dreams.

I think I’ve written a lot about dreams, especially in the last few months. I’ve explained in detail the first ones I remember and the recurring ones.

I’ve believed that dreams all carry a message. And I have done my best to listen and learn from them what I can.

I did not know, though, that a message could be delivered to me from the dream of another person. I can’t help but think that’s pretty cool.

Especially since it’s the other half of a dream I had five years ago. I may have explained this dream, but I don’t think I did. I didn’t talk about them much before the recurring series, and this was before then.

It’s funny that when the dream was relayed to me I felt a certain sense of deja vu that I couldn’t quite place, but now that I remember most of it I think I get it.

writing on writing: part five

Two things today:

First, I finished my handwritten notes on my draft yesterday. I’m not going to lie. It was a little painful. I wanted to do it by hand, though, because I figured it would give more honor to the process. Obviously, words written on a computer screen are still words. But words written by a pen seem to tap more into the soul. It involved a lot of post-its and a lot of flipping back and forth. I learned a few things about myself:

  • I prefer the writing process to the rewriting process.
  • My story isn’t half bad.
  • I fidget a lot.
  • I do have a certain amount of discipline.
  • I have somehow found people who actually make me focus.

At the point that I was completely whining, one of my friends asked how much I had left. 37 pages, I said. And my head hurts. His response was pretty simple: stay focused and you’ll be done in no time. So, I shut everything down and powered through the last three hours of the note-writing on those 37 pages. It felt good to be done. My writing partner had asked me the night before what my ETA was on the second draft, which will also be the draft he gets a copy of, and I said…soon. He laughed, but the second the handwritten notes were done I sent him an email promising a completed second draft by next Tuesday. Here’s hoping.

Second, now that the dust has settled on ending my full-time teaching career, both for myself and the people around me, I have been telling people what my plans are. I told my aunt, and she sent me a message that pretty much made my day:

I’m excited about your writing activities. Your grandfather loved to write.  He actually always wanted to be a writer but his life never led him in that direction. He would be proud of your skills and desire. Circle of life or something like that.

That makes me smile. And helps me to understand more about what I’m doing and what my dreams have been about.

standing on a hill, in my mountain of dreams

I guess it was last week that I posted Led Zeppelin song lyrics online. I’ve been listening to “How the West was Won” pretty much on loop since then.

“Going to California” is probably my favorite Zeppelin song. And it seems pretty appropriate for this blog and for my life right now. I have been trying to train myself to constantly be aware of the signs around me. I was going to say look for them, but I haven’t had to search out a single one of them. They’ve all been handed to me, almost on a silver platter with a bow tied around them.

It was all Zeppelin on Friday night, and it really had nothing to do with me at all.

“Listen to the guitar right here.” I don’t think I said much at all because I was interested in what songs other people chose as their favorite Zeppelin.

The very next night, I returned home to find that I could set my stereo on a sleep timer so back on went “How the West was Won.” I think I made it through the first two volumes before I fell asleep. That makes for some very interesting sleep, I must say.

But it all goes back to people.

I feel that I have been super reflective in the past few months, especially the past few weeks because I don’t have to go to work. And I have realized that everyone who has come into my life during this time is in the same place I am. It’s an odd solidarity, not one that I’m used to.

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The Valkyries & Who is God?

I’ve been in somewhat of a cloud for the past 24 hours because of Paulo Coelho’s “The Valkyries.” In essence, it’s about the journey to find one’s guardian angel. I think it has rooted itself in my brain because of my dreams. For weeks, I had the same dream. I asked my father last weekend to identify the lake and the dock in my dream. He knew it easily. He remembered the moment I did easily, too.

I think I have to go there.

I was thinking about this last week, and I asked my friend if he would go with me. But I wasn’t entirely sure if I would do it or if it was that important. I didn’t explain it to him. I don’t know why. I guess it seems strange, and I like to test out the waters with people before launching into huge spiritual discussions.

