Personal blessings--long, dull Moment Of Truth
Listen, you might want to skip this one. It's dull, but I promised Margaret I'd get the details down--she's one of the rare people in the world who likes to read about dreams. But this dream was one of those gifts (from the subconscious, I suppose?) of existence. Won't translate into the real world as so why bother trying? Because it's always good to recall the fact that these are part of one's life.
Actually my favorite life's gift wasn't a dream; it was a moment when I was about 13 years old. Spring in Washington, DC which is a blessing in itself. No city I know does spring better.
Anyway, I sat by an open window and a dog barked and a bird's wings rustled and a phone rang --okay, okay, things liked this happened, I can't remember exactly what they were--and for a moment or maybe even several moments, I was part of the whole thing, a piece of the whole, the whole was a piece of me. I read the same thing in that damn Herman Hesse book a few years later and thought "hey, I've been there!" Nirvana. Wow. So I've had my 1-15 seconds of it and it hasn't happened again. Astoundingly commonplace, astoundingly amazing. I don't even mind that I found that sublime moment a gazillion years ago. Just the echo of it makes me happy, sometimes.
Okay, so the dream last night (Merry Christmas) itself sounds like nonsense. But I woke up with the sensation of having gotten a fine Christmas gift. I thought, by gum, I've seen the solution. I almost feel guilty that I can't somehow get one o' they ford vans and preach the answer to the world, but I see it.
As I wandered through my morning, sitting on the couch, slurping coffee, watching kids open presents, I decided the dream meant that God is a mother and our instructions aren't found in some long book of rules. The rules are quite simple: We're supposed to clean up after ourselves (and do it within a certain time . . . or else!) and we're supposed to be nice to each other and be responsible for other people's happiness.
Enough interpretation. The dream, Margaret. Bits and pieces, mostly stupid.
I was on a boat that was under attack by a force that used tornadoes. That part was scary. I had to put a mattress over my head so the timber wouldn't land on my head. But then I knew how to thwart the bad force. Everyone, and I mean everyone (except the ones who weren't enlightened, silly twits, whoever they were) had to get out and clean up. Yep, by the time the moon set we had to get every bit of trash into bins. All the streams had to be cleaned up, all around the bars and woods and stores. Hundreds of people out cleaning in the dark. Some of us were wearing those big yellow gloves because they were going into really horrible muck to clean. Beer cans out of streams--that kind of cleaning. Scrubbing foundations of buildings, picking up old bottles and cigarette butts from the edge of the tide.
We must have hit our deadline, because at daylight we had some power of our own.
We went to work on the living. We could influence moods with small gestures of kindness, playing it forward, only with more power than usual and with each gesture the power grew stronger. Heck we were walking around making people fall in love with their lives and each other. . . We were watching unpleasant humans slowly turn into someone interesting. A woman who talked too much turned out to play the piano beautifully.
We could eventually play some kind of role of justice too. We could uncover secrets and called up some dead bodies who could silently point out their murderer--they'd been buried in his back yard and now they came out of the dirt, slowly breaking the surface of gray-ish dirt, mostly bones (M wants details). The bodies weren't scary, just a relief to know where they'd disappeared to and who'd killed them.
* * *
And then it was about 6:30 am and the kids were jumping on the bed because they wanted to open their presents. I got a teapot with a nice tone (I melted the last one that didn't whistle), a good keyboard and a lovely card from one boy and other things. My favorite gift was my dream. I bet the card will be my favorite tomorrow after the effect has worn off.
Actually my favorite life's gift wasn't a dream; it was a moment when I was about 13 years old. Spring in Washington, DC which is a blessing in itself. No city I know does spring better.
Anyway, I sat by an open window and a dog barked and a bird's wings rustled and a phone rang --okay, okay, things liked this happened, I can't remember exactly what they were--and for a moment or maybe even several moments, I was part of the whole thing, a piece of the whole, the whole was a piece of me. I read the same thing in that damn Herman Hesse book a few years later and thought "hey, I've been there!" Nirvana. Wow. So I've had my 1-15 seconds of it and it hasn't happened again. Astoundingly commonplace, astoundingly amazing. I don't even mind that I found that sublime moment a gazillion years ago. Just the echo of it makes me happy, sometimes.
