Reflections, Visions

Detachment…?

The clock on the wall keeps ticking, but the hands no longer move…

Because Time no longer motivates me.

Voices argue down the street, louder and louder, but the words no longer mean…

Because language never truly captured or communicated what was real.

Sadness, sorrow, grief wash over me, but tears no longer fall…

Because acceptance of what is, is, and my heart does not resist.

Peace wraps itself around me, as my eyes begin to lose their focus…

Because clarity comes to the Observer, relieved of earthly pleasures.

And I see…

That I am not alone, nor disconnected here from Others; rather we are joined in spirit, thought, and understanding.  Holding “hands” as all we’ve known drops out beneath us.  Free floating in a place without gravity to hold us, without severity to sink us.  Gently holding on to what is real for each of us… in a space with no time, no boundaries, no real limitations.  Just us.  And what each has chosen to live with…

I will not judge you on your choices, for I have made my own.  And each will be responsible for whatever seeds we’ve sown.  There is no “right” or “wrong” here, and “fairness” does not exist.  A redefinition is occurring of what we once called Justice.

The truth, as I see it (little “t” intended), is that choices surround us All. Depending on your perspective, belief and expectation, you alone can choose what path calls loudest to you…

Some may face a fork ahead, choosing left or right; envisioning a world where all is black or white…

Some may face a crossroads, where many paths may merge; joining forces, they move on to where their spirits urge…

Some may find themselves at the center of a wheel; all paths entering, even circling, but never truly leaving…

Whatever path awaits you, friends, I trust you will choose well.  At least you will decide your fate, as only you can for yourself.  And if you feel helpless, drowning in the chaos, chained to time and space…?  Try letting go completely, before it drags you down…

Detachment…?  Or apathy?

Surrender…? Or acceptance?

Cowardice…?  Or conscience?

The choice is always yours…

 

Standard
Dreams, Reflections, Visions

“If you want to lead…”

Interesting dreams and experiences this week, summed up by my dreams last night.  I don’t remember details so much, but the message was clear…

“If you want to lead… lead.

If you want to teach… teach.

If you want to heal… heal.

If you want to speak… speak.”

***

For months now, the messages I’ve gotten have been consistently about stepping back and allowing Others the space they need to decide their own course of development.  I’ve actually become quite proficient at minding my own business.  Not perfect, by any means, as there are always times and situations that create a compelling urge to react, but much better than I previously did.

And now that energy has shifted.  Now, I’m told, we may begin act-ing again, though perhaps not in the traditional sense.  For example, if we envisioned our selves as leaders in this “new” world we wish to co-create, we will not achieve that end by handing down orders or controlling others, as leaders did in the old world; rather, we shall lead by example only.  Get your hands dirty, or get out of the garden!

Likewise, if we fancied our selves as teachers, then we must live our truths rather than preach them.  Words mean nothing today without action.

If we imagined our selves as healers, then the work must begin within.  It is not enough to use words like “should” and “ought to” to describe the path to wholeness.  We must become whole ourselves, and guide others by those actions…

And if we have something to say, we must take responsibility for both the words and the tone of our messages.  Communication is a two-way street, and while we cannot take responsibility for how another interprets our words, we must endeavor at all times to say what we mean, and mean what we say.  Freedom of speech is not a free-for-all arena anymore, by which anyone can justify and legitimize whatever stray thoughts may leak out; consequences will occur…

That being said, I feel lighter and more energized than I have in months.  Obviously, these have always been goals, but now they are imperatives.  And with that comfort of certainty, that awareness that rightful action can once again lead to just outcomes, I feel relief as well as a tightening of the reins of self-discipline.

We are, as always, who we choose to be, and we are free now to reclaim the power of becoming who we’ve always wanted to be.  Be brave.  Be wise.  Be responsible, my friends.  And be free!

Standard
Reflections

The Room… Revisited

20170418_113936

Someone recently told me, “you’re not really schizophrenic, Lisa.  You know that.  Right?”

Yeah, I know that.  Or I did, anyway.  At some time.  Before…

She added, “those voices you hear, those experiences you have… they’re real.  They’re actually happening.  To you… around you… you know that, right…?”

Yeah… right.  And those cigarettes really are on the table, after all…

Allow me to explain…

Back in the early 90’s, in one of my unpublished books, there were a series of chapters collectively referred to as “Voices from the Edge…”  They were my first attempt to capture, in process, the experiences I actually had.  To explain them to a non-existent readership what it felt like to be me.  They were based upon the premise that anyone could learn to be crazy like me, if they so chose, by following a few simple steps down some twisted thought roads, to a place where reality was entirely voluntary, self-created and self-owned.  And this journey began in a room…

It was a large room, large enough to contain the many Others I would encounter in my life, and its primary feature was a large table, dead center, with many objects on it.  That room was a metaphor for the Universe I inhabit, the table represented “reality” with its many observable facets (things)…

