I find this objectionable and express somehow to him that I have no intention of showing that level of gratitude and thanks. I feel he should simply do this thing to help me just because he should do this thing. It's inappropriate for him to expect groveling from me.
I tell him if that's the basis for him doing what he needs to do, then just don't bother. He's annoyed and tries to convince me that he's wonderful for granting me this favor.
Now, I don't absolutely need the cash. It would be nice to have but nothing more. So I stand firm. He keeps trying to get some expression of gratitude from me -- again and again. When I'm convinced that he's just not going to do his thing unless I surrender, I walk out.
__________________________________
WHAT DOES ALL THIS MEAN?
Unlike my previous "Bad Dreams" (which I continue not to understand), I fairly quickly applied an interpretation to the dream:
Guy 2 is the God that I keep reading about in the assigned readings from The School of the Spirit. So many writers in these readings gush (sorry, tough word, but that's where I'm at just now) at the manifold blessings that God has bestowed on them. And that they are delighted to have surrendered to him (God) and want to live always in the shelter of His protective shadow. And that their sole ambition in life is to do His will.
(Historical note: the time during which I write this, I am working to construct a framework for my God. My understanding of God. I'm stuck at the moment between an all-covering/understanding/powerful/demanding God and the Tao. Neither image settles well within me anymore.
So I am "reading" my dream as a confrontation with that all-everything God, and reading Guy 1 as being a minister or priest or some such who is a disciple to that God.
It makes sense to me that Deb should disappear from the dream when she does, since my quest, my journey is obviously a one-person trip.
Given the clarity of feeling I have about this interpretation, I'm wondering if my previous Bad Dreams were something of a warm-up exercise, and that future Bad Dream (which I'm pretty sure are coming!) will maintain that clarity.
The building where we are is clean enough, but feels like some kind of building loaded with big mechanical stuff -- much of it located overhead. The light is perfectly adequate here, but aloft, it's hard to make out the details of the machinery. We can walk around comfortably, but the machinery is never far away. Overhead and on either side.
I guess I tried using my credit card in an ATM or something similar to get the cash I wanted, but something happens about this and the cash is not forthcoming. Something's not working. This requires me to talk to someone who's operating in an official capacity.
The guy (now known as "Guy 1") is a big man in a dark suit. I explain the situation to him and he frowns and tells me that I have to take the situation up with his boss (now known as "Guy 2").
He and I walk some distance through the building and find Guy 2 in his office. (Deb seems to have disappeared by this time.) As opposed to Guy 1, this fellow is slender, younger, looks as if he keeps himself fit, and he takes too much time making sure his hair is perfect. His suit fits beautifully and is immaculate.
As we walk into Guy 2's office, he is sitting at a horribly garish electric "piano." It's covered with gingerbread decorations, and the keyboard is almost difficult to find under all the decorations. He is plinking out a tune with one finger -- I think it might have been "Here Comes the Bride."
He gets up from the piano and turns around to face us. He gives me this ingratiating (read "smarmy") smile and holds out his hand. He asks me "What can I do for you?" or something similar.
Guy 1 explains the situation to Guy 2. Guy 2 nods and smiles again as if he understands exactly what's happened and how he (Guy 2) can remedy the situation.
As Guy 2 explains to me, all I have to do is X, which sounds pretty simple and not completely out of the question for me to do. Then he can do his part to fix the problem. But the tone in his voice, his facial expressions make it clear to me that he also expects a considerable expression of gratitude to him (Guy 2) coming from me as and after he completes the things he has to do to enable me to get my money.
I find this objectionable and express somehow to him that I have no intention of showing that level of gratitude and thanks. I feel he should simply do this thing to help me just because he should do this thing. It's inappropriate for him to expect groveling from me.
I tell him if that's the basis for him doing what he needs to do, then just don't bother. He's annoyed and tries to convince me that he's wonderful for granting me this favor.
Now, I don't absolutely need the cash. It would be nice to have but nothing more. So I stand firm. He keeps trying to get some expression of gratitude from me -- again and again. When I'm convinced that he's just not going to do his thing unless I surrender, I walk out.
__________________________________
WHAT DOES ALL THIS MEAN?
Unlike my previous "Bad Dreams" (which I continue not to understand), I fairly quickly applied an interpretation to the dream:
Guy 2 is the God that I keep reading about in the assigned readings from The School of the Spirit. So many writers in these readings gush (sorry, tough word, but that's where I'm at just now) at the manifold blessings that God has bestowed on them. And that they are delighted to have surrendered to him (God) and want to live always in the shelter of His protective shadow. And that their sole ambition in life is to do His will.
(Historical note: the time during which I write this, I am working to construct a framework for my God. My understanding of God. I'm stuck at the moment between an all-covering/understanding/powerful/demanding God and the Tao. Neither image settles well within me anymore.
So I am "reading" my dream as a confrontation with that all-everything God, and reading Guy 1 as being a minister or priest or some such who is a disciple to that God.
It makes sense to me that Deb should disappear from the dream when she does, since my quest, my journey is obviously a one-person trip.
Given the clarity of feeling I have about this interpretation, I'm wondering if my previous Bad Dreams were something of a warm-up exercise, and that future Bad Dream (which I'm pretty sure are coming!) will maintain that clarity.
Wednesday, November 28, 2018
Bad Dreams 03 -- Morning of 11/28/18
(I woke up from this dream around 2:45 AM. This seems to be about the same time again and again when Bad Dreams occur.)
At the start of my dream, I am closing up some kind of deal with Ryan Shiflet. It's a smallish kind of agreement and it seems to me that it's mutually agreeable on a most friendly basis. I think it takes place with Ryan outside the building where I am, and we're discussing things through an open window -- but I may have that confused with the end of the dream, where this is certainly the case.
I see/sense that I'm alone now in my family's old house at 1209 Tupelo Place on Wilson Point, near Baltimore. Somewhere in the dream narrative around this point, I get a note from Ryan telling me to stop -- but it's not clear to me at all what it is that I'm supposed to stop doing. And I'm surprised because I thought everything was perfectly okay between him and me.
And then I am shot from a crossbow. I hear the "twang" of the bow string and the bolt penetrates my body. This happens twice: the first time I don't recall where the bolt hits me, but I remove the bolt without any difficulty or pain. And I don't bleed. The second time, I'm hit in the neck. I hear the "twang" a second time just as I'm hit. I'm pretty sure it hits me close to the area where my cancer originated. Where my surgeries took place. I remove this bolt as well. There doesn't seem to be a pointed head on wither bolt, which is why they are so easy to remove. Once again, I'm not in any pain and there's no bleeding.
I know that all the doors and windows in the house are shut, so that the shooter must be in the house with me. But I can't hear or see anything suggesting where he might be.
I'm pretty sure that it's Ryan who's shooting at me. And I'm not frightened of him or his actions, but I certainly wish he'd stop shooting me. And I can't, for the life of me, figure out what he's so upset about.
