On Rabbit Holes and Doing Hard Things

Dreams and memories have been hitting me with a rushing force lately. Wounded animals, babies, difficult physical feats like mountain climbing and surviving barrages of gun fire. I wake with every sleep cycle, adjust my pillow and press-on, back into my dark world of wonder.

But every few weeks something calls me up and out of bed, and I’ll wander the house until I realize the moon is full and my eyes needed to rest in it, my shoulders needed to square-off with it, the soul batteries needed its quiet recharge. Continue reading “On Rabbit Holes and Doing Hard Things”

Fishing for Humanity

 

This past weekend I went trout fishing. I caught a bass.

One olive green, bug-eyed small mouth who tacitly reminded me that I’ve been taking this ridiculous and beautiful game far too seriously. She said exactly that as I looked into the placid depths of her dark eyes. I drug her up from 60 feet on a barbless hook as fast as I could reel, and she forgave me instantly. The experience left her shocked, and she lolled about in the ice hole for a time before coming back to her fish senses. Silently, so as not to appear too off my rocker to those fishing with me, I said Thank You and wished her well on her journey home.

I’ve been lolling about in the ice hole too, stunned that all is not as I believed it was. That the game isn’t being played by the limited rules I had once understood. That the false-bottom my Vexilar displayed is a million times more complex than I once thought, though still false.

Life isn’t what it seems.

My bass saw it and accepted it without understanding. But bass don’t have an ego masquerading as a spiritual quest.

Sure, I can continue to write about our quaint gravel roads and the close proximity of wildlife. I can rhapsodize about the birds at the feeder or make melodies of the scampering squirrels and pine martens. I can translate as the wind pushes winter off the trees yet again, or romanticize the solitude and the seekers who find themselves here to unwind.

But what’s happening within me dictates what I see without.

And I see a tiny community in existential crisis, because I am. I see a country totally divided, because I am. I see the vocal majority picking on the quiet minority, because that’s what’s happening with me. The big ugly ego within is demonizing the still quiet voice, because one spells love, truth and the awareness of the other. And we all know it’s not the loud-mouth who’s gonna win in the end.

My fundamental notions of what life is all about have been breaking down for some time, but witnessing what’s going on in the world makes the internal escalation now feel frantic, chaotic.

Is anyone else feeling this? As if something’s gotta give and soon or it’s all just going to collapse?

This morning I awoke from a dream about a waiting room of sorts at a makeshift birth center. I sat in the middle with the organizers, and around the edges of the huge rectangular room were women of every color, creed, shape, size and social status, their pregnant bellies full and prominent. Some were alone. Some had partners. Some reclined on matts on the ground. Others curled in sleep. Some danced the slow sensual dance of creation. Some stood rigid and tight. Some women laughed and sang. Others wept silently.

My four-year old had found her way to my bed again, and as I lay awake unmoving, thinking about my dream, she said loudly in her sleep, “Yep! We are tree frogs.”

I long to be able to see the hearts of the people behind all the social constructs, beyond the religious labels, despite the political leanings. I want to see two people of different belief systems stare each other in the eyes until they can both recognize the humanity in the other. I want to see a big-bellied Muslim women next to a big-bellied Christian woman and all the fear and hatred be put aside in honor of the life they bring into the world.

It feels like that’s what everyone everywhere is fighting for. “Acknowledge my humanity. See my suffering. See me. Love me.”

We are the same, and yet we spend every ounce of our egoic energy working to define and differentiate our Selves and then even more to defend the righteousness of our differences. But, we are an idea, nothing more. The way we’ve got it all constructed, these crazy lives surrounded by meaningless crap in this crazy constructed world. It’s all just ideas, reinforced rather messily with more made-up ideas that seem as real as every dream does while we’re in it, unawake and unaware that we are dreaming. Every single one of us is screaming through our night terrors that “My ideas matter. My stuff matters. I matter.”

But we – as we see ourselves and as we want others to see us – are just ideas. And we WILL wake up, because that is the law of dreams. We can’t choose to stay in the dream because it doesn’t exist.