The room itself was divided into a light half and a dark half, with the line running right through the center of the table.  The light side was densely populated, noisy, with its most prominent feature being a large sofa flanking the table we called reality.  I postulated that the light side of the room represented the “sane” of society, interacting with each other, sitting on the couch to discuss the nature, laws and experiences to be learned from the table and its objects…

The shadowed half of the room was more sparsely populated, with ill-defined forms (defined by “ill-ness,” perhaps?), keeping away from both the light and the table it illuminated.  These were the lost souls, and lost causes, hiding in the refuge of their own minds, choosing not to interact at all with the “norms” of society.  Occasionally one might wander up to glance at the table, muttering something unintelligible, but they would quickly retreat to the comforting shadows…

My chair sat right on the line between light and dark, facing the table.  The light side, with its many people lay to my left; the shadows reached for me from the right.  I chose to acknowledge the table before me, and all the objects upon it, including a picture frame that faced the couch.  Which meant that I could easily discuss that reality with those on the couch, agreeing almost completely with what they saw and experienced…

But suppose that from my perspective, I could see that there was a pack of cigarettes hidden behind that picture frame on the table.  Those on the couch honestly could not see it, being obscured as it was by the picture in front of it, but I clearly could.  I insisted it was there, and so our views of “reality” now conflicted.  But there were many on the couch, and I was only one…

If I went to sit on the couch, as I was strongly “encouraged” to do, I would no longer see those cigarettes on the table, though perhaps I might then be able to see what picture the frame contained; my angle overlooking the table would have prevented me from seeing it before.  But had the couch-sitters told me about the picture I would not have likely argued with them about its contents, since I could clearly see the frame, and had no reason to assume they would lie to me about it.  Ultimately, it was all about perspective, or so I believed.  The couch-sitters I encountered, though, preferred to call it truth.  And so we disagreed…

Was I now to assume, given my change in perspective, that the cigarettes no longer existed?  Or, even more disturbing to my “fragile” psyche, that they never existed at all?

When I returned to my chair, I noticed immediately that the cigarettes remained, exactly as they had been before…

What this analogy taught me, at the time, was that I could not fully embrace a consensus-based reality.  I was too aware of my skewed perspective on reality, and in order to honor my self, I must also honor my own experiences, real or not, true or false.  Judgment was not required, but acceptance was!  I was way too uncomfortable sitting on that couch, trying to deny what I had already seen.  Had I never seen behind the picture frame, I would never have had the conflict; but I had seen behind it, and I would not deny it…

So I learned…  I learned to focus my interaction with others on the objects we could both see.  And I only mentioned the cigarettes when speaking to someone I believed was open-minded enough to consider their existence a possibility.  For the most part, it worked for me, allowing me to “fit in” quite comfortably with the couch-sitters, albeit with the title of “eccentric.”  I could live with that, even revel in that, retaining my unique perspective while still engaging society as a whole and individually…

The only real problems I had came down to that picture frame, when couch-sitters insisted that the picture within it was Truth absolute, with no room for perspective.  Having seen the frame, I knew it was a very thin barrier indeed between those certainties and the shadows they covered up.  So, for me anyway, absolutes of any kind were to be avoided; religion, politics, academic proofs, etc., were but a thin veneer covering a much bigger background picture, and I refused to accept them as Truth…

These days it seems like the shadows are beginning to creep across the room, stealing into the corners and high places first, while threatening the light-needers’ very foundations.  One by one, the electric lights are dimming or blowing out, forcing the couch-sitters to cram together a little tighter, just to remain safely illuminated.  But such close quarters breed conflict, and fear drives them to act out, pushing and shoving, and forcefully evicting some from the perceived safety of the couch and its certainties.

Those evicted tend to close their eyes quickly against whatever their new perspective on the table reveals, but perhaps not quickly enough to avoid seeing things differently, however briefly.  I understand that particular internal battle, as you actively try to deny what you’ve seen, only to have the image return again and again, unbidden, to haunt you both in waking states and dreams.  Things truly are not what they seemed, and those certainties that brought such comfort before have become mere curtains, blowing in a breeze, threatening to open up and expose what lies behind them…

Soon the shadows may rule the room, the darkness may become complete.  And all those objects on the table will cease having any meaning or value at all.  And you who revel in the light today may be forced to acknowledge your shadow as well…

I choose not to fear that day, if only because I know exactly where those cigarettes lie on the table before me.  So many years I’ve focused on them, that I could find them in my sleep.  And I know, being a smoker myself, that no serious smoker keeps cigarettes without a lighter nearby.

Hmm…

Kinda gives a whole new perspective on the old adage, “where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”

The darkness need not be complete, after all…

 

Standard
Dreams, Reflections

A Dream: “Deciphering Code”

I had a dream this morning…

In it I was in the final stages of my education there, part of an ongoing series of dreams.  It’s been like attending Dream University, pursuing a degree of some unknown nature, with classes, and projects, and tests; successes and failures and learning that later translates somehow into my daily life.  And now, at Dream U, I am completing that process, undergoing some final testing to “prove” readiness for graduation…

Last night’s dream involved such a test; a final exam for a class.  I was working with two other people to decipher and translate codes, and we had several massive bodies of work to transcribe.  But first we had to decipher the languages they were written in, and figure out how to translate that into the language our teacher wanted it in. It was a tedious labor, and though I recognized its importance in the overall picture, I dreaded the actual work of it, being boring, restricted, and massively time consuming.  I felt certain we would succeed eventually, completing our task within the expected time frame of the test, but it would require an enormous amount of self-discipline.