I try to write a note to Ryan on a sheet of lined tablet paper (which may be torn in half, so I'm writing on the top half. I think that's the case...) In the note, I want to say I'm sorry for whatever I've done to irritate him so, and that I will stop doing it as soon as he explains to me what the issue is. My plan is to tape the note to some surface or other -- I don't recall where. I try to write this note several times, but my handwriting is so bad that I'm concerned he won't be able to read this and therefore possibly misinterpret what I'm trying to say. It's also the case that my ballpoint pen is misbehaving: skipping and then blurping ink.
The scene shifts and now I know I'm in the "new room" at the back of the house with a side-of-the-house window open and I'm talking with Ryan through the window. It's a pleasant enough conversation and I don't want to talk about being shot if the issue (whatever it was!) is now behind us.
Somewhere in this part of the dream, there's another guy outside the house, and I think he's carrying a boomerang. He's disgruntled about something and I think he's mad at our neighbor, Mr. Svec. But he slips into the nothing/nowhere part of the dream and my conversation with Ryan goes on. I don't recall anything we discussed and I don't recall whether it had anything to do with the issue that caused Ryan to shoot me.
I wake up.
At the start of my dream, I am closing up some kind of deal with Ryan Shiflet. It's a smallish kind of agreement and it seems to me that it's mutually agreeable on a most friendly basis. I think it takes place with Ryan outside the building where I am, and we're discussing things through an open window -- but I may have that confused with the end of the dream, where this is certainly the case.
I see/sense that I'm alone now in my family's old house at 1209 Tupelo Place on Wilson Point, near Baltimore. Somewhere in the dream narrative around this point, I get a note from Ryan telling me to stop -- but it's not clear to me at all what it is that I'm supposed to stop doing. And I'm surprised because I thought everything was perfectly okay between him and me.
And then I am shot from a crossbow. I hear the "twang" of the bow string and the bolt penetrates my body. This happens twice: the first time I don't recall where the bolt hits me, but I remove the bolt without any difficulty or pain. And I don't bleed. The second time, I'm hit in the neck. I hear the "twang" a second time just as I'm hit. I'm pretty sure it hits me close to the area where my cancer originated. Where my surgeries took place. I remove this bolt as well. There doesn't seem to be a pointed head on wither bolt, which is why they are so easy to remove. Once again, I'm not in any pain and there's no bleeding.
I know that all the doors and windows in the house are shut, so that the shooter must be in the house with me. But I can't hear or see anything suggesting where he might be.
I'm pretty sure that it's Ryan who's shooting at me. And I'm not frightened of him or his actions, but I certainly wish he'd stop shooting me. And I can't, for the life of me, figure out what he's so upset about.
I try to write a note to Ryan on a sheet of lined tablet paper (which may be torn in half, so I'm writing on the top half. I think that's the case...) In the note, I want to say I'm sorry for whatever I've done to irritate him so, and that I will stop doing it as soon as he explains to me what the issue is. My plan is to tape the note to some surface or other -- I don't recall where. I try to write this note several times, but my handwriting is so bad that I'm concerned he won't be able to read this and therefore possibly misinterpret what I'm trying to say. It's also the case that my ballpoint pen is misbehaving: skipping and then blurping ink.
The scene shifts and now I know I'm in the "new room" at the back of the house with a side-of-the-house window open and I'm talking with Ryan through the window. It's a pleasant enough conversation and I don't want to talk about being shot if the issue (whatever it was!) is now behind us.
Somewhere in this part of the dream, there's another guy outside the house, and I think he's carrying a boomerang. He's disgruntled about something and I think he's mad at our neighbor, Mr. Svec. But he slips into the nothing/nowhere part of the dream and my conversation with Ryan goes on. I don't recall anything we discussed and I don't recall whether it had anything to do with the issue that caused Ryan to shoot me.
I wake up.
Tuesday, November 20, 2018
Bad Dreams 02 -- morning of 11/20/18
Following shortly after "Bad Dreams 1," I've fallen asleep and am in a different dream:
I am in an old-fashioned store -- one where the products are all located behind a counter, requiring the customer to ask specifically for something. And I want to purchase either some tape or some Band Aids, I don't recall which.
The clerks behind the counter are three boys in their early teens. They are quite busy talking to each other and looking at something on the counter -- quite possibly located under a piece of glass. They point at different places of the item, ignoring me completely. I ask again and again for service, and every now and then one of them looks up at me blankly but quickly rejoins the conversation and examination of the thing on the counter. Something that, from my perspective, I can't see.
I get louder and more insistent that I wish to purchase something and occasionally one of the boys looks like he's almost ready to pay attention to me. I see the item that I want sitting on a shelf behind the boys. I realize that I could simply lean over the counter and take it, but I'm reluctant to do that.
I am in an old-fashioned store -- one where the products are all located behind a counter, requiring the customer to ask specifically for something. And I want to purchase either some tape or some Band Aids, I don't recall which.
The clerks behind the counter are three boys in their early teens. They are quite busy talking to each other and looking at something on the counter -- quite possibly located under a piece of glass. They point at different places of the item, ignoring me completely. I ask again and again for service, and every now and then one of them looks up at me blankly but quickly rejoins the conversation and examination of the thing on the counter. Something that, from my perspective, I can't see.
I get louder and more insistent that I wish to purchase something and occasionally one of the boys looks like he's almost ready to pay attention to me. I see the item that I want sitting on a shelf behind the boys. I realize that I could simply lean over the counter and take it, but I'm reluctant to do that.
Bad Dreams 01 -- night of 11/19/18
In my dream, I am driving a car -- I think it's my new VW -- and come up to what might be a short cut on my route to wherever I was headed. A road -- or maybe driveway -- appeared ahead of me. I'd never taken that way before, if it had an outlet on the other side, it would save me a traffic light or two and some considerable distance. So I take the turn -- out of curiosity as anything else. I'm not in a hurry. It's a left turn onto the "road."
The pavement winds around a bit so that I couldn't see exactly where it was going before I turned. In fact, it led behind a building and lead to a parking lot (sized for maybe 30 cars or so) -- without any cars parked there. I don't think there are lines painted on the pavement showing where cars should park. But there are several people standing ahead of me: a tall man and several shorter people that appear to be women. They're all looking in my direction. The tall man gestures suggesting that I should stop. As in: "You can't exit in this direction and I don't want you to turn your car around and leave." So I drive forward a bit and stop the car. The people in front of me do not look angry or dangerous. They're all dressed well and have pleasant-to-neutral looks on their faces.
The man chastises me for driving into this area without permission and without really understanding what I was doing. I think I tell him I'm sorry and that I won't repeat the "offense."
