Dreams, ego and gratitude

Embrace/pastel & paint on paper

My night was punctuated with waking and a disturbing dream, one I feel compelled to share:

I went to the meetinghouse [my Quaker church] one morning to see if I could rectify that Ministry and Counsel had not gotten my grant application. People – no one I recognize from real life, but they seemed like people I knew – were busy putting plates around the table, so I took one and sat down across from the clerk. When I’d mentioned that I’d put my application in the appropriate mailbox and wondered why my request had not been considered, he countered, saying he’d once put an invitation for a loaf of bread in mine and never even heard a thank you, then huffed off and took my plate, indicating that he was done with me. I was stupefied because I didn’t even know I had a mailbox there. I took another empty plate and was not going to be dismissed. There was a sympathetic presence next to me, but he didn’t say or do much, though I felt encouraged. After this scene, several people chimed in about the faults of my ministry and how I was only trying to do this or that (to gain attention). It all caught me off guard and seemed petty. Then, I awoke, confused and fearful.

I know where this originated: in my fear of really going through such a process and discovering, yesterday, that part of the grant had been misplaced. I thought I had gone to bed at peace, leaving it in Spirit’s hands.

After waiting the appropriate amount of time this morning to call the actual clerk, he pleasantly told me everything had been found and my request had been recommended for approval to the next and final level!

So where does this leave the dream? As part of my surrender, I believe. A few weeks ago God asked me to lay down on the pew of another Quaker Meetinghouse and surrender [it]. After argument from my ego, I did. Ever since, I have been learning what to surrender and this dream seems to be teaching me to let go of the fear of rejection and claim my gifts and myself.

Piece by piece, it is teaching me:

Dream: I went to the meetinghouse [my Quaker church] one morning to see if I could rectify that Ministry and Counsel had not gotten my grant application.

My Interpretation: By taking things into my own hands, I am not trusting or being patient.

Dream: People – no one I recognize from real life, but they seemed like people I knew – were busy putting plates around the table, so I took one and sat down across from the clerk.

My Interpretation: I invited myself into this process and felt confident and comfortable enough to take my place across from the clerk. There was room for me here, but I had to have the authority to take the initiative. It wasn’t offering itself to me; it required confident action.

Dream: When I’d mentioned that I’d put my application in the appropriate mailbox and wondered why my request had not been considered, he countered, saying he’d once put an invitation for a loaf of bread in mine and never even heard a thank you, then huffed off and took my plate, indicating that he was done with me.

My Interpretation: I am only thinking from my perspective, which may be uninformed. I did not know I had my own mailbox. Indeed, there was a place for me there even if not clearly explained. An offering of welcome and sustenance had been made. One I had neither noticed nor for which I had expressed gratitude. Perhaps my niavete looked like a dismissal and ruffled some feathers.

Dream: I was stupefied because I didn’t even know I had a mailbox there.

My Interpretation: At once I am angry that no one told me, but excited that I seem part of the community by having a mailbox. I do have a way to communicate with this group.

Dream: I took another empty plate and was not going to be dismissed.

My Interpretation: As I am learning the ropes of how this community operates, I will continue to be part of it. I won’t back away out of timidity or feeling less than.

Dream: There was a sympathetic presence next to me, but he didn’t say or do much, though I felt encouraged.

My Interpretation: I think this represents God’s presence with me at all times. Sometimes, to the point I hardly notice. I am not alone.

Dream: After this scene, several people chimed in about the faults of my ministry and how I was only trying to do this or that (to gain attention).

My Interpretation: This chorus was only echoing my doubts.

Dream: It all caught me off guard and seemed petty.

My Interpretation: Externally, I had not known these thoughts were brewing. When exposed, they seemed ridiculous.

This dream aligns with a conversation I had with my shamanic counselor two days earlier. We agreed that Spirit is asking me to surrender my ego and its high time I got out from under it’s oppressive vision of me as less than.

He made me repeat:

I am enough.                                                                                                                       I have enough.                                                                                                                     I have things to say and teach.                                                                                         I surrender. I surrender.

Thank you dream

for helping me to understand.

Thank you Spirit

for being so patient with me and

showing me the way, one step at a time.

That I can manage; otherwise, I’d freeze

in total fear.

Thank you faith community

for honoring my place among you

and supporting my ministry.

Thank you

for life.

• How has a dream opened new meaning for me?

• What happens when my fears are exposed to light?

• What’s my greatest fear of being in community?

• How have I been shown my value in community?

• Am I sure to express my gratitude?

Listen to this post:

Lonely, but not alone

I am re-posting this as I have submitted it to a contest; a link for that follows.