Okay, so the dream last night (Merry Christmas) itself sounds like nonsense. But I woke up with the sensation of having gotten a fine Christmas gift. I thought, by gum, I've seen the solution. I almost feel guilty that I can't somehow get one o' they ford vans and preach the answer to the world, but I see it.
As I wandered through my morning, sitting on the couch, slurping coffee, watching kids open presents, I decided the dream meant that God is a mother and our instructions aren't found in some long book of rules. The rules are quite simple: We're supposed to clean up after ourselves (and do it within a certain time . . . or else!) and we're supposed to be nice to each other and be responsible for other people's happiness.
Enough interpretation. The dream, Margaret. Bits and pieces, mostly stupid.
I was on a boat that was under attack by a force that used tornadoes. That part was scary. I had to put a mattress over my head so the timber wouldn't land on my head. But then I knew how to thwart the bad force. Everyone, and I mean everyone (except the ones who weren't enlightened, silly twits, whoever they were) had to get out and clean up. Yep, by the time the moon set we had to get every bit of trash into bins. All the streams had to be cleaned up, all around the bars and woods and stores. Hundreds of people out cleaning in the dark. Some of us were wearing those big yellow gloves because they were going into really horrible muck to clean. Beer cans out of streams--that kind of cleaning. Scrubbing foundations of buildings, picking up old bottles and cigarette butts from the edge of the tide.
We must have hit our deadline, because at daylight we had some power of our own.
We went to work on the living. We could influence moods with small gestures of kindness, playing it forward, only with more power than usual and with each gesture the power grew stronger. Heck we were walking around making people fall in love with their lives and each other. . . We were watching unpleasant humans slowly turn into someone interesting. A woman who talked too much turned out to play the piano beautifully.
We could eventually play some kind of role of justice too. We could uncover secrets and called up some dead bodies who could silently point out their murderer--they'd been buried in his back yard and now they came out of the dirt, slowly breaking the surface of gray-ish dirt, mostly bones (M wants details). The bodies weren't scary, just a relief to know where they'd disappeared to and who'd killed them.
* * *
And then it was about 6:30 am and the kids were jumping on the bed because they wanted to open their presents. I got a teapot with a nice tone (I melted the last one that didn't whistle), a good keyboard and a lovely card from one boy and other things. My favorite gift was my dream. I bet the card will be my favorite tomorrow after the effect has worn off.
In a lot of people's interpretations, when you dream of water the water is akin to the subconscious. I found it interesting that (if you go with water=subconscious idea) you were afloat above the subconscious, then found it necessary to clean it, too. Then, once you were satisfied that all was in order for yourself your focus was able to turn outward.
ReplyDeleteSo, is there anything you've recently been worrying over that now is resolved? Any skeletons in the closet that have recently come to light and by coming to light caused relief? If so, this could be your subconscious telling you your house is in order and it's time to move on. If not, this water=subconscious scenario is full of crap...at least so far as this dream goes.
I'm not sure what's solved, but what you write makes perfect sense. Feels like it, anyway.
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
ReplyDeleteUnresolved issues afloat? It seems as if so, you've taken charge and cleaned it up. You've got sound resolution to whatever the issue may be.
ReplyDeleteThat's just my bit of interpretation.
Two thoughts: the boat in the dream could be a symbol of your physical body; most vehicle-type elements in dreams are (I usually find my dreamself flying over things in a helicopter.) The force's use of tornado attacks may symbolize internal or external emotional conflict, aka ye olde whirlwind of emotions. These are simply my interpretations, though; not to be laser-etched into granite, etc.
ReplyDeleteThe interpretations all sound (and feel) right.
ReplyDeleteThanks, because I don't think I would have gotten there.