The scene shifts and now I'm inside a building and "know" that it's the building that I saw just to the left of the parking lot. The building for which the lot was designed and built. The room is large with a drop ceiling that seems to be a bit lower than it should be. The room is "under lit," in that I can see what's nearby (if there had been anything nearby, but the room appears to be empty except for him and me) but the light fades as it goes into the corners of the room. It's not dirty but it has the feeling of not having been used in a considerable period of time. It has a "tired-looking" linoleum floor.
The man is explaining to me that, in essence, I can't leave without his permission(?) and that he wasn't going to give that any time soon. In words I can't remember, he outlines how stupid and dangerous it would be for me to try to leave. It's quite possible that I no longer have my car keys.
The scene shifts again. I'm still in the same room, but now there are a few other people with me. They're trapped just as I am. Being a newer in our condition, some of them are still walking slowly around, bewildered. New people "magically" appear as time moves on -- all of whom are suffering the same fate.
The tall man appears in the scene from time to time. He's always congenial and pleasant but firm and insistent that we must all stay until he decides differently. And that doesn't seem to be something likely to happen. Maybe ever. There's no suggestion as to what plans he may have for us
Now there is a table with stackable office chairs around it in the room. No one is anywhere near that area. But the thought occurs to me that we might use the chairs as weapons and clobber the tall man and get ourselves out of the building. But some concern arises that the women might get engaged in the conflict and maybe one or more of them is armed. And if out insurrection fails, the consequences could be severe. So we don't do anything except shrugging our shoulders at one another and wait for help or inspiration.
AFTERMATH
I wake up (the clock ways 2:00 AM) and visit the bathroom. When I come back to bed, I don't fall asleep quickly, but the narrative of the dream continues: I ask "What if we..." and the answer comes back "Not a great idea because..." or "No, that won't work." It's like the dream continues into my waking space and it insists on keeping me trapped in that situation.
It's not fair, of course, or so it seems to me, but the tall man reminds me of Tony Martin. (Although his face doesn't show the stresses that Tony's face often shows.)
The pavement winds around a bit so that I couldn't see exactly where it was going before I turned. In fact, it led behind a building and lead to a parking lot (sized for maybe 30 cars or so) -- without any cars parked there. I don't think there are lines painted on the pavement showing where cars should park. But there are several people standing ahead of me: a tall man and several shorter people that appear to be women. They're all looking in my direction. The tall man gestures suggesting that I should stop. As in: "You can't exit in this direction and I don't want you to turn your car around and leave." So I drive forward a bit and stop the car. The people in front of me do not look angry or dangerous. They're all dressed well and have pleasant-to-neutral looks on their faces.
The man chastises me for driving into this area without permission and without really understanding what I was doing. I think I tell him I'm sorry and that I won't repeat the "offense."
The scene shifts and now I'm inside a building and "know" that it's the building that I saw just to the left of the parking lot. The building for which the lot was designed and built. The room is large with a drop ceiling that seems to be a bit lower than it should be. The room is "under lit," in that I can see what's nearby (if there had been anything nearby, but the room appears to be empty except for him and me) but the light fades as it goes into the corners of the room. It's not dirty but it has the feeling of not having been used in a considerable period of time. It has a "tired-looking" linoleum floor.
The man is explaining to me that, in essence, I can't leave without his permission(?) and that he wasn't going to give that any time soon. In words I can't remember, he outlines how stupid and dangerous it would be for me to try to leave. It's quite possible that I no longer have my car keys.
The scene shifts again. I'm still in the same room, but now there are a few other people with me. They're trapped just as I am. Being a newer in our condition, some of them are still walking slowly around, bewildered. New people "magically" appear as time moves on -- all of whom are suffering the same fate.
The tall man appears in the scene from time to time. He's always congenial and pleasant but firm and insistent that we must all stay until he decides differently. And that doesn't seem to be something likely to happen. Maybe ever. There's no suggestion as to what plans he may have for us
Now there is a table with stackable office chairs around it in the room. No one is anywhere near that area. But the thought occurs to me that we might use the chairs as weapons and clobber the tall man and get ourselves out of the building. But some concern arises that the women might get engaged in the conflict and maybe one or more of them is armed. And if out insurrection fails, the consequences could be severe. So we don't do anything except shrugging our shoulders at one another and wait for help or inspiration.
AFTERMATH
I wake up (the clock ways 2:00 AM) and visit the bathroom. When I come back to bed, I don't fall asleep quickly, but the narrative of the dream continues: I ask "What if we..." and the answer comes back "Not a great idea because..." or "No, that won't work." It's like the dream continues into my waking space and it insists on keeping me trapped in that situation.
It's not fair, of course, or so it seems to me, but the tall man reminds me of Tony Martin. (Although his face doesn't show the stresses that Tony's face often shows.)
Saturday, November 10, 2018
My Rule of Life
This is Saturday morning, November 10, 2018. Our SN11 class has been gently tasked with developing a Rule of Life. This process started yesterday evening with discussions about the Early Christian Church and the Rules of Life developed by St. Augustine and St. Benedict.
These "Rules" are sets of guidelines/principles -- either for an individual or a communal group -- that describe one's current desired direction and activity. It can be a short document allowing lots of leeway inside some basic ideals or excruciatingly detailed (how to dress, eat, etc.). St. Augustine did the first type and St. Benedict did the second one. The document, as I understand it, is a living one -- meant to be adjusted to make it more accurate and/or pertinent with experience and to be adjusted as one's life changes. New items can be added and old ones discarded.
So now it's my job to begin such a document. And I'm stalling, waiting for inspiration... okay, here goes. Here's who I think I am:
-- I'm smart, or at least intelligent. This seems always to be a primary facet of my self description. It has been a wonderful resource all my life -- but, it would seem, occasionally an impediment to my personal growth and perhaps my happiness and fulfillment as a human being.
-- I'm an introvert. I'm not necessarily shy, which is different.
-- I'm articulate.
-- I have some musical ability. I'd rather not describe it as "talent."
-- I have a yearning for something. A sense of fulfillment. A sense of purpose.
-- I like to help people.
-- I spent a lot more time with my Mom than Dad -- mainly because he was the working partner in the marriage for most of the time. But nowadays, I think a lot more about my Dad.
-- I easily slip into feeling like an outsider. I don't fit. Maybe even I'm not welcome, only tolerated.
-- I know I make a lot of snap judgments about people. The session we had on Projection really hit home. I think that applies to a lot of other people but so what?
-- I'm reluctant to "give in" to religion. I keep telling myself that Occam's Razor doesn't require it. That it can all be explained other ways. That our tendencies to Gestalt thinking are responsible for much of what folks consider interactions with God. We're human -- we love stories.
-- That I'm not at all sure I know what Love is. Fondness I get. Commitment I get. Getting pleasure from interacting with I get. Am I missing something? Fascination with him/her I get. Loyalty I get. Trust I get.
