Should-tion Shun

December 12, 2009 at 12:19 pm | In Dreams | Leave a Comment

some days Shoulds find me

when they should Not

and i lose sight

of Passion, Desire, Inspire

Poet Dreamer Muse

and someday-whens

whilst Should Would Could

shun my (motiva, gump, crea) -tion

and Will and Won’t

pummel and grovel and wrestle

with my Spirit,

pinning my Soul on the donkey

till…

Patience and Persistence play

hide n seek,

singing Olly Olly

All come Free

Come Out, Come Out

wherever you are

and ShouldWouldCould WillWon’t

fly away, bye-bye.

A Promise to the Trees

September 1, 2009 at 8:39 am | In Dreams | 2 Comments
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P1000978

We are in the process of tending to the many trees that stand in our yard. We’ve been here two and a half years and last year’s wind storm was stressful on the sturdy limbs and branches that grace our yard. We have not had the budget to rightly care for the many old and beautiful trees. The extent of my care, really, has been to feel guilty about it.

Last week, however, the nice man from Arbor Designs came to evaluate our trees – he also grows over 70 varieties of roses and met me at the door with a handful, telling me the name and nature of each one. He then spent awhile knowledgeably explaining the condition and proper treatment for each of our many trees. As we knew, the giant oak is dying and must come down – he said something shocked it and killed it quickly. There is another massive oak near to it that he believes we can save.

Although I’ve known it was dying, I’ve been in denial. The reality of it hit me with force the other day, imagining the space it occupies empty, anticipating its absence, wondering about its life, its stories, its spirit and where it goes… I thought of our tree as I might a family member, ailing in a nursing home, but instead of being alone and unknown in a bed in a room, our tree has been slowly ailing right here in our yard, with nary a visitor. This made me realize that while our oak may be sick and dying,  it is not yet gone. There is time yet to connect and learn, to express gratitude and love, to let myself KNOW this tree – for it to know me, to preserve is majesty tenderly in my memory as a treasured loved one, as family. To share it with others, wherever it goes….

And so I sat with it, quietly, reflecting, meditating, listening, loving…

I imagine myself with other tree-lovers seated in a circle around its trunk, immersing ourselves in roots. Roots, roots, roots – winding, deep, interweaving, sprawling, expansive roots that ground tree and dreamers to every part of earth. Some of us travel up the root system, our hearts and souls soaking in like essential nutrients, making their way up, up, up the trunk, sectioning off into branches and leaves. Others climb up it from the outside, swinging and dangling like children from its strong, sturdy limbs, massaging its bark, enjoying its grandeur, until our bodies merge with the bark, becoming one. From a distance, I see through bird eyes, a happy, almost-animated tree, pulsing with human features – the tree seems to be giggling with glee, basking in this human love and attention. The tree is personified, we are tree-ified – pure joy.

And then, we hit the wound, the sickness and pain, sadness and despair. It started here, the beginning of the end – and no one noticed, and no one cared, and now it is too late. It’s been so lonely for so long, feeling itself disconnecting from all it’s ever known, lifetimes. Grief flows through us all, an aching sense of loss and if only’s.

In the heartache, there is hope. Oak thanks us for coming now before it falls and is chopped and splintered. It shares its gratitude for a long, full life and everything it has seen from this place. It lets me feel the tickle of squirrel feet and fluffy tails scampering on its trunk, shows me the sisters he has watched grow old in their faith as they come and go from the chapel across the street wearing blue habits and walking their dog. It tells me that though it will no longer stand here, 80 feet high, its tree spirit will remain. Like us, it has a soul. “Where do tree souls go?” I ask. It doesn’t yet know, but its becoming more real than here now with every passing day.

“I will be here with you,” I tell it – “we all will stay as you enjoy your final days.” It finds this almost unbearably comforting – its been alone so long – and it asks me to keep a piece of it, bring it into our home and remember its life.

“I wish I knew more of your stories,” I tell oak.