Almost a year ago exactly, I took off for a week in Italy by myself.

And I haven’t really even begun to process it. It was rich and wonderful, lonely and painful all at the same time.

If you’ll indulge me, I think I may do some of that here because I know there are lessons to be uncovered.
.....


I remember the last wave to my daughters and husband as I turned my back and headed for the airport tram. Bittersweet because I was leaving them, but exhilarating as I was accompanying myself on what I hoped would be an adventure of a lifetime.
This is my dream
This is the dream of many others unable to muster
whatever I mustered to be here
I’ll remind myself of that when I feel alone

Those were some of the first words in my journal.

Immediately I met my seatmate Marco and we talked nonstop through the flight, the night, the meals, Charles de Gaulle Airport and, finally from the same gate, where we parted. He, to Genoa and me, to Pisa. Such a gift, only to be ripped away. His English was impeccable, providing me with a grand illusion: that I would be understood.

Two plans, three shuttles, two trains a bus and a long, uphill walk before I entered my Florence home, a quiet convent – formerly a villa – on the outskirts. That sentence hardly conveys the journey. No one I encountered in Florence spoke English [to me], although I purchased a timed bus ticket, eventually climbed aboard (another long story) and, in desperation, held out my map to an Italian woman who anxiously shoved me off somewhere.

Somewhere on a deserted street corner. I entered the scooter shop to a frown when I spoke English after the customary “Buon giorno” greeting, but elicited a smile and pointing finger when I drew out my map. Outside, I discovered street names are embedded in the sides of buildings. Never mentioned in any of the travel tips I had poured over.

Weary, but not broken, I picked up my bag and began to climb the hill not really knowing where I was going, when something caught my attention. A sign written in English in the back window of a parked car: “I am with you.” I was too stunned to even think to take a photo.

I knew I would not be alone on this strip.

A half-mile later, I smiled as I spotted the big iron gates of the convent, entered and was received in Italian. They were waiting for me and the nun even taught me a couple of Italian words: giardino/garden (where I think she said I might want to unwind) and verde/green (the door I would enter after hours).

She led me down a long corridor to the very end and opened my door. It was perfect. Small, intimate, welcoming. Things I had not yet experienced in Italy. I dropped my bag, threw open the heavy shutters and teared up at the beautiful lawn and call of the birds. Even the bathroom overlooked a small city of terracotta tile roofs. Breathtaking: all of it.

I had arrived.
• What is a literal or metaphorical journey to which I have been called?
• How did I respond?
• Who accompanied me, even if I didn’t realize it in the present?
• What gifts/riches did I experience?
• What hardships?
....


This post is an entry for
http://www.pimsleurapproach.com/blog/language-learning/language-learning-blog-contest
A Language Learning Blog Contest hosted by

Bits of myself

I had a dream some years ago that is as vivid as the morning after. It was beautiful, full of color and love, yet also haunting and calling me, once again.

My mother's youngest sister, and more like a sister to me, and I were intimately chatt3ing in a small vestibule with an extraordinary stained-glass window. The only words I recall were her telling me: "You had better choose." We had been discussing who I thought Jesus was. Then, the windows parted, siren-like music almost too beautiful for human ears played, the atmosphere rolled into translucent waves of color and Jesus appeared as if coming for one of us. My aunt died a few years later, so I had interpreted the dream as Jesus coming for her.

This week I received a facebook message from someone with whom I had lost contact, admired and shared some rich spiritual experience, including a dream group. She said she had come across that dream and "was really struck, this time, by your aunt telling you you must 'choose.' I don't know whether you've chosen Jesus a long time ago, or whether this is still an open question in your life. If it is an open question, I had the sense that the choice was looming with more importance and urgency."

I was bowled over. By the fact she had even paid attention then and now, with her sense of timeliness. She did say it applied to her and, possibly, this was not my message.

It is I am certain, but not sure how exactly.

I didn't think this was an open question. Firstly, I think Jesus chose me as he chooses each of us. It is I who came to the invitation late .. well, I accepted as a child, then backed off until more recent years. I accepted on my terms: that Jesus means something deeply within me. That I feel his energy in my heart and have experienced his presence in worship and meditation. However, I can't literally reconcile the crucifixion and resurrection. Marcus Borg's book Meeting Jesus Again for the First Time helped me distinguish the mythical Jesus from the historical. And so I am left with what I call a mystical Jesus, a palpable energy.

I perceive him as a bridge between divinity and humanity. That he was a wise and wonderful person who truly loved God and is an example of the path to God within my faith tradition. And, yes, I flirt with the possibility of divine origin in my mind and heart, but I can live with the mystery of not really knowing. I DO know Jesus as my inner teacher in how to be with God.