What we really are is those babies about to be born in that big room of creation. We are undefined and perfect. We are loved without knowing it or knowing we need it. We are the same as the baby born next to us whose skin tone is totally different. We are the same whether our grandmother prayed in a mosque or a temple or a wide-open meadow. We are the same whether it was a woman or a man who held our mother’s hand as we came into the world. We ARE the same.

Beware of those who tell you you are different. Beware of those who tell you you are better. Beware of those who tell you to defend you. They are afraid. They are lost in their night terrors and they want you to join them in hopes that they will feel less alone and less afraid.

Don’t.

Unless you are awake and can gently guide them back to here and now and help them awaken to see it was all a dream, don’t go down to meet them.

Rise up and dream of love, if you must dream at all. If they insist on falling back asleep, coax them into dreams of tree frogs and trout, I mean bass. Or better, rise up holding their hand and show them the dreams of humanity standing together. Seeing each other. Loving each other. Show them that every good thing is possible, even finding meaning in the eyes of an olive green small mouth bass that was supposed to be a lake trout.

(Published in the Feb 28 Warroad Pioneer)

My Dream about God and Donald Trump

Column 38 published in the October 25th, 2016 issue of the Warroad Pioneer

I woke early one morning from a dream in which I had given birth to an impossibly small baby who, for a short time, spoke with absolute clarity. In a motherly baby-talk way of sorts, I asked her/him (the gender wasn’t clear nor was it important), “how have you learned to speak so well?” The wee infant smiled kindly and said, “This is Source.”

It was quickly understood that we had a few minutes of connection to ask whatever we wanted. As all the great questions of “above and below” were tumbling through my mind, a man in my group blurted out, “Why Donald Trump? And will he win?”

Loud external noises suddenly interrupted us, but the asker was able to get very close and hear some of what was said. When the noise died away, the child had stopped talking.

“Well?” someone else asked, fearful anticipation in his voice.

“It wasn’t the answer we were hoping to hear,” the asker said, slowly. He mumbled on about the candidate choices.

The dream shifted then into a related scene of panic and chaos, as word of the “prophecy” had spread like wildfire. The country was quickly descending into terror as it was now certain our future was dire. We would approach third-world country status, and great poverty would overtake us.

Images of the wealthy Trump Family Rulers were everywhere in attempts to assure people that they were the saviors and everything would be ok.

Huge portions of the people would flee as refugees, carrying what little they could on their backs.

Right before I woke up I remember feeling a sense of absolute peace, even as I looked around at people scrambling to collect their last vestiges of precious memories and “stuff.” Sadly, most of us were not yet thinking about survival needs.

I knew I was witnessing an epic demonstration of the effects of fear on a sensory-numbed nation. But surprisingly, I felt safe and calm trusting in God’s will—a sensation very new to me—even while knowing that many of us, likely my newborn and myself, would perish. I felt accepting of the fact that at that point in time, there was no going back. This is what now had to happen in order for peace to finally overtake humanity, even though it would be a road of suffering and death to get there.

When I awoke, my daughter was dreaming fearfully and thrashing about. I pulled her close and grabbed my phone to write down the dream.

I thought of the ballot that had just arrived by mail this week.

While it is private matter, I will share that my vote is slated for Hillary Clinton for many, many reasons.

But in the dream, a vote for Donald Trump helps harken the destruction of a comfortable often immoral way of life in order to hasten humanity along the path of peace and connection to Source., i.e., an investment in the belief that great darkness must come before great light.

The dream also examined my own fears and the illusions of safety I hold on to by living in near-isolation here at The Angle. As people were scrambling in fear, I held my tongue about the safe place I knew of for fear that we would be overrun – just as the under-loaded lifeboats did as the Titanic was sinking.

I also got the sense upon waking that we had likely misheard or at least misinterpreted the wee child. The loud noise that interrupted us was a garbage collection truck across the street and surely represented the lengths to which our egos (or the Devil, if you prefer) go to keep us from hearing the truth, the voice of God. Our group was outside and comfortable in a makeshift shelter, so there wasn’t an option of closing a window to the noise. The similarities to the nativity scene become more obvious after the fact, including the group of unknown people who were with me and the downplayed physical birth.)