“And I wish I knew more of yours,” it says to me. “But I do know many stories of those who’ve come and gone before you, just as you can know more of the trees who will survive me here. Take your compassion and speak with my brothers, sisters, cousins and grandchildren here, who live in your yard. Listen to them, learn from them, care for them, and tell their stories. This is my wisdom for you.”

I promise.

*Oak Tree will fall today, September 1, 2009. Farewell.

Sadness, my Friend

July 31, 2009 at 4:13 pm | In Games | 3 Comments
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She never knocks, doesn’t come to the door – instead she follows me, gradually surrounding me – like a vapor, an aura I don’t see. Who knows how long I inhale her essence, oblivious to her permeating presence? How many days, weeks, and months she silently seeps deep, holding clandestine meetings with my subconscious? How she insidiously convinces disconnected bits of my soul to dance, invading me from the outside in, the inside out?

This time, she takes me off-guard as I wheel my cart round the grocery store, shopping for my family. Here, in the canned goods aisle, comparing prices on green beans, the giant lump in my throat and tears looming on the edges of my lashes serve as my belated introduction to Sadness.

“You really ought to do something about the scheduling here,” Sadness says, matter-of-factly. “I’ve been here in Psyche’s waiting room for a lo-o-o-o-o-o-ong time. I would have expected to get your attention on one of those meditative runs of yours or in the pages of your journal, but no, you just left me here, waiting and waiting. Now, here we are in the middle of Kroger, with all these people and chores to do – and you’re finally ready to see me now?”

Hmmmm… seems in my Psyche, even Sadness appreciates Irony.

“Well, could you just wait a little longer, please?” I ask, “There’s never a good time, but this is a seriously sucky place to feel you.”

The lump expands, my chin quivers, and I bite my lip, as tears find a path down my cheek. “I guess I’ll take that as a ‘No’.” I say.

In unison, we say, “So, why now?”

I settle on the store brand, put four cans in my cart. Green beans – Sadness, Sadness – green beans – what is the connection?

“Doesn’t your daughter always ask for canned green beans?” Sadness asks.

“Yes, yes,” my voice cracks. “Of course,” I say, as I clench my jaw, swallow the lump, and clearly comprehend it is the fact that my daughter is not here with me, planning the menu, requesting her favorite items – that, in fact, she is avoiding me, disillusioned with me, and keeping her distance from me that brings Sadness here now.

“I get it,” I tell Sadness. “And you truly deserve to be felt. Sorry to make you wait.”

Sadness sighs, relieved.

“I promise I will let you in soon – and you can have your way with me. But right now, maybe you could just quietly hang out here with your friends while I finish shopping and check out? Just a little longer and we’ll have a good cry, ok?”

Sadness finds a new seat in the waiting room, consorting with Helplessness and Frustration. They cloak themselves with invisibility, but I know they’re there. Still, I appreciate the gesture, and fulfill my part of the bargain, turning my attention to my list, super-saver coupons and paper or plastic bags. I can’t help but wonder if the other shoppers can see the gray cloud of Sadness hovering over me, waiting to pour.

I load the loot, return the cart, find my keys, start the ignition. “Ok, Sadness, it’s your turn,” I say, as I pull out of the parking lot.  Tears come, and wrenching howls from the depths. So many “poor mes” and “it’s not fairs.” Sadness pummels my heart, writhes in my gut, stomps her feet against my soul. She cries, cries, cries, releasing her angst in hot tears that stream down my face, drip off my chin and land in my lap. She gasps, sputters, splutters, hiccups. We wallow and wail, bathing in sorrow, allowing Sadness to empty her overflowing soul.

Finally, the intense downpour quiets, Sadness is drained. “What do I do now?” she asks. “Where do I go?”

“Well, Sadness,” I say, “You don’t have to go anywhere. I invite you to stay. I need you – without you, I can’t know Joy or appreciate Contentment.”

If it’s possible, I think Sadness smiled.