These "Rules" are sets of guidelines/principles -- either for an individual or a communal group -- that describe one's current desired direction and activity. It can be a short document allowing lots of leeway inside some basic ideals or excruciatingly detailed (how to dress, eat, etc.). St. Augustine did the first type and St. Benedict did the second one. The document, as I understand it, is a living one -- meant to be adjusted to make it more accurate and/or pertinent with experience and to be adjusted as one's life changes. New items can be added and old ones discarded.
So now it's my job to begin such a document. And I'm stalling, waiting for inspiration... okay, here goes. Here's who I think I am:
-- I'm smart, or at least intelligent. This seems always to be a primary facet of my self description. It has been a wonderful resource all my life -- but, it would seem, occasionally an impediment to my personal growth and perhaps my happiness and fulfillment as a human being.
-- I'm an introvert. I'm not necessarily shy, which is different.
-- I'm articulate.
-- I have some musical ability. I'd rather not describe it as "talent."
-- I have a yearning for something. A sense of fulfillment. A sense of purpose.
-- I like to help people.
-- I spent a lot more time with my Mom than Dad -- mainly because he was the working partner in the marriage for most of the time. But nowadays, I think a lot more about my Dad.
-- I easily slip into feeling like an outsider. I don't fit. Maybe even I'm not welcome, only tolerated.
-- I know I make a lot of snap judgments about people. The session we had on Projection really hit home. I think that applies to a lot of other people but so what?
-- I'm reluctant to "give in" to religion. I keep telling myself that Occam's Razor doesn't require it. That it can all be explained other ways. That our tendencies to Gestalt thinking are responsible for much of what folks consider interactions with God. We're human -- we love stories.
-- That I'm not at all sure I know what Love is. Fondness I get. Commitment I get. Getting pleasure from interacting with I get. Am I missing something? Fascination with him/her I get. Loyalty I get. Trust I get.
I need to do something about Patsy. Maybe.
I'm Gaining more and more appreciation for my fellow students in SN11. People who have been through tough times and come out better for it. People who are going through tough times and holding up admirably. People who are supporting others (family, friends) who are going through tough times and doing it with grace.
Which brings me to how I respond to Patsy. Now, this is small and mean of me, I suppose, but I'm trying to "be real" in hopes that some light will come shining through the murk.
In a conversation, Patsy has an anecdote she needs to share in which she did it sooner, better, with more impressive people watching on, etc. She refuses to recognize the contribution of the previous speaker, which is, in my book, belittling the other.
When we visited the Space Age Meeting House, our host was genial, helpful, thoughtful. And after his semi-formal presentation, he asked, in the nicest possible way, if he would now be allowed to go home. Following which Patsy suggested that everyone start to chant. Our host smiled and sat down until we were finished. Completely thoughtless.
Whenever anyone is explaining almost anything, Patsy is smiling (I almost said "smirking") and bobbing her head. As if to say, "Yes, I know all about that."
She seems not to understand that her behavior is begging to pull all the attention to Patsy. Patsy has essentially demanded that the group find another word for "Prayer," because she has issues with it. But she seems to have made no effort on her own part to find that alternative. Not fair.
Now, we did a session on Projection the other day, and it is certainly possible that I'm simply(?) annoyed that her behavior is pulling attention away from me, and that's something I need to look at. I find myself going for the joke almost regardless of the situation and topic. And I recognize that as quite possibly being an effort to do that. I dunno.
Okay, I don't feel any better about this and don't think I'm any closer to finding a way forward. I do feel that there will come a time when the group calls her on her behavior, and I'm waiting to see if that happens.
Which brings me to how I respond to Patsy. Now, this is small and mean of me, I suppose, but I'm trying to "be real" in hopes that some light will come shining through the murk.
In a conversation, Patsy has an anecdote she needs to share in which she did it sooner, better, with more impressive people watching on, etc. She refuses to recognize the contribution of the previous speaker, which is, in my book, belittling the other.
When we visited the Space Age Meeting House, our host was genial, helpful, thoughtful. And after his semi-formal presentation, he asked, in the nicest possible way, if he would now be allowed to go home. Following which Patsy suggested that everyone start to chant. Our host smiled and sat down until we were finished. Completely thoughtless.
Whenever anyone is explaining almost anything, Patsy is smiling (I almost said "smirking") and bobbing her head. As if to say, "Yes, I know all about that."
She seems not to understand that her behavior is begging to pull all the attention to Patsy. Patsy has essentially demanded that the group find another word for "Prayer," because she has issues with it. But she seems to have made no effort on her own part to find that alternative. Not fair.
Now, we did a session on Projection the other day, and it is certainly possible that I'm simply(?) annoyed that her behavior is pulling attention away from me, and that's something I need to look at. I find myself going for the joke almost regardless of the situation and topic. And I recognize that as quite possibly being an effort to do that. I dunno.
Okay, I don't feel any better about this and don't think I'm any closer to finding a way forward. I do feel that there will come a time when the group calls her on her behavior, and I'm waiting to see if that happens.
Friday, November 9, 2018
And what do you suppose that was all about?
I have been "Uncle Randy" since I was 12 or so. In the Boy Scouts. A gentle tease, but nothing more serious than that.
Now, understand that none of my siblings were married at the time -- all of the being in their early teens and younger.
This memory just occurred to me this morning, after yesterday's insight that my "List of Tears" has provided me with a framework for (almost) the entire span of my life.
I'm just saying...
Now, understand that none of my siblings were married at the time -- all of the being in their early teens and younger.
This memory just occurred to me this morning, after yesterday's insight that my "List of Tears" has provided me with a framework for (almost) the entire span of my life.
I'm just saying...
Thursday, November 8, 2018
Residency 2 -- A Good Start
It's funny how I start sessions with one mental posture and get yanked around so quickly...
I was quite pleased to come back here and join with my new-found friends face-to-face. But this quickly changed. In part I'm sure this was because people were just being too loud, although the volume made perfect sense since so many of us care so much for each other and people were excited to see each other. And my introversion came roaring to the surface and I felt I was close to saying things that I would regret later. (I'd be forgiven, of course, but that's not the point.)
And then I remembered that lunch that day had been two candy bars and three cups of coffee. And being frazzled picking up three classmates at the Airport. Didn't help. Nope.
Our post-dinner session started with "Snapshots," which are a person-by-person description of where we've been emotionally, spiritually, etc. since the last Residency. Your Snapshot started with the words: "Picture me..." People engaged in (what seemed to me to be) drawn-out stories of recent events which didn't match up well with the intent of the exercise. But that's me. Anyway, when it came my turn, I had had a chance to think up and discard several optional "Picture me's" and settled on an insight that had just occurred to me. I said "Picture me feeling that I am being helpful to my Monthly Meeting. Not thinking that. Not knowing that. But feeling that." Which is true. And while the first two statements are true and okay by me, the third one -- the "feeling" one -- does not make me feel good at all. Not sure I can explain or understand why. Yet... But it felt like a good piece of Me with which to begin the Residency.