This dream may be pushing me father, deeper. I wonder what I have chosen or not chosen if this question arises again. Have I chosen something else? Has something else chosen me? Is my choice too superficial? Do I understand my choice?

The question that scares me the most is "Has something else chosen me?" Something not love, light, beauty, color and music. Something dark, murky and destructive. Something that breeds self-doubt, guilt and punishment. Something that holds me so tightly all I can I feel is pain or paralysis. Something I can dispel with another choice. An intentional choice. One I have neglected to make as I had not noticed what crept in, stealing bits of myself.

I choose wholeness/holiness and the path of light in whatever language that can be translated.

• How do I view Jesus/God/Spirit?
• How has that changed over time?
• Is it time to re-examine that?
• If that choice calling me to something deeper, to what?
• How can Jesus/God/Spirit bring me wholeness?


I seem
to get lost
a lot


and you
continually
find me


often
without
my awareness


is it
possible
something
else
grips me


also without
my knowledge?


can
intentionally
acknowledging
you
transform
whatever
else
holds me?

Otherness

Ever felt like other? I know I have and, I suspect, we all do at some time or another.

A couple of years ago, I was introduced to the topic of otherness. I thought it strange, at first, but it has really grown on me. I learned [formally and experientially] about  it during my two-years at School of the Spirit, a Quaker program for spiritual nurture. I felt like other there for the first year. I am certain I was not alone.

The first session, I had a big room all to myself and, at times, the spaciousness felt very lonely. The door didn't lock and the guys staying upstairs passed right by my room. I grew quite fond of "those guys" over the two years, but at first they were just footsteps. I had a dream one of the early nights about staying up, guarding the door and keeping it cracked with the message that my door was not lockable because my heart was not locked.

At the end of the first year, I made a terrible mistake. I knew I'd be leaving again for Philadelphia in a week; my paper was done and only needed a final printing. My childcare was planned and all I really had to do was pack. I noticed airfare was on sale for the following session, so I decided to check dates and prices. I retrieved my school calendar only to discover, much to my utter horror, that the current class was staring precisely at the hour I sat at my computer planning ahead.

My heart sunk, I silently burst into tears. What the %^$# had I been thinking? My reservation was booked for next week and had been for quite some time. My childcare was scheduled for next week and my mother was out of town this week.

I called my spouse in a panic. He responded: "Pack your bags, change your ticket, e-mail me your paper to print and I'll take care of the rest."

I needed someone to command me because I felt very dead at that moment.

You know when you dream that the worst thing possible is happening, well, this felt like it. I did as my husband kindly advised me and prayed like heck that night that I would sleep and not berate myself for being such an idiot. I felt I had lost everything and, only then, was able to ask for God's help.

I slept some, then drove to Dayton to board my re-arranged flight. During multiple delays, I shared a lunch with an older woman in whom I confided. She must've sensed my vulnerability. I called ahead to Philadelphia and said I'd be late, get there when I could and no one needed to call me back. Fortunately the wonderful woman eldering that session ignored me, leaving this message: "Cathy, no matter when you get here, I will be at the airport. Count on it." I really needed to hear that – even from a complete stranger.

When I arrived many hours late, we quickly found each other and embraced long and hard. She whisked me to the retreat center and suggested I unpack, get myself together from the journey, then re-join the group for worship. Wise words. Unpacking, I was amazed that I had only forgotten one item: dental floss. Oh well, I thought. As I opened the top drawer to put away underwear and PJs, awaiting me was an unopened package of floss alone in the drawer. That immediate message was "Trust and I will give you what you need. WOW, I still shudder thinking about it five years later.

I settled, washed my face and anxiously trod the steps wondering if anyone had noticed my extreme tardiness. I was fiercely greeted with bear hug after bear hug, told how much I was missed, the prayers for safe travel that had been spoken and how it just didn't seem the same.

This was God's way of letting me know I did, indeed, belong to this community -- even if I had my doubts. I realized that while my timing was whacked, the timing was at it should have been, otherwise, I would never have known I was missed and valued. Affirmation that I so desperately needed.

What surprised most of my School-of-the-Spirit buddies was how I'd had my paper done a week ahead of what I thought was the deadline. That was the last thing on my mind and heart.


• When have I felt like other?
• Why?
• What have I learned about making others feel less so?
• When I have felt most alone in community, how have I let God in?
• Willingly or only when I was desperate enough?

Lonely, but not alone

Almost a year ago exactly, I took off for a week in Italy by myself.

And I haven’t really even begun to process it. It was rich and wonderful, lonely and painful all at the same time.