I like the idea Coelho presents of “breaking the pact” in order to see one’s angel. I think maybe that’s why she started to appear in my dreams. In a lot of ways, I have freed myself from not attempting to fulfill my destiny. He describes how easy it is to speak with angels when you are a child, but how that disappears as you get older. That is, until you can break the pact of un-fulfilling prophesy. I like that idea a lot.

As I slept last night, I did not have the same dream. It’s actually been awhile, but I think it’s because I don’t need the dream anymore. I know the place, and I know the why.

So, I saw my friend again tonight. I did not ask him again if he would go with me. I thought perhaps that it wasn’t right to ask someone to go with you. Coelho does on his journey, but it is his wife. She understands why he’s going and what he needs to do. There’s no way, at this point, that my friend would know those things.

So, tonight, I asked him something else: “Do you believe in God? And how?”

I knew the answer to the first question. I could feel that answer when I met him. It was the “how” that I was interested in. The how would determine if I would explain this again and if I would ask him when I decide to make the drive up north.

I’m always a little nervous when I ask this question. I suppose, though, I shouldn’t be because I always ask it when I have seen a certain amount of a person’s soul. So, I must know somewhere deep inside me what their answer will be. I think I ask because I really love the interpretations of God that I hear.

I believe in a Creator. A Creator who split his soul up into the Earth and all of us. And it’s our job to figure out how to make them one.

I like that a lot. I can’t help but smile thinking about not only the answer but the fact that it was shared.

I didn’t explain the dream after that because I think it was a statement that needed its own space. Not to be muddled up by my thoughts–at this moment. So, I said simply, “that’s probably why I like you so much.”

I think, though, that I will explain the dream. If it seems right, I think I will ask again.

More Coelho

I just finished the third Coelho book I’ve picked up in the past week. “By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept” is probably best described as a love story. But it’s not at the same time.

It’s hard for me to explain right now because the answer is just formulating in my mind. The better parts of me understand it–I can feel it–but my brain is always the last to figure these things out.

At any rate, the last question R. and I had three weeks ago was “Why St. Mary’s?” And this book definitely had the answer to that.

It’s about divinity. And the energy that is female that is often left out of beliefs about God. It’s an interesting theory, and something that has been coming to me in pieces like everything else in the last four months.

From that horror of that day awakening something inside of me. To a friend’s tattoo. To a dream.

I haven’t told anyone about this, but I’ve started having recurring dreams again. They’re not as frequent or painful as the desert ones, and I know exactly where I am in these dreams. Well, sort of. But I know who would know where I am.

There was a hike I took once. I had to be between the ages of 8 and 10. It ended in a canyon with a lake. And there was a small dock. My father took three of us and sat us at the end of the dock. He told us to take our shoes off and let our feet feel the water. Then, he told us to be quiet and listen.

He always made camping about God. I think that’s why I miss it so much. He wasn’t and isn’t too preach-y, but he would always say that “one thing” that I carry with me to this day.

Now, in the dreams I’m alone. And I walk to the end of the dock and take my shoes off. I sit there, and a woman appears. I didn’t know who it was until yesterday. I had an idea, but I wanted to be sure.

Sometimes she says something simple like hello. Most times she just sits with me. She always has a message though.

The female form of divinity.

I get it.

Dreams & Imagination

I just saw a picture for the first time.

And I dreamt it a couple of years ago. I dreamt it so vividly that I was able to draw it. In my mind, I can see it now. Then, to see this picture. It’s real. In the dream, I didn’t know where it was. But I could see it all. I could see the houses and the streets and the school and the trees and the porches.

It’s from a place I’ve been many times, but the dream is of a lifetime ago.

So, it made me wonder. Can you feel the soul of something so deeply that you can see it? Or can your imagination dream up something from a lifetime of stories?

It’s strangely calming. And strangely inspiring.

When I had the dream, it came complete with a great story. I started to write it. The plot is done. The characters sketched out. Just needs to be written. Maybe the picture was simply a gentle nudge to write it down.