Objective Dreaming

Last night I had a dream that I could fly. Though many aspects of the dream are foggy to me I still retain the flavor of the message.

But how objective can I be in the interpretation of a dream in which I was able to fly? And within a dream, just how objective can one act in a world full of subjective imagery?

Firstly I would have to think that dreams have messages, that they are not “just a dream”.

And secondly I would also have to think that I have control, will of my own while dreaming. Wishful thinking? Perhaps not.

I have taken the attitude of observation of the world, of myself and sometimes while dreaming and have found that believing something to be true does not necessarily make it true. But FEELING something is true can always create what you wish to be true.

In my dream, I was living in a corner of a large warehouse type building. My view out the window was of the world. A gray industrialized world fueled by the profit of war and chaos.

I was not happy nor was I unhappy. It was what it was. I had my work. I would sit at a computer near the window and look at the view of the world. I found that I could fly. It was more like levitation and I could “fly” by willing myself where to go.

I would travel down the hallways meeting children playing. Then I came upon a man.He was charming and very impressed with my ability to fly. He wanted me to come and live in his world and motioned for me to look out his window. What I saw was a beautiful garden with flowers and trees, water fountains and stone covered walkways. People were singing and laughing and great works of art were displayed. It was indeed a dream world of perfect harmony.

I felt a tinge of envy of wanting to live in that world. To only see pretty and lovely things out the window. He offered me this illusion. And I felt myself becoming angry that I did not have that view. I felt myself drawn into this manipulation of reality. I felt jealousy, greed, want….and suddenly I was no longer able to fly though I did not realize it at the time. It took remembering myself, being objective about what I was seeing; using the knowledge I had, to truly see. Then I could see what I was looking at. That what I saw was an illusion. Outside the garden, outside of the walls of this illusion was a parallel illusion of a world that was a gray, industrialized, fueled by the profits of war and chaos. One that I had become comfortable in.

All is illusion created by wishes and fantasy, dreams and emotion. When I realized this, I could fly again.

Reality is fluid. Shape it with love.

Shiny Red Bicycle

The Boy knows the rules but is not always responsible enough to follow them. “Sorry Mom, I forgot”, is heard around here often.

He had saved his Christmas money and bought himself a brand new bicycle. It’s shiny red and has hand brakes and everything. He is the envy of the neighborhood right now and he is quite proud of himself.

He was invited to a birthday party on Saturday night so we were going to take advantage of the opportunity and have a romantic dinner out.

Saturday afternoon The Boy decides he is going out to ride his bike. He tells me he is going to his friend Eric’s house to see if he could play. He doesn’t ask if he can go, he announces that he is going. I didn’t fight him because I do want him to have fun and Eric lives right down the street. There are several boys his age right on our street that play together so if they end up at one of their houses he is to call me to let me know where he is. He is also not allowed to ride around the neighborhood alone. Only down our street to a friend’s house can he go alone. And he is to let me know before doing so. Same rule applies if he wants to go to the park.

He had been gone quite awhile and I walked outside and looked down the street to Eric’s house. I didn’t see them out riding so figured they were in Eric’s house. So, I call to have him come home to get ready for his party. Eric’s mom tells me she hasn’t seen him. That he never showed up there.

Now I am annoyed, as he knows the rule. He is to call me if he is at someone else’s house. And he did not do what he had told me he was going to do.

I try not to imagine the worst.

I take my shower and Dad goes out to look for him. He drives around the block, to the school, to the park, and The Boy is nowhere to be seen.

So I head down the street in wet hair. I check all the houses for his bike and knock on a few doors. No one has seen him. One Father puts on his shoes and helps me search the park.

No sign of The Boy, no sign of his shiny red bicycle. Everyone we talk to has not seen a Boy with a shiny red bicycle wearing a red helmet.

I try not to imagine the worst.

Dad drives up and I get into the truck. It was getting close to two hours since I had seen him last and I am beginning to panic. Tears roll down my cheek as I say “We have to call the police”. Dad drives us around another block and we ask every kid we see if they have seen a boy in a red helmet riding a shiny red bike. Finally, a young girl playing basketball says she saw him ride by about 5 minutes ago. Huge relief as we figure he had made it home. We wonder what he is thinking finding us gone.

