The Story Midwife

Dream Work

The topic at hand is Dream Work.

Let's begin the day with Rumi, shall we?

Some Kiss We Want
Rumi

There is some kiss we want with
our whole lives, the touch of

spirit on the body. Seawater
begs the pearl to break its shell.

And the lily, how passionately
it needs some wild darling! At

night, I open the window and ask
the moon to come and press its

face against mine. Breath into
me. Close the language-door and

open the love-window. The moon
won't use the door, only the window.
__________________________________

Goodness, it's a steamy collection of words!  Whew.

I find so much here. Layers upon layers that tug at my heart for exploration: a mystical connection to the divine, rapture within one's self, rapture with another, dancing with the rhythms of the earth, passionate sexuality, dreams, spirituality.  And I could go on.

You may know this: I am the founding director of Spirations Institute for Interspiritual Formation, a two-year spiritual direction training program exclusively for women.  This quarter I am leading my current class of participants in an exploration of Symbol, Dreams, and the Inner Life.  It's been a juicy quarter and many of the women are breaking into deeper and more un-nameable pieces of their souls.  These are not women who are new to spiritual exploration, mind you. Most of them have made a lifetime career out of delving into the depths of Spirit's many pools. Yet looking at their dreams (and therefore their lives) in the context of the Spirations has been fresh; soul-trembling; exhilarating; filled with AHAs and release. I would say that many of them are re-discovering the ways (to borrow from Rumi) the moon comes through the window.

We are using a tape series by Jeremy Taylor, uber dream guru and Unitarian Universalist minister.  I, too, have been re-engaging Taylor's words in the midst of the quarter. Yesterday as I drove to pick up my bulk, organic food order off the semi in a nearby town, I listened in on a session. Taylor goes around the room and asks several participants to speak aloud titles to their dreams. It's remarkable the ways others' dream titles begins to knock at my heart. I feel the moon coming in my own window.

I've decided to share some of my own recent dream titles here. What happens when you read them? What titles are you drawn to?  Let's see:

• Skipping Novel Class (And Other High School Adventures)
• Good Mother (ME) and Bad Mother (MY MOTHER) in Bed Together: I Am Both
• Attempting to Unlock the Rich Girl's Safe: 3 Strikes and We're Out
• Kissing the Rich Girl
• Sobbing, Chasing After the Orphan Girl in the Alley
• Fire in My Parents' Garage
• Touching the Blood in my Vagina
• I'm CSI: Finding LL's Killer
• Ordination Morning at the ELCA
• I'm a Murderer in the Church Parking Lot
• Y Has Cancer and No One Tells Me
• Orgasm Morning
• Shoes, Shoes, and More Shoes
• Abby (the dog) Jumps Out the Retreat Center Window & Children Are Milling About the Graveyard
• Scrambling Over Piles of Debris to Find My Spiritual Director
• Around the Oval Table With My Family of Origin: Revealing My (True) Self
• Using the Toilet in the Library, Surrounded by Mentors and Co-Workers

As dreams have a way of making the dreamer incredibly transparent (ahem), you may now know way more about me now than you had ever wished to. Well.

I wonder what your dream titles are.  Will you share?

Keep in mind that dream titles' main job is to help you recall the entire dream with just a few words.  So "Running Screaming from the Castle" is a much better memory hook than "I'm Angry At My Parents." You might have many dreams that point to anger with your family, but noting the Castle will pinpoint just which dream it is. 

So. The table is open. We await your words...

Drinking in Life

 

Notice by Steve Kowit

This evening, the sturdy Levis I wore
every day for over a year
& which seemed to the end in perfect condition,
suddenly tore.
How or why I don't know,
but there it was - a big rip at the crotch.
A month ago my friend Nick
walked off the racquetball court,
showered,
got into his street clothes,
& halfway home collapsed & died.
Take heed you who read this
& drop to your knees now and again
like the poet Christopher Smart
& kiss the earth & be joyful
& make much of your time
& be kindly to everyone,
even to those who do not deserve it.
For although you may not believe it will happen,
you too will one day be gone.
I, whose Levis ripped at the crotch
for no reason,
assure you that such is the case.
Pass it on.

Poetry creates such a lovely entrance into the day, I think.

Yesterday I finally got to talk to my friend Nancy.  We've been playing phone tag for months now, and it's been over a year since we've had one of our good, soul-nourishing conversations.

Nancy is one of the most "real" people I know. An alcoholic in recovery for nearly 20 years, she says it like it is with humor, quirkiness, and grace.  I love that combination. You see, she knows she has no time to waste. 

This is a woman who has endured much in the last few years. She and her first husband divorced five years ago. She remarried to her long-time friend and soul companion a short while later. The next year, her daughter M was thrown from a vehicle en route to a state sporting event. Her broken back left her paralyzed from the waist down. She was just 18 at the time of the accident.

Eighteen months later, Nancy's new husband D was test driving a moped for his teenage son. The brakes seized up and he was thrown from the moped, landing on his head.  He was in a coma for several days before coming to. While he's made an amazing recovery his body and his mind are not what they once were. Yet Nancy loves this man with every fiber of her being and is patiently walking this journey with him.

A couple of months ago, daughter M realized what so many around her had long known: she, too, is an alcoholic.  Now, just freshly out of treatment, M and Nancy are exploring a whole new world together.

Somehow, Nancy has managed to navigate this wildness of heart and body and soul with grace and dignity. I think it is because she enters her world with simplicity.