“One thing, though,” I add. “You don’t have to sneak around in a silent, hazy mist, waiting your turn. I give you permission to reveal yourself and request to be honored sooner vs. later. I will do my best not to keep you waiting around in my Psyche with Helplessness and Frustration for so very long.

With this deal, I now count Sadness among my friends.

Playing Games with our Feelings

July 24, 2009 at 8:51 am | In Dreams, Games, Laughter | 1 Comment
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4xmasosprylane

Robert Moss taught me a new process he   invented for learning to recognize and handle a challenging emotion by picturing it as an unwanted visitor who turns up at the door.

Here’s what happened when RESENTMENT came a’knockin’……

I turn into the drive, and there she is, oozing all over my front porch, like so much goopy slime. There’s no mistaking her stench and that way she has of attaching herself in all the nooks and crannies – Resentment is here alright.
I could just go in through the garage door and avoid her altogether. Yes, this seems wise – goodness knows she’s not going anywhere – she can wait while I transition from being out and about to settling in to home.
I hang my keys, pet the puppy, take a quick look at the pile of dishes and crummy countertop no one else has bothered to clean up. I pick up a cereal box and milk carton – harumph, they’re both empty — of course no one could just throw them away. And look, the friggin’ garbage can is overflowing – can NO ONE take it out? This is not rocket science – full can needs to go O-U-T out, duh. Ewwww pee-uuu, the smell….
Well, apparently Resentment isn’t waiting for me to open the door and invite her in – she’s found her way into my kitchen just fine, hasn’t she? I see her scuzzy film coating the floor, her stinky essence permeating the air – she’s in all the toilet bowls, laundry hampers, piles of bills, wilting flowers, missing socks, keys, and powercords. Her presence intensifies in every unsaid accusation, unfinished conversation, unread book, unwritten story. She even thinks she can hide in piles underneath everyone’s unmade beds. Guess that’s what I get for avoiding and putting her on hold – she just slathers her nasty ugh ick that much thicker and deeper, until it’s  up to my flippin’ chin.
She pummels my head as I stride purposefully up the stairs on a mission, only to realize once I get there that I completely forget why I’ve come. Her cackling voice sneers and taunts me, “I’m he-e-e-e-ere, deary – oh, yessssss – and here. and here. and there. and here – lurk-ing, wait-ing, ev-er-pre-sent – there’s always room for me. Suddenly my beautiful sanctuary home feels like Gollum’s dark, dank cave.
Ahhhh – A-HA! YES! Now I remember why I came up here! My Laughter CD – the goofy 14 minute long genuine ongoing giggle cycle that comes on when I hit “Play”… I hit the button – hmmm <grin> a-huh a-huh…..aaaaaa….hee hee hee ehh – Baaaaaaa-ha ha ha ha HA! HA HA HA HA!!!!!!! Laughter is to Resentment as Water is to Wicked Witch of the West — Resentment is meeeeee–eeeee—-eeelting! Melting in mirth and goofy, giddy glee. The ooze of Resentment has gradually conglomerated into one small confined blob – a blob I can hold in my hand, morphing and molding, stretching and poking, working it like a stress ball until I can walk past the messes and stains and uns that remain messy, stained and UN-done UNphased, search with clear-mind for the little plastic egg-shaped container I KNOW used to be in the toybox but has somehow managed to find its way to the laundry room — where I also find last Sunday’s newspaper. I take the sticky blob, press it hard against the funny papers, then lift it up to see Garfield the cat’s angelic-halo face grinning back at me. I stuff what is now Silly Putty into the egg-shape, toss it back into the toybox, and smile.
Aaaah – It’s good to be home.

I would  LOVE to read about the interactions you have with the feelings that show up on your doorstep. If you are inspired and feel so inclined, please send your reports to me via email at laughndream@me.com.

Find out how to play more empowering games with imagination, dreams, and coincidence with a wise and lively tribe of dreamers around the world, led by Robert Moss, hosted by Spirituality & Health magazine. Read more about the upcoming course, beginning July 27 and register at www.spirituality-health.com/spirit/ecourses

Dreaming with HP

July 8, 2009 at 9:18 am | In Dreams | 2 Comments
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I only just woke up to my dreams a year and a half ago.

