(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.
Wednesday, November 28, 2018
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.
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