Nancy is a story magnet. In addition to her own stories, she's always got a good one to share with me. For instance, last week Saturday morning she and husband D were called up and invited to an impromptu wedding that would be taking place that afternoon.  Their friend Angela has been living with cancer for five years.  Four of those years she has shared life and home with Kevin. Angela has longed to marry Kevin, but Kevin was financially unable to take on the responsibility of the medical bills that have ensued during Angela's illness.  A few weeks ago, Mayo Clinic sent Angela home to finish her last few weeks on earth surrounded by Kevin and her children, a teenager and three under the age of five. She and Kevin decided to have a ritual of love and blessing in their backyard surrounded by friends and family, and Angela's recent lifetime dream was realized. The priest from their church facilitated while Nancy received the video camera thrust into her hands as she arrived and recorded the event. Doctors expect Angela's life here will end in a few days.

Goodness, I am so soft with this. My life is so sweet and inescapably glorious. Yet I too will part ways with this earth. On this day that thought is so heartbreaking to me. I wish to grow soft and wrinkly with my husband, my curves snuggling ever-more gently into his. I long to meet the grown-up man my boy becomes. It is an ache in my heart to think it could be otherwise.

I wonder how you are dancing with the idea of your own death. How does knowing you will die inform how you live?  How do you "drop to your knees now and again to kiss the earth?"

What would it mean to really celebrate your life?

Quiet Gratitude

It is a quiet day in my interior.

Our family has been deeply blessed to share days with dear friends from California. Bobbi is a near-published poet (when her book is released I'll direct you) and doctoral student at GTU and first came into our lives when she and my husband were co-students at UTS in the Twin Cities.  Bobbi was also one of our son's first childcare providers.  As I went to individual and group therapy to figure out my life as a new mama, Bobbi walked infant Sammy around Lake Harriet, sang songs, and danced.  Such a dear friend.  She and her wonderful husband Jason made a wide swing through Iowa to grace our home and hearts with their presence.  Together we hiked, feasted on Mexican food and pesto (made with basil and chives we picked from my herb garden), shared the landscapes of our souls, and drank tea on the full moon. Incredibly luscious it was.

And now in the quiet of my home I am feeling grateful. And still.

In just about an hour I will fetch my son from preschool and these walls will not be so quiet.  I will snuggle in now to read a bit of poetry, then treat myself to a short summer's nap.

P.S. I dreamed of Oprah last night.  Will share more later.  What dreams have recently played out in your world?

Sunday in the Park

I've been wanting to write this post for several days, but the mid-week holiday was like a minor speed bump in my work week.  Kind of funny, as I'm entirely self-employed...

Last Sunday instead of attending Big Church in nearby Big City, Sammy and I communed with ancient rocks and trees and waters in the state park near our home.  Oh, what fun we had!

A few things I learned/relearned in our time in the park together:

• Sammy is in infinitely better physical shape that I am or ever will be again. ("Did you need to stop and 'grab' your breath again, Mama?")

• I share life with a Mystic-Naturalist. (While praying for a dead and decomposing tree: "Shhhh. Now just listen and see what it wants to say to you, Mama.")

• The world is filled with exquisite beauty. ("I can see for forever up here!")

• True beauty always includes acknowledging shadow, deconstruction, and impermanence. ("It's just gonna be food for the next tree.")

• When it's your time to go, one way is by the gentle release to the river by a five-year old's hand. (While holding a piece of the aforementioned decomposing tree, a long way off from the water: "I have to take this to the river." At the riverside: "Have a good trip - wherever you go...")

• Silence in Nature can be so nourishing. Silence with a 5-year old -- anywhere -- can be a gift. Silence in Nature with a 5-year old is nothing short of miraculous.

• If I talk to Sammy the way he talks to me, I'm doing a pretty damn good job. ("It's kinda slippery here, Mama. I don't want you to fall and get hurt." And, "Wow! That was a big splash! You're a good stick thrower, Mama!" And, "I could just stay here all day with you, Mama.")

If you're wondering if he's always this kind, charming, polite, sweet, and good-natured, in a word no.  Make that NO! He was clearly in his element.

I've been thinking a lot about motherhood.  MY motherhood, in particular.  Like most parents on the planet, I spin through seasons of wondering what the hell I'm doing. Am I just giving my son some really great therapy material here? Who ever thought I was cut out for this?  It's been sort of a vulnerable week that way.

Earlier in the week we got a call from my in-laws with feedback about some rather unsavory Sammy behavior at the family gathering last weekend.  Ugh.  Let's just say it was one of the three most distressing phone calls in my life.  (At the moment I cannot think of what the other two could possibly be...)

After a time of gut-wrenching fear that my son was most certainly on track to serial killer-hood, the fear in me unclenched. And I returned to our time in the woods.

This is what I found inside myself:

Nature has a way of knitting me -- and I believe my son -- back together. When one or both of us is amiss, it's time to get to the woods.

One incident cannot be taken out of context from a person's entire life. It must be considered within the entire ecosystem of the individual.

Absolute stunning beauty must take into account the whole circle.  When I completely muck up or my son displays his decidedly unsavory behavior, it is wise to hold it in compassion. It's ultimately just fine. It will be "food for the next tree."

Finally, if I talk with Sammy the way he talks with me I doing a pretty damn good job.

So.
That's what I know today. What about you?

Tell me about your last trip to the woods.