A wonderful dream of flying
Secret dreams just might be a facet of reality
This was a most wonderful and vivid dream. One I felt worth sharing for it’s positiveness and hopeful energy. Like the lotus of myth we rise above the muck below if only for moments. Such are the mystical gifts of the mind.
As a lifelong meditator, my first sit in 1968, it is quite clear to me that we need to take a look at the whole. Difficulties in our practice arise when we begin to separate and portion aspects of our existence to various categories. We can slowly drift away from that which first drew us in! That ‘magic’ moment that found us sitting for the very first time.
All too often we then pile on the teachings in a haphazard manner creating more chaos than peaceful order. Part of the things we tend to separate from are our dreams. This is sad and unfortunate, and misguided. Our dreams speak of the much deeper substance that resides within us! We don’t want to distance ourselves from this part of reality.
This is a draem I had. I wanted to share it for it’s uplifting nature, its sense of promise and to share that our dreams can be a vital part of our daily existence.
So, we do have mostly good times, I do not know why that might be. It’s a fact of life, amidst the mud. I wonder why I might have suggested otherwise. The suggestion here is that even dreams may be more real than we believe.
Dreams or otherwise present us with another view of reality. Certainly works for me…
That joy is found in the preparation of one’s willingness to be open to dreams. If only I had awakened so many years before from my self imposed slumber, my sense of sadness, this emotion barely permitted, one root still caught in the sixties, lotus mud trap.
Or is that: mad trip?
Rolling in the mud you became it; the mud my friend. Better to rise, flap those powerful wings, feel the fanning gusts as they pick up speed, the huge gossamer wings interconnected with my musculature and skeletal frame.
There! I begin to rise, my toes just coming unglued from the thick, cement like mud.
Rising to the level of my second-floor porch.
All about me impossibly beautiful flowers at last free of the mud. As does the lotus, rising, as if magically from the mud, we come face to face with a truth.
A group of shocked, bright green parrots shot past me, putting up a scandalous chatter, just missing me, on purpose, a gaggle of hysterical laughter! I continue to rise, my mighty wings an easy match for this earthly gravity.
Now near the tops of the tall royal palms two houses away my view extends easily down towards the expansive Panchoy Valley. The valley emits and holds the ever-burning pine incense. I’ll head toward downtown Antigua; the tourists always have their powerfully conditioned set of beliefs blown out of the park. Some curious buzzards cruise, serenely, nearby. One even tries a small peck of my wing tip; a gentle flap sends the big, gnarly faced carrion eater rolling away unhurt.
Damn! There goes one of those terrible skyrockets Antiguan churches are so fond of firing off. The booming rarely stops as if they are saying we will keep blowing up gun powder until you convert. Luckily, the nearest rocket trails with a loud hiss past me and far above explodes sending rolling thunder across the valley floor. I dive momentarily and in a powerful arc I glide quickly away from the stunning detonations.
Boom! Boom! I can feel the unnatural reverberations go through my chest.
A serene calm returns. A gentle, warm, updraft allows me to spread my wings and soon am easily propelled skyward. Off to the west two volcanoes stand as if preventing anything from leaving the large valley. Suddenly the volcano now called Fuego blows a magnificent burst of flaming plume skyward, the valley is racketed by an unimaginable roar.
The volcanoes puff lightly again as if hinting there is plenty more where that came from. I am reminded where the real power lies.
To my south another perfect volcanic peak, Agua, its cone summit is covered by swirling clouds and lightning flashes.
The entire valley is surrounded by these volcanoes and smaller walls of forested hills. Antigua settles comfortably, if perhaps not entirely sure of its safety, in a large nest. Safety comes from a rich imagination…
I am stirring, damn, shafts of awakening raise sharp warning. I quickly headed for home and just barely made a clumsy landing in my yard. Another successful leap off the rocky bottomed precipice and understanding continues to emerge after a long time of darkness in the mud.
My wife appears shortly. ‘Boy you look like you have had one heck of a workout. What’d you do?’
Yes, of course I had told her of my flying of late, thirty years in the making and she immediately refused to listen to any more of it. She feared for my mind set.
I stir on the cushioned yard seat, my left wing feels a slight, uncomfortable pull, no doubt from that last sharp spin to avoid the rocket.
‘Oh, nothing really honey, just another one of those flying dreams. You know me.? I laugh nervously wondering if maybe she really saw something.
My wife says ‘why are your feet covered in mud? What’d you do in the yard anyway?’ She couldn’t resist a quick glance around the yard and then chuckled at whatever I’m up to.
It always starts with the mud. The sheer precipice leap, the lotus’s freedom…
I need to be careful though. There are at least two neighbors, Bill, and Mary, here in the colony who have tried to spot what house I fly from.
‘So how did you get muddy?’ She presses once more.
‘Oh, nothing my dear, just another one of those flying dreams…’ I look at her hopefully. My shoulder still hurts…
‘Oh yeah, sure, there you go again, remind me again would you, just how old are we?’
When these dreams visit us their purpose is to tell us something about our own reality. How can we imagine such wonders if somewhere within our larger world of reality these things are not true? I believe somehow these things are very real.
We can try to enjoy it all…