He was imagining the worse.

A lecture, a huge hug from Mom, a huge swat from Dad, another lecture from Mom and a review of the Rules and tighter restrictions.

I imagine that shiny red bicycle will remain a shiny red bicycle for a very long time, gathering dust in the garage.

In 8 years he will be 16.

I try not to imagine the worse

The Boy

I was driving The Boy to school this morning. Out of the blue he announces to me that he wishes he were a bird so that he could do whatever he wanted.

Well, if you were a bird you could only do what a bird could do, I told him. A bird only does what its designed to do. Kind of like a robot. It does what it has to do in order to survive. If you were a bird you wouldn’t know what you wanted to do as a boy wishing to be a bird.

Of course, as usual, he disagreed with me. With The Boy and his Mother it is always like this. If I say its black he insists that it’s white. That is until he decides on his own this is true. Or he hears it from somewhere else. It can be quite frustrating for me as his Mother.

So, he is disagreeing with me. He tells me if he were a bird, he could fly as high as an airplane and go anywhere he wanted. “I could do whatever I wanted.”

You know, I tell him; I always wanted to be a bird when I was little too. It would be fun to be able to fly. But, think about it. As a bird, you would not have the thought to fly as high as an airplane or go anywhere you wanted. You would be programmed to be a bird. You would eat worms, build nests, take care of your babies, and try and survive the bigger birds out there that would want you as food. You would not go anywhere you wanted because you would not even be aware that you wanted anything other than that which ensured your survival as a bird. You would only do the things that a bird is programmed to do. You would not be able to ride a bike, or climb a mountain. You only think that a bird is free to do what it wants because you can see that it can fly. It’s programmed as a bird like you are programmed to be a boy. You are also like a robot , only you are a little boy robot. And maybe you could wish that as a boy you could fly like a bird. Then you could be a little boy and fly too!

He was silent as we pulled up to the school. I reached over to kiss his check and I told him that I was glad that he was my boy and not a bird, and try not to get in trouble today!

Tonight I will tell him more about birds.

Got Kids?

I have one. He has two. So together we have three. The Boy lives with us. He’s eight. The Girls are in college. Girl One is 20 and Girl Two is 18.

The Boy is excited about “The Wedding.”

The Girls? They’re horrified . But I will leave that for another day.

Having kids is tough yet full of love and hope for the future.My boy is my own little petty tyrant and I love him dearly.

Petty Tyrants
From The Fire From Within

by Carlos Castaneda

"A petty tyrant is a tormentor," he replied. "Someone who either holds the power of life and death over warriors or simply annoys them to distraction

A Pause For Men

I woke up this morning completely soaked. He woke up, rolled over and put his arms around me. “You must have a fever your completely soaked,” he whispered.

Genuine concern.

I laughed, rolled over to face him to give him a big hug and told him that it wasn’t a fever.

Boy, I could have milked that for all its worth. Men don’t have a clue sometimes.

To funny…

I am no Virgin

Yet, I have never married. I guess I can be classified as an “Old Maid”. At 48 years old I think I qualify for that term.

That is soon to change. That’s right gang. I am getting married. Gettin hitched. The ole ball and chain routine. Soon to be the better half of a whole.

Actually, it is he that is the better half.

I come with a lot of baggage. Baggage I tend to hold on to. Baggage, that clings to me and colors my perception of reality.

I am full of holes. Holes filled with emotional energy that activates my ability to find joy in the moment. So I step aside and watch.

I find that joyful. I am finding it fun and wonderful to actually watch myself be a nutcase.

Ha! What a nutcase I am!

And I’m getting married.

The other day I told him that I was crazy, moody, and bitchy. He had a half grin on his face, which told me he agreed. I was being honest and not one bit of emotion was felt in the telling of this truth. And then I told him I was also kind and wonderful and giving. He told me I was all of those and he loved every one.

Wow. He loves me, as I am, each and every one of me.

It was one of the most romantic things I had ever heard.