Several insights from our sessions today -- the first full day of the Residency:
A lot more God talk -- which is reasonable since the overarching theme of this Residency is Prayer. We were supposed to engage in an Intercessory Prayer and then break into four-person groups to discuss how it felt, etc. When it came my time to describe what happened to me, I described myself as feeling stuck at the Starting Line of Prayer. That I had this cute little piece of logic with which I could undermine any effort at determining that Prayer actually made a difference.
I could say to myself, "When I pray, I am letting go of something. Distancing myself from an issue. Backing off. So if things change -- for the better, usually -- I can say to myself that of course things worked out. It's because I got some distance from the issue and gained objectivity as well, which allowed me to see a path to make things better. God wasn't necessary for this to happen."
But an alternative description of what took place occurred to me -- with the help of my three fellow participants. And that is that the process of backing away, gaining some objectivity, gaining a new way of seeing was a gift of God.
I had a revelation about my "List of Tears" that came out of the blue: I realized that the events listed in that list had left me disillusioned and disappointed. BUT I realized that I had the right to be angry. Probably at every event on the list -- but I started with the congregation at The Chapel of the Ascension. Why were they so disengaged from what the Minister had to say? Why didn't they recognize the man's sincerity and interest in their welfare? Why didn't his words change them? What was it that they would need to hear to make a change? Were they at the Chapel simply because it was convenient and their friends were there?
Why was nobody available to help me?
I was quite pleased to come back here and join with my new-found friends face-to-face. But this quickly changed. In part I'm sure this was because people were just being too loud, although the volume made perfect sense since so many of us care so much for each other and people were excited to see each other. And my introversion came roaring to the surface and I felt I was close to saying things that I would regret later. (I'd be forgiven, of course, but that's not the point.)
And then I remembered that lunch that day had been two candy bars and three cups of coffee. And being frazzled picking up three classmates at the Airport. Didn't help. Nope.
Our post-dinner session started with "Snapshots," which are a person-by-person description of where we've been emotionally, spiritually, etc. since the last Residency. Your Snapshot started with the words: "Picture me..." People engaged in (what seemed to me to be) drawn-out stories of recent events which didn't match up well with the intent of the exercise. But that's me. Anyway, when it came my turn, I had had a chance to think up and discard several optional "Picture me's" and settled on an insight that had just occurred to me. I said "Picture me feeling that I am being helpful to my Monthly Meeting. Not thinking that. Not knowing that. But feeling that." Which is true. And while the first two statements are true and okay by me, the third one -- the "feeling" one -- does not make me feel good at all. Not sure I can explain or understand why. Yet... But it felt like a good piece of Me with which to begin the Residency.
Several insights from our sessions today -- the first full day of the Residency:
A lot more God talk -- which is reasonable since the overarching theme of this Residency is Prayer. We were supposed to engage in an Intercessory Prayer and then break into four-person groups to discuss how it felt, etc. When it came my time to describe what happened to me, I described myself as feeling stuck at the Starting Line of Prayer. That I had this cute little piece of logic with which I could undermine any effort at determining that Prayer actually made a difference.
I could say to myself, "When I pray, I am letting go of something. Distancing myself from an issue. Backing off. So if things change -- for the better, usually -- I can say to myself that of course things worked out. It's because I got some distance from the issue and gained objectivity as well, which allowed me to see a path to make things better. God wasn't necessary for this to happen."
But an alternative description of what took place occurred to me -- with the help of my three fellow participants. And that is that the process of backing away, gaining some objectivity, gaining a new way of seeing was a gift of God.
I had a revelation about my "List of Tears" that came out of the blue: I realized that the events listed in that list had left me disillusioned and disappointed. BUT I realized that I had the right to be angry. Probably at every event on the list -- but I started with the congregation at The Chapel of the Ascension. Why were they so disengaged from what the Minister had to say? Why didn't they recognize the man's sincerity and interest in their welfare? Why didn't his words change them? What was it that they would need to hear to make a change? Were they at the Chapel simply because it was convenient and their friends were there?
Why was nobody available to help me?
Friday, November 2, 2018
More Adventures in the Animal Kingdom
As I was helping get
breakfast ready this morning, a moth flew into the kitchen. Biggish moth.
Size of a matchbook cover. It
flew up against a window and fluttered there – obviously looking for a way out of the house.
I captured it in a juice
glass with an index card cover and escorted it out to the front porch. As I walked to the door with it, I took the
opportunity to look carefully at the animal and appreciate how gorgeous it was. Subtle collection of grays and browns. Proper Quaker attire. When I set the glass down on the front step
and took off the covering card, the moth took a few moments on the inside of
the glass to get properly oriented, and then it flew up and landed on my head –
right next to my ear.
Now, if it had landed on
my hair or my pajamas, I might not have noticed and possibly carried it back
into the house accidentally. But the sound
of soft fluttering as it approached my head followed by the gentle caress of
the moths wings made it easy to discern what was happening.
It stayed there for
several seconds and I had the feeling it was saying “Thank you!” in moth-ese. So I said “You’re welcome.” And the moth flew away into the early morning
sky.
Monday, October 22, 2018
My Journey Flooded with Tears -- an Update
In the past several weeks, I've "talked through" my Journey List with two people who know me quite well. People whom I trust to listen thoroughly; not make judgmental pronouncements; not try to fix, solve, heal anything.
Jean-Marie is a clinical psychologist and a very long-term personal friend. She knows me from my early twenties and was Deb's roommate back at Swarthmore. She listened attentively and asked a few questions. I think it was during this session that I understood that none of the issues listed on my Journey involved people being mean to me. I was never physically abused by my parents or anyone else. People have said negative things to me, of course, but I was never bullied or humiliated in front of people.
I wish I could say that I totally understand this bit about there not being anything to fix or solve, but the fact of the matter is that I feel there's some kind of resolution/healing/understanding that will "make things right."
At the end of my session with Allison, she mentioned that there was something she has recognized in me from when we first met: that I had a huge heart. And that was a long time ago and I have changed immensely since back then. But Allison still feels that way about me. My heart. And that sunk in deeply. I'm bewildered as to what to do with that information.
I recognize that the tears -- which I shed at each of the above two sessions -- come from something like disappointment or disillusionment. No Santa Claus.
Geez, maybe I shouldn't be writing this. I've been wrestling with printing School Board Dropbox reports and am still grumpy about the formatting that people have used. Can't get decent printouts for my Recording Clerk responsibilities. Disappointment at a different level.
Maybe what I "need to learn" (bad phrase, can't think of another) is not so much what happened to me at each of these events but how I responded to them. Just understand? Is that too much to ask for? Not enough? Not needed? (It sounds a lot like solving, healing...)