I had created a whole picture-perfect life with my now-ex husband that had all the external trappings of success and seeming happiness. I was empty, though – a shell of myself, something I couldn’t see until it all shattered and I was in the midst of divorce from my 17 year marriage, agonizing over the broken family legacy I was giving my three kids.

Neither my parents nor my ex had faith in God. I’d always believed but never practiced connecting with a higher power in any formal way. The end of my marriage involved facing the ugly demons of alcoholism and codependency – I spent a lot of time with therapists, self-help books, Al-anon meetings and my journal. Step One, of course, is trusting in a Higher Power.  It wasn’t hard for me to believe in God, but it was hard for me to call Him that — in the beginning, I called it “HP” (short for “Higher Power”) — and it was hard to put my trust there, in an incomprehensible omnipotent power I had never really been taught anything about at all. It didn’t stop me from praying, though. I dubbed the trail I walked “My God Path” during this time, and went there often during the doomsdays of divorce. Journaling, running, and praying are what got me through that horrible phase. Over time, I began to hear my own voice and speak my own truth – something I’d never really done before.

I still was not tapping into my dreams.

I was however, learning about and connecting with God. I was led to a non-denominational Christian church community, WellSpring, that has become a strong safe place for my personal spiritual growth. The messages offer great questions and suggestions for exploration for me personally, and the community felt like a fit from the start. At the same time, I fell in love with my current husband, who is (dare I say) a content Catholic boy, born and raised. His faith and the traditions of his religion have been a source of satisfaction and connection his entire life. He is probably the most grounded person I know.

I won’t lie – there has been conflict in our relationship regarding religion and how to practice it. He would love for me to be a nice Catholic girl or to have a desire to convert – that’s not gonna happen. I would love for him to delve into the ongoing inquiry and discovery process I so love in my spiritual community. It would be so lovely to share this crucial portion of life’s journey together. Yet, at this point anyway, we’ve recognized that we both appreciate and value the different ways we each need to feel in relationship with God. We feel blessed and tune in to what we DO share – we both believe in God and that God comes first.

And at this point come the dreams. I had this very disturbing dream one night, waking with an image of following my husband through a field. We were running, trying to catch a sky boat that was about to take off on the other side. I look down and realize that he’s leading me through a field of sheep carcasses – well, some are dead, some are on their way. Some have been ripped open and their intestines sprawl on the ground. I am very careful how I make my way through here. My husband gives me an animal skin to cloak myself.

For someone who has barely recalled night dreams and had no idea how to work with them, this was quite the disturbing dream. Sometimes that’s what it takes – if a kid doesn’t pay attention, we holler at them; similarly, if a soul isn’t heeding its call, it may holler in graphic dream images to finally be heard.  In any case, I couldn’t get it out of my head. I started searching for ways to understand dreams. That same week, I came across Robert Moss’s article featured on the cover of Spirituality & Health magazine in the check-out lane at Wild Oats. I bought it, read it and immediately determined to sign on for the online forum beginning in the spring. I read Moss’ book, The Three “Only” Things – tapping the power of Dreams, Coincidence & Imagination.  My husband and I began sharing dream stories every morning. I’ve come to think of those sheep as a sort of reverse shepherds – they have shepherded ME to the power of dreams – not only mine, but everyone’s – everyone who is willing to tune in and listen, that is.

Dreaming has become a profound way for my husband and I to share everyday “church.” We both believe God delivers the dream. They are an opportunity to connect with this divine Higher Power…Source…. Truth – whatever you want to call it. When we dream, we have access to our own personal parables – stories with messages customized for us. There is a huge difference between thinking dreams are merely a distraction from sleep and reality to believing they offer a direct avenue to the highest source of good.

Tell me, if it is true that God speaks through dreams, how would it change you?

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