Tag: dream

mandala

When out of flow, there is something left unacknowledged… neglected… something to give away. At times it is a phone call, or promise not yet followed through with (to myself or others). Maybe I’ve not gotten quiet enough for the still small voice of intuition to float up to conscious experience. I begin to ask, “Did I follow the last instruction? What WAS the last instruction?”

Elizabeth Gilbert described a similar sensation recently:

“I am writer. If I have a story in me that I’m not able to tell, things will start going wrong all over my life. If I have a story in my head and I tell it, “I’ll get to you in 2015,” that story will start to rebel, start to act out, start to claw at the walls. That’s when the shit gets dark in my world.

Because having a creative mind is something like a owning Border Terrier; It needs a job. And if you don’t give it a job, it will INVENT a job (which will involve tearing something up.) Which why I have learned over the years that if I am not actively creating something, chances are I am about to start actively destroying something.”    Elizabeth Gilbert

So, here, is my shot in the dark, for what is waiting to be seen…

Mandala

Three years later, I understood the dream mandala. It had been a gathering of distinct scenes, some illuminated. A circle of singing angels was among the bright spots, as were various work places, passageway kitchens. A grand and wide-spreading tree dug into the heart, under which refugees gathered. Yet that area was dark, awaiting resources. I leaned my face nose to nose with a small, unknown child, and felt responsible for her.

On the outskirts of the mandala was a fence, separating the scenes from a parking lot where visitors arrived – people who in some cases were intimate friends, yet couldn’t or wouldn’t, intermingle with the rest. I remember feeling that those inside of the fence would be benefited by their incorporation, but that it wasn’t the only way. A usually tired friend arrived, with long healthy hair, seeming much younger (A few months later she received a large inheritance which unburdened her deepest concerns).

I was looking for my son (a recurring happening from the time he was very young) and could get through some areas very easily but, like a labyrinth, other areas were less welcoming. I tried to climb up a set of small stone stairs and when hindered, another passage appeared, sloping down. There he was. I sat on a bench and simply watched him playing for a while.

….
I have wondered whether this is a story not to tell but to paint, but I don’t paint anymore. I gave up painting because I was mediocre and not as compelled as I have been to write. This afternoon, a cousin from a part of my family I love but am not entwined with, said that she and her parents cherish the painting I gave them… that it remains in their main living room. I couldn’t remember, although it must be a copy of the first painting, the one I lost myself in entirely as though under anesthetic, emerging with it finished and projecting a certain portal energy. The experience of that painting, more than the finished product, felt to be a taste of an entire lifetime… each stroke a particular journey, arising from previous strokes yet also from nowhere, coming together in a restful Flow.

 “Great things are done by a series of small things brought together.”
-Vincent Van Gogh

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Enlightenment, The Secret, and Do-Good-ing

Already last year I knew something had changed; a shift away from “love and light” to something more balanced, or even, dark. Maybe it began with the most intendingly gentle person I’d ever known… the way the judgment and scrutiny I felt in their presence brought me to question the compassion of their way of seeing.

The other night I found myself awake (which happens about once a week: unable to sleep I find a stream and binge on a well-reviewed television show I missed in my previous rejection of TV) and watching Enlightened. Now canceled, it is the story of an executive who has a melt down and flees to an idyllic island rehab, where she has a genuine change of heart – true insights about herself and world. The show is about integration really: what happens upon one’s “returning enlightened to the marketplace” (reference: the Taoist Ox-herding pictures), to interact with the world known before?

enlightened

Enlightened is a validating story, appealing to me for the clash between Laura Dern’s character and the world she no longer fits into, and due to showing that she remains the self-absorbed person she’d been before, but with a bright new new mission which she then projects onto the those around her… a “do-gooder” as she is called by her ex. She is not perfected; she is still unaware of and disconnected from others’ feelings and struggles. And over time one begins to realize how much better this is, than the ideal she sees herself in.

Continue reading “Enlightenment, The Secret, and Do-Good-ing”

5 Years

There’s a project I’ve been involved with for 5 years, as of Valentine’s Day… a love affair that may be over, but not ready to close shop. What I can’t quite figure out yet and am working on, is, what ‘over’ means in this context: transformation, metamorphosis? Or does over mean what it has meant at other key points in life when I clung too tightly and ignored a million signs in order, I thought, to follow through?

Throughout my experience with this project there have come dreams that marked upcoming shifts in uncanny ways, that imparted readiness in me – vision – for what was ahead. The dreams shored up my confidence, validating the intense amount of time and energy I felt driven to invest – both out of sheer pleasure and curiosity, and inexplicable ‘just knowing’, that I ought to be there. But, a few months ago I had a dream of a different feeling, that I shared with just one person.. the person who was in all but one of the other dreams and in that role has always represented the future in some way.

Though it sounds fanciful, it is true that I arrived to what became a rich and creative community – a family for me – by way of hot air balloon, on a whim, after a group meditation. Then dealing with the confines of an estranged marriage, in the sense that I felt estranged from myself while in it, Valentines Day evening was not a night in which I wanted to be alone. My friend and I landed in an open area I would never have found on my own, and quietly eavesdropped on a playful conversation about the nature of Identity, and what it might mean to let notions about our selves, others, and the workings of the world – be turned inside out. Those participating (anyone and everyone who happened to find their way there), would then meet back and report to the group for “peer review.”

I was deeply confused by the premise of the group as explained to me at first. It was founded by an accomplished scientist, meditative, and seemingly had no end goal or intended product, although the amount of time being devoted to having meetings suggested teetering toward some major discovery; it was odd. Due to the personalities of those involved, it was odd enough and intriguing enough, that I couldn’t help myself from going back again, and again, and again. I fell in love. I fell in love intentionally, made some choice, and the affection was reciprocated, multiplied, came rushing back through every crevice of my life, ten thousand fold.

Whereas on that first night we landed softly, in my recent dream we were in the balloon again, but jumped out, witnessed by the particular Guardian who seemed happily to understand the leap as the right thing to do – right timing. In the several weeks that have followed, I’ve lightly mused, imploring myself if there might be any way around feeling it as a sign of moving on, and I don’t think there wants to be. I have the sense that this particular adventure is over, at least in this form, or at least for me.

You cannot understand life and its mysteries as long as you try to grasp it. Indeed, you cannot grasp it, just as you cannot walk off with a river in a bucket. If you try to capture running water in a bucket, it is clear that you do not understand it and that you will always be disappointed, for in the bucket the water does not run. To “have” running water you must let go of it and let it run.” 
~ Alan Wilson Watts