Jean-Marie is a clinical psychologist and a very long-term personal friend. She knows me from my early twenties and was Deb's roommate back at Swarthmore. She listened attentively and asked a few questions. I think it was during this session that I understood that none of the issues listed on my Journey involved people being mean to me. I was never physically abused by my parents or anyone else. People have said negative things to me, of course, but I was never bullied or humiliated in front of people.
I wish I could say that I totally understand this bit about there not being anything to fix or solve, but the fact of the matter is that I feel there's some kind of resolution/healing/understanding that will "make things right."
At the end of my session with Allison, she mentioned that there was something she has recognized in me from when we first met: that I had a huge heart. And that was a long time ago and I have changed immensely since back then. But Allison still feels that way about me. My heart. And that sunk in deeply. I'm bewildered as to what to do with that information.
I recognize that the tears -- which I shed at each of the above two sessions -- come from something like disappointment or disillusionment. No Santa Claus.
Geez, maybe I shouldn't be writing this. I've been wrestling with printing School Board Dropbox reports and am still grumpy about the formatting that people have used. Can't get decent printouts for my Recording Clerk responsibilities. Disappointment at a different level.
Maybe what I "need to learn" (bad phrase, can't think of another) is not so much what happened to me at each of these events but how I responded to them. Just understand? Is that too much to ask for? Not enough? Not needed? (It sounds a lot like solving, healing...)
Sunday, October 14, 2018
Seek and ye shall...
In this posting, I'm simply reporting what happened. I'm not ready to place any particular meaning on these events. Capisce?
To begin with, two things need to be understood:
Thing 1. I received a Summons to Jury Duty some time ago, and I've been really pleased and excited about the prospect of reporting for Duty and getting to know first-hand this vital part of our society functions. And I knew that the Summons was an Important Piece of Paper that I would need. (It says so on the Paper.) So I placed it in A Very Important and Secure Place. And when I went to find the paper several days before I was to report... I couldn't remember which Very Important Place I had used to stash the Summons. I checked every VISP I could think of where I might have placed this paper, but to no avail.
Thing 2. (And this Thing is coming into sharper focus as I get deeper into the Spiritual Nurturing program of The School of the Spirit.) I wrestle with the notion of God as being an entity aware of my existence and doing things to my benefit and answering my prayers. When I was going through my cancer treatments, I would kneel beside my bed and apologize to God for not paying more attention to Him. And I must admit I thought that was a safe thing to do because if there was no one there to hear my prayer, that was okay. But if there was, maybe He could help assure that I would come safely through my treatment regimes and be healthy again. And if there wasn't, well, no harm done. Of my three Magesteria, neither the Tao Teh Ching nor my understanding of Buddhism require such cognizance on an existential basis. And in addition, my understanding of Occam's Razor suggests that such a God is an unnecessary complication to understanding the Universe.
So here's what happened:
This morning (i.e., the day before I might have been required to bring my Summons to the Justice Center and report for Duty), I was meditating much as I usually do first thing of the day. And I found myself praying "Okay, I need to be honest about this. I'm not at all sure there's anyone Out There listening to my prayer. But if there is, I really want to find that Summons today and I would appreciate help in that effort." Not very flowery or subservient I will grant you, but heartfelt. And after finishing meditation, I went downstairs to breakfast.
But before I got to the kitchen to help prepare things, I checked in a place for the Summons -- a place that I had either forgot to look in and/or felt it highly unlikely that I would have placed the Summons there. But in either case, the Summons was, in fact, there. I had been looking for a business-size envelope from the County, but because there were several pieces of paper associated with the Summons, I placed them all in a much larger envelope and placed it in a vertical file behind several other envelopes of the same size. I don't know why I forgot I had done this, but I forget more things lately than I care to think about. In any case, the information on the Summons showed that I did not have to report tomorrow (Monday) because my Pool Order Number was greater than the number of people called with lower numbers. Meaning that I need to report on Tuesday, rather than Monday.
Now Sherlock Holmes is reported to have said "Once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains -- no matter how unlikely -- must be the truth." And as I mull over these events, I keep bouncing between "Yes, I did get the help I needed." and "Sherlock explained what actually happened."
As mentioned earlier, I'm simply reporting what happened, and not taking sides in the analysis.
To begin with, two things need to be understood:
Thing 1. I received a Summons to Jury Duty some time ago, and I've been really pleased and excited about the prospect of reporting for Duty and getting to know first-hand this vital part of our society functions. And I knew that the Summons was an Important Piece of Paper that I would need. (It says so on the Paper.) So I placed it in A Very Important and Secure Place. And when I went to find the paper several days before I was to report... I couldn't remember which Very Important Place I had used to stash the Summons. I checked every VISP I could think of where I might have placed this paper, but to no avail.
Thing 2. (And this Thing is coming into sharper focus as I get deeper into the Spiritual Nurturing program of The School of the Spirit.) I wrestle with the notion of God as being an entity aware of my existence and doing things to my benefit and answering my prayers. When I was going through my cancer treatments, I would kneel beside my bed and apologize to God for not paying more attention to Him. And I must admit I thought that was a safe thing to do because if there was no one there to hear my prayer, that was okay. But if there was, maybe He could help assure that I would come safely through my treatment regimes and be healthy again. And if there wasn't, well, no harm done. Of my three Magesteria, neither the Tao Teh Ching nor my understanding of Buddhism require such cognizance on an existential basis. And in addition, my understanding of Occam's Razor suggests that such a God is an unnecessary complication to understanding the Universe.
So here's what happened:
This morning (i.e., the day before I might have been required to bring my Summons to the Justice Center and report for Duty), I was meditating much as I usually do first thing of the day. And I found myself praying "Okay, I need to be honest about this. I'm not at all sure there's anyone Out There listening to my prayer. But if there is, I really want to find that Summons today and I would appreciate help in that effort." Not very flowery or subservient I will grant you, but heartfelt. And after finishing meditation, I went downstairs to breakfast.
But before I got to the kitchen to help prepare things, I checked in a place for the Summons -- a place that I had either forgot to look in and/or felt it highly unlikely that I would have placed the Summons there. But in either case, the Summons was, in fact, there. I had been looking for a business-size envelope from the County, but because there were several pieces of paper associated with the Summons, I placed them all in a much larger envelope and placed it in a vertical file behind several other envelopes of the same size. I don't know why I forgot I had done this, but I forget more things lately than I care to think about. In any case, the information on the Summons showed that I did not have to report tomorrow (Monday) because my Pool Order Number was greater than the number of people called with lower numbers. Meaning that I need to report on Tuesday, rather than Monday.
Now Sherlock Holmes is reported to have said "Once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains -- no matter how unlikely -- must be the truth." And as I mull over these events, I keep bouncing between "Yes, I did get the help I needed." and "Sherlock explained what actually happened."
As mentioned earlier, I'm simply reporting what happened, and not taking sides in the analysis.