While half-heartedly complaining about the nature of the work, and how I usually enjoy cryptography tests, but this one being too huge to enjoy, my two partners (being techies unlike me) glanced at each other excitedly, and one spoke the thought they both seemed to share:

“That’s it!  Of course!  It’s code!…”

Not understanding their revelation, I asked them to explain…

“It’s code,” the other said, turning toward a bank of computers containing the works we were to translate.  Typing rapidly, he continued to speak.  “If we can decipher this and turn it into a binary code, all 1’s and 0’s, then the computers can do the bulk of the translating for us!  It would get done quicker that way.”

Realizing this was not technically cheating the test, though certainly not in the spirit of it, I looked at the third person doubtfully…

“There’s nothing illegal about it.  In essence, we would be creating a rubber stamp of sorts which would do the bulk of the tedious transcribing for us, freeing up our time to do whatever else we want…”

“But would it be accurate?,” I asked skeptically.

“Depends on how accurate the deciphering is.  You get us the right code, we can transcribe the works!”

Tempted by the possibility we might not be stuck in this place for the entirety of the test, I continued to question…

“So…  If we did this, how long would the transcribing part take?  Roughly…”

My two partners looked at each other.  One shrugged unenthusiastically, while the other answered…  “Maybe 40 days or so…?”  Both glanced down at the floor to avoid my gaze.

“Saving us a whole 2-4 days, maybe,” I responded, feeling the disappointment deeply.  “During which time my other self remains not free…”

They nodded, acknowledging my assessment, while I pondered the situation…  A heavy price to pay, indeed, to shave a couple of days off the task at hand.  Was it worth it?  And would it violate the spirit of the test enough to nullify its purpose and results?

Suddenly, I realized what I had actually said!

“… during which time my other self would remain not free…”!

A new excitement rushed into my mind as I realized my whole perspective (on something!) had just shifted a degree or so, but knowing it changed everything!!

I woke suddenly, repeating that last line over and over again…

“… during which time my other self would remain not free…”

 

Standard
Reflections

Emotional Train Wreck…

There is something so profound in those words.  They are descriptive, evocative, primal, and accurate.  Yet they do nothing to illuminate or resolve the underlying “cause” of the destruction…

Still, it’s how I feel…

And it’s odd, really, because it doesn’t truly feel like a “bad” thing…

I’m no stranger to dealing with intense emotions, of course.  I have a well-stocked tool box created for just this purpose.  And if those tools fail me, I have a back-up arsenal of weapons to use to set myself back on track.

Analysis, rationalization, intellectualization, justification…

Detachment, compassion, empathy and understanding…

And writing…  Writing is key, as it often reveals what I’m hiding from me…

And when my rational mind cannot “think ” my way out of the morass, my dreams will take over, allowing my over-developed subconscious free rein to explore and play.

But either way (or both most often), an “answer” slowly emerges, illuminating the unasked questions that set me off in the first place.  It works…  And it works well enough to keep me moving forward, always.

But this feels different, on so many levels.  For example, I have no name for what I feel, in spite of my expansive (often made up) vocabulary of emotions.  Nor do I have an appropriate feeling metaphor to explore that might reveal hidden connections.  I have no poetry in my soul, revealing the emotional tempo and rhythm.  Nor do I have an allegory to capture the essence of what I am experiencing…

This, whatever it is, is entirely “new” to me, though it nudges some distant, unrecognizable sense of familiarity in me.  A memory, perhaps, not fully recaptured?  Or one not yet experienced?  Time has been a capricious companion always, but even more unpredictable of late.

Even my dreams cannot seem to sort this out, trying multiple scenarios over the last few days that recreate the emotions, but from very different sources and causes.  The only consistent theme has been the puzzling, the need to comprehend, the sense that time is short and the answer imperative to my continued well-being, and the suspicion that what I am looking for is obvious, glaring and huge; a clear case of the trees overwhelming the forest in front of me.

And so I sit here today, sipping this emotional soup, seeking to identify the layers of flavors, yet unable to get beyond the initial taste upon my tongue.  There are no subleties, no hints or hues that can be separated out; there is only the totality, the sum of all its parts.  The soup is neutral brown, with no colors or textures to help identify its ingredients.  It is a massive weight lying in my stomach, pulling on my heart, tightening my chest…

And all I can hear outside the buzzing in my ears is a sad refrain, playing over and over again…

“An emotional train wreck… That’s what it is.  And honestly, I’m ok with that.”

And I am…  Really!  Perhaps that’s what is most disturbing to me: that this could be my new “normal” and I’m quite comfortable with that…

And all forward momentum is lost…

Standard