The dream seemed to be telling me that when we do hear God, if we’re not accustomed to the voice or do not have faith in the good will of what we’re being told to do, our egos will quickly twist anything into fear-gripping reality. God probably just sighs and waits patiently as we take the hard-road yet again. Returning to God, remembering our Truth, connection to Source (whatever you want to call it) is inevitable. God is infinitely patient, kind and loving, especially through the destruction that our own fears set upon us. The destruction does not come from God, and in fact, if you want to get down to brass tacks, we can even choose not to label it as destruction, since the final result will always be Peace in the end.

The dream also reinforced for me the idea that there are many paths to get There, some more “comfortable” than others. Indeed, a check in a ballot box here or there will both lead to God. We don’t get to determine yay or nay. We only get to determine the length of “time” and our perceived suffering along the way.

I’ve never really been one to take the easy way.

I seem to like the lessons that come from looking darkness square in the face and then decidedly choosing the light.

But now, with others to think of beyond just myself, lessons-hard-learned aren’t as appealing. I don’t want to watch my daughter suffer so that I can get anywhere more quickly. Still, our egos will always be attracted to fear, especially now in our shock-and-awe-seeking culture.

Two other interesting facets of the dream …

  1. in the pitch black of my room, I turned my phone on at exactly 4:20am.

One of the lessons I am learning now is that I have given everything I see around me the meaning it holds for me. Nothing has true meaning other than God/Source/the Divine because God is all that Is. God is the only eternal. Everything else is meaningless, despite all of the silly definitions and labels I have applied to things and people and ideas through my conditioning. ALL of that conditioning is fear-based.

4:20 has a subversive meaning in our culture, yet I must take no meaning with me, lest I turn to judgement, guilt, condemnation and thereby further separation from God. I can see that it was again the work of the ego trying to force a divide.

And 2) In our quickening towards fear in the dream, no one stopped to analyze the question asker’s response. When the distracting noise had quieted, he didn’t tell us what the wee babe had answered; he only said, “it wasn’t the answer we were hoping for.” The layers of filters and eons of implied meanings the Truth went through between his conditioned mind and mine played out as one would expect: fear, uncertainty and doubt. i.e., Chaos. I was reminded upon waking of the old saying “the finger that points to the moon is not the moon.” Surely, in our well-intentioned, self-perceived righteousness, we have glorified this or that path based on our own conditioning for far too long.

God has given us everything. Period. Everything we need to be still and realize peace. We are not just God’s adopted children, we are part of God as Christian’s understand that Jesus was. God gave us Jesus, not to lord above us, but to teach us. The job of any good teacher is to impart ALL they know and teach themselves out of a job. Jesus had to live the life of a human since we identify as humans and had to teach that he was also God, since we are also of God. His modeling of a life purely connected to Source was and is our key to Peace, to salvation. Know that we are of God, and it will be so. The fear and all the perceived destruction that accompanies it will fall away into the falseness that it has always been.

But, our egos still have a hold and a tight one at that. We fear being of God because deep-down we believe it will end life as we know it. We are attracted to the dramatic displays of our own sin, our own guilt, our own condemnation and crucifixion. It makes for darn good TV. And most of us haven’t left that teenage mentality that everyone is watching us and everything we do matters, hence the popularity of social media and the brashen displays of our pretend perfect lives or our overly real suffering dramas. Nowadays, it is especially entertaining to point at the guilt of others and condemn and crucify them even more harshly than we would ourselves.

Fear is everything we project onto others and the inanimate objects around us.

Love is what we extend. Love is of ourselves and we are love because we are of God.

When we assign meaning or blame or guilt or anything other than Love, we are projecting fear.

It is our egos at work. Not God. Somewhere along the way, I heard EGO as an acronym for Edging God Out. We’ve gotten really good at doing that in this get-and-take society, in this blood-bath of an election.

I dreamed that I gave birth to a vehicle for Truth, and it made me remember that God has already given me everything. Even Donald Trump.