If you’ll indulge me, I think I may do some of that here because I know there are lessons to be uncovered.
.....


I remember the last wave to my daughters and husband as I turned my back and headed for the airport tram. Bittersweet because I was leaving them, but exhilarating as I was accompanying myself on what I hoped would be an adventure of a lifetime.

This is my dream
This is the dream of many others unable to muster
whatever I mustered to be here
I’ll remind myself of that when I feel alone

Those were some of the first words in my journal.

Immediately I met my seatmate Marco and we talked nonstop through the flight, the night, the meals, Charles de Gaulle Airport and, finally from the same gate, where we parted. He, to Genoa and me, to Pisa. Such a gift, only to be ripped away. His English was impeccable, providing me with a grand illusion: that I would be understood.

Two plans, three shuttles, two trains a bus and a long, uphill walk before I entered my Florence home, a quiet convent – formerly a villa – on the outskirts. That sentence hardly conveys the journey. No one I encountered in Florence spoke English [to me], although I purchased a timed bus ticket, eventually climbed aboard (another long story) and, in desperation, held out my map to an Italian woman who anxiously shoved me off somewhere.

Somewhere on a deserted street corner. I entered the scooter shop to a frown when I spoke English after the customary “Buon giorno” greeting, but elicited a smile and pointing finger when I drew out my map. Outside, I discovered street names are embedded in the sides of buildings. Never mentioned in any of the travel tips I had poured over.

Weary, but not broken, I picked up my bag and began to climb the hill not really knowing where I was going, when something caught my attention. A sign written in English in the back window of a parked car: “I am with you.” I was too stunned to even think to take a photo.

I knew I would not be alone on this strip.

A half-mile later, I smiled as I spotted the big iron gates of the convent, entered and was received in Italian. They were waiting for me and the nun even taught me a couple of Italian words: giardino/garden (where I think she said I might want to unwind) and verde/green (the door I would enter after hours).

She led me down a long corridor to the very end and opened my door. It was perfect. Small, intimate, welcoming. Things I had not yet experienced in Italy. I dropped my bag, threw open the heavy shutters and teared up at the beautiful lawn and call of the birds. Even the bathroom overlooked a small city of terracotta tile roofs. Breathtaking: all of it.

I had arrived.

• What is a literal or metaphorical journey to which I have been called?
• How did I respond?
• Who accompanied me, even if I didn’t realize it in the present?
• What gifts/riches did I experience?
• What hardships?

The headless baby

It's not often I:

a) dream or

b) dream and remember it.

But, lately, I've had a few whoppers and my wonderful spiritual friend has taught me the value of dreams. I participated in a spiritual dream group for a year and learned so much. But, with some sleep issues, I was unable to be the dream-recording warrior and jot them down right after I had them. So I have to rely on the ones I can remember.

In the most recent, a coworker – with whom I actually did work once – entrusts his one-year-old gorgeous baby boy to my care. I don't even hesitate and enjoy this budding relationship. He follows me everywhere and seems content. The catch is these older women in white, kind of out of the frame of the dream, keep telling me how to care for the baby. And when I don't do what they suggest, they do it anyway. They remove his head (no gore or pain, this is a dream after all) and stand it neck up on the stairs. That little face is so vacant and the body doesn't know what to do, so I keep taking the head and putting it back and the kid stays almost glued to me.

There's something about this dream that relates to a provocative book I just read, PUSH, whose main character is beaten and sexually abused from age 3, constantly told she's nothing and floats through school making A minuses without knowing how to read. Her prayer is that someday, something WILL happen and those words will make sense. At 12 and 16 she delivers her father's babies. But something in this child, who is forced into a wretched adulthood too soon, knows she is better than her circumstance. It's confirmed when Precious starts an alternative school and the teacher acknowledges her, sees her for who she really is, not a thing to dominate. That's when Precious blossoms. Keeping her second child, then moving to a halfway house shows her love in addition to that from her teacher and classmates.

Precious is that baby struggling to become whole, keeping its head attached ... no matter what the chorus of women in white says.

For some, it's a literal journey. For me, I think the headless baby is one of my inner children also seeking acknowledgment and wholeness. And it's up to me – just as it was to Precious – to tend to that child.

• Is there something in my life I am not tending to?

• Am I paying attention to my dreams?

• Can I listen to myself above the noisy chorus of others that may not know the right path for me?

• Do I have some stillness in my life to pay attention at all?

chubby and curly-headed,

this cherubic baby asks so

little ... just for some attention

I am not sure just how

long she has been asking,

it's only now that I

am listening

can I give this

wee one what she

needs?

can I trust myself,

my inner voice

against that

of the outside?

if I don't, what

will happen?