Saturday, October 13, 2018
"Book Reviews"
I've received a considerable number of responses to my SN11 posting titled "The Reading Assignments." In that post, I whine about what a chore it is to read the articles, pamphlets, books assigned to us. Some of the assignments are essentially things I know pretty well and don't feel the need for a "refresher." Some of the assignments use words or ideas that I simply don't understand (because they're stated in a vague way that has multiple meanings or because they use terms or concepts with which I'm not familiar). Some because I disagree (sometimes strongly disagree) with the ideas being presented.
So I came up with this thought -- inspired in part by a response from Evelyn to my posting: I will write a review of each assignment here, expressing myself in a plain, straightforward manner. And maybe that will help me see where the issue(s) truly is(are).
To Pray and to Love Roberta Bondi. I found this book difficult to read any more than a few pages before giving up. Again and again. My feeling is that she had some ideas about prayer and stretched these ideas out with unnecessary verbiage to create paragraphs and then chapters. She punctuates the points she's trying to make with quotes from the Desert Mothers and Desert Fathers -- some of which were quite nice and I'm glad I read them. The quotes, that is. She seemed to use these quotes as affirmation that her ideas were based on a sound theology because people felt that way thousands of years ago. Her theology -- as I understood it -- includes a strong belief in sin (or is she simply saying that other people have a strong belief in sin? I don't know...) I got the feeling that she believes that even people who have sinned are capable of redemption and no one is beyond God's love. Okay. This idea, and several others, seemed to be returning in the text again and again. Hey, I get it!! Like a number of other books and articles and pamphlets we've been assigned, the author needed a good editor to turn (in this case) a 138-page book into a 75-pager. I would like to think that she would use her training and expertise in the Early Church into a more concise description of who these people were: much heavier on the quotes and lighter on her own feelings about sin and so forth. By my account, there were over 300 footnotes -- documenting (I guess) the assertions that she was making. Need I say they were not helpful in understanding the ideas she was writing about? She is/was a Professor at Oxford. I think it shows. Maybe if I were a student of her topics, I would have appreciated the book and the footnotes more.
So I came up with this thought -- inspired in part by a response from Evelyn to my posting: I will write a review of each assignment here, expressing myself in a plain, straightforward manner. And maybe that will help me see where the issue(s) truly is(are).
To Pray and to Love Roberta Bondi. I found this book difficult to read any more than a few pages before giving up. Again and again. My feeling is that she had some ideas about prayer and stretched these ideas out with unnecessary verbiage to create paragraphs and then chapters. She punctuates the points she's trying to make with quotes from the Desert Mothers and Desert Fathers -- some of which were quite nice and I'm glad I read them. The quotes, that is. She seemed to use these quotes as affirmation that her ideas were based on a sound theology because people felt that way thousands of years ago. Her theology -- as I understood it -- includes a strong belief in sin (or is she simply saying that other people have a strong belief in sin? I don't know...) I got the feeling that she believes that even people who have sinned are capable of redemption and no one is beyond God's love. Okay. This idea, and several others, seemed to be returning in the text again and again. Hey, I get it!! Like a number of other books and articles and pamphlets we've been assigned, the author needed a good editor to turn (in this case) a 138-page book into a 75-pager. I would like to think that she would use her training and expertise in the Early Church into a more concise description of who these people were: much heavier on the quotes and lighter on her own feelings about sin and so forth. By my account, there were over 300 footnotes -- documenting (I guess) the assertions that she was making. Need I say they were not helpful in understanding the ideas she was writing about? She is/was a Professor at Oxford. I think it shows. Maybe if I were a student of her topics, I would have appreciated the book and the footnotes more.
Friday, October 5, 2018
A Rest Stop on my Journey, and...
and a chance to get my bearings a bit. This is a follow-up to the posting about how my Journey is flooded with tears.
Today was my opportunity to sit with Jean-Marie and replay my experience at the School of the Spirit. I took two copies of my list of waypoints on my Journey so that each of us had one. So we started with my giving J-M the full description of what took place and my suggestion that we simply do the replay and see what happened: will I "fall apart" again or will I keep it together? (Either one would be perfectly fine, and either one would tell me something about the previous experience.)
On the previous occasion, I got to Item 3 or so on the list before I started getting caught and by Item 5 or so, I was flat-out crying. (Or was I weeping? This is a question that may open another door to understand what is/was going on. But that's for later -- if ever.)
In any case, this time I didn't even start the list before I started getting emotional. And the rest of the exercise went more or less like the previous occasion.
With the previous experience to call on, I sensed the feeling of disappointment, disillusionment as I went step by step through the list. And J-M added comments from time to time, but basically gave me lots of space to consider and recover as I went down through the list. Oh, and here's the list for future reference:
1. Tell Me About God
New understandings from our conversation include the similarity of Item 5 on the list and Item 12. In both cases, people around me seemed to be mouthing words that didn't have any serious meaning to them. (No, few people if anyone in the Church would "be true to Thee 'til Death. And few people if anyone at Full Spectrum knew anything about Shiva. In both cases, folks seemed to me to be doing what was expected of them. So this is not hypocrisy so much as shallowness.) I was expecting a deeper understanding and/of commitment to what people were saying/singing, and that just wasn't going to happen. (J-M suggested that one of the things that sets Quakers apart from other folks is that they pay more attention to the words they are saying/singing. And, in jest, one of the reasons that Quakers don't sing so much is that each person in the group needs to parse carefully the words in the hymns they're expected to sing. I told her the joke about The Discussion Group about Heaven.)
J-M had nothing to say or add or explain concerning the Exclusivity of Christianity. I have to believe she has opinions on the subject, but understood that now was not the time to share them.
It had not occurred to me until today how many of the elements of the list dealt with disillusionment and/or disappointment. I'm not going to try and box up the reasons why that's true. It's simply an observation.
And it had not occurred to me how much finding the Tao Teh Ching represented a reprieve from this list of disappointments and disillusionments.
I'm now smart enough to know that I have a tendency to look at today's experience and try to put a name on it and a rational description. Put it in a box and give it a label. And J-M and I agreed that it was wonderful that there's so much of The School of the Spirit time and experience ahead of me. And that it is time to allow all of what's happened to me in this part of the journey to open itself up to me. I stand in the doorway that was, until recently, pretty completely closed. This will change. I can't and shouldn't try to rush it.
I can have faith that the door will continue to open and I will see more and more. And walking through the doorway becomes more and more of an option as this occurs. There is time. There is a Way. There may or may not be Answers to Questions and Explanations to Events, but they must be allowed to come at their own pace. Trying to rush them would be an unfortunate choice.
J-M and I chatted about how Things just Seem to Happen in an ordered and supportive way. If you want to call them miracles or gifts from a caring God, that's fine. If you want to see them as the natural results of Following the Tao, that's okay too. It's not a choice you have to make. I mean, a choice I have to make.
Today was my opportunity to sit with Jean-Marie and replay my experience at the School of the Spirit. I took two copies of my list of waypoints on my Journey so that each of us had one. So we started with my giving J-M the full description of what took place and my suggestion that we simply do the replay and see what happened: will I "fall apart" again or will I keep it together? (Either one would be perfectly fine, and either one would tell me something about the previous experience.)
On the previous occasion, I got to Item 3 or so on the list before I started getting caught and by Item 5 or so, I was flat-out crying. (Or was I weeping? This is a question that may open another door to understand what is/was going on. But that's for later -- if ever.)
In any case, this time I didn't even start the list before I started getting emotional. And the rest of the exercise went more or less like the previous occasion.
With the previous experience to call on, I sensed the feeling of disappointment, disillusionment as I went step by step through the list. And J-M added comments from time to time, but basically gave me lots of space to consider and recover as I went down through the list. Oh, and here's the list for future reference:
1. Tell Me About God
2.
Singing in the
choir – Church as an obligation and not worship
3.
“What about
the Muslims and the Navajos?”
4.
The Man in the
Brown Suit and Nail Clipping
5.
“Faith of our
Fathers” Really? I mean, Really?
6.
Confirmation
as a completely meaningless exercise
7.
College was
nothing
8.
The Tao The Ching tape in the car
9.
Conscientious
Objection and the AFSC
10.
N. Church
Street on a Sunday morning
11.
Healing in Meadville
12.
Just who is
Shiva, anyway?
13.
The exclusivity
of Christianity. (Now I have a word for
my feelings.)
J-M seemed particularly taken with the event of The Man in the Brown Suit. I think what attracted her to it was that I had more consciously placed my faith in him, and so his behavior was more damaging(?) than other element of the list. Other events on the list were more assumed, background types of things and not so much events of my own creation.
New understandings from our conversation include the similarity of Item 5 on the list and Item 12. In both cases, people around me seemed to be mouthing words that didn't have any serious meaning to them. (No, few people if anyone in the Church would "be true to Thee 'til Death. And few people if anyone at Full Spectrum knew anything about Shiva. In both cases, folks seemed to me to be doing what was expected of them. So this is not hypocrisy so much as shallowness.) I was expecting a deeper understanding and/of commitment to what people were saying/singing, and that just wasn't going to happen. (J-M suggested that one of the things that sets Quakers apart from other folks is that they pay more attention to the words they are saying/singing. And, in jest, one of the reasons that Quakers don't sing so much is that each person in the group needs to parse carefully the words in the hymns they're expected to sing. I told her the joke about The Discussion Group about Heaven.)
J-M had nothing to say or add or explain concerning the Exclusivity of Christianity. I have to believe she has opinions on the subject, but understood that now was not the time to share them.
It had not occurred to me until today how many of the elements of the list dealt with disillusionment and/or disappointment. I'm not going to try and box up the reasons why that's true. It's simply an observation.
And it had not occurred to me how much finding the Tao Teh Ching represented a reprieve from this list of disappointments and disillusionments.
I'm now smart enough to know that I have a tendency to look at today's experience and try to put a name on it and a rational description. Put it in a box and give it a label. And J-M and I agreed that it was wonderful that there's so much of The School of the Spirit time and experience ahead of me. And that it is time to allow all of what's happened to me in this part of the journey to open itself up to me. I stand in the doorway that was, until recently, pretty completely closed. This will change. I can't and shouldn't try to rush it.
I can have faith that the door will continue to open and I will see more and more. And walking through the doorway becomes more and more of an option as this occurs. There is time. There is a Way. There may or may not be Answers to Questions and Explanations to Events, but they must be allowed to come at their own pace. Trying to rush them would be an unfortunate choice.
J-M and I chatted about how Things just Seem to Happen in an ordered and supportive way. If you want to call them miracles or gifts from a caring God, that's fine. If you want to see them as the natural results of Following the Tao, that's okay too. It's not a choice you have to make. I mean, a choice I have to make.
Monday, October 1, 2018
It's not easy being gray... or brown...
I'm going to be held responsible for coming up with a Major Project during my time at The School of the Spirit -- SN11. And I've thought about coming up with one or two or a whole bunch of essays accompanied by photographs. My photographs, of course...
And one of the first essays I've thought about would be about getting older. And using flowers as a counterpoint and example of what I was feeling:
Flowers in full bloom are, of course, perfectly lovely; but the blossoms alone are only a tool to attract pollinators. Germinators. Mainly insects, of course. The Real Action takes place as the blossoms wither and fall away -- exposing the seeds that had been forming behind or inside the blossom. And the seeds are the assurance that the plant or its progeny will survive for another winter and produce yet another group of blossoms to continue the species for another year.
But of equal importance, the seeds are the nourishment of the birds and mammals that depend on them. Animals that would perish without the seeds. And the birds do their part by carrying seeds some distance from the plant that created them and allowing those seeds to drop to the ground and spread the plant species. To create new flowers and yet more seeds to provide more nourishment and spread the plant species even farther.
Blossoms are nice. Seeds are vital.
And the metaphor, then, is that people "blossom" into adulthood, but are growing and developing in ways that were not necessarily obvious. As blossoms do. But when the joys and beauty of youth fall away from us, we're exposed as the essential nature of who and what we are. And we can nourish those around us and spread our wisdom -- our seeds of understanding -- to those who listen. We can write what we know and our wisdom can extend well beyond our time on this planet.
I've been taking a considerable number of photographs of flowers as they fall apart -- exposing the seeds inside. And I've been impressed with the variety of appearances of the seeds...
And so, here's a start on that essay!
And one of the first essays I've thought about would be about getting older. And using flowers as a counterpoint and example of what I was feeling:
Flowers in full bloom are, of course, perfectly lovely; but the blossoms alone are only a tool to attract pollinators. Germinators. Mainly insects, of course. The Real Action takes place as the blossoms wither and fall away -- exposing the seeds that had been forming behind or inside the blossom. And the seeds are the assurance that the plant or its progeny will survive for another winter and produce yet another group of blossoms to continue the species for another year.
But of equal importance, the seeds are the nourishment of the birds and mammals that depend on them. Animals that would perish without the seeds. And the birds do their part by carrying seeds some distance from the plant that created them and allowing those seeds to drop to the ground and spread the plant species. To create new flowers and yet more seeds to provide more nourishment and spread the plant species even farther.
Blossoms are nice. Seeds are vital.
And the metaphor, then, is that people "blossom" into adulthood, but are growing and developing in ways that were not necessarily obvious. As blossoms do. But when the joys and beauty of youth fall away from us, we're exposed as the essential nature of who and what we are. And we can nourish those around us and spread our wisdom -- our seeds of understanding -- to those who listen. We can write what we know and our wisdom can extend well beyond our time on this planet.
I've been taking a considerable number of photographs of flowers as they fall apart -- exposing the seeds inside. And I've been impressed with the variety of appearances of the seeds...
And so, here's a start on that essay!
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