Posted by helium
(here)
I stood just inside of the bay door of a typical old style gas station/garage. In the garage was one car set on jackstands with a portly old gentleman in greasy coveralls laying on the floor beneath, turning a wrench. I engaged in small talk with the mechanic under the car as I gazed at the small-town street outside the garage door. The street was lined with trees in full bloom, stores and shops across from where I stood in the garage had several shoppers coming and going, as would be usual on a fine early summer afternoon. From my viewpoint the outdoor surroundings were framed by the stamped steel construction of the gas station’s garage door. A few feet away to my left was the entrance to the shop’s office. The floor in the workbay was concrete, while in the corner of the shop near where I stood the floor was actually packed dirt. Something caught my eye on that dirt floor.
In the corner where the metal shop walls met, among the clutter of hastily discarded car parts, there was a three foot piece of steel girder half buried in the dirt. It was a rusty section of an I-beam of sufficient dimensions to have once been part of the structure of a tall skyscraper. One end was cut straight and smooth, the other was cut with an acetylene torch in a ragged, haphazard fashion. The rusted, pockmarked steel of that piece of I-beam was an inch thick at least. The beam lay with the center of the ‘I’ horizontal to the ground. By all appearances that chunk of I-beam had lain there for as long as the shop had existed.
There was a hole cut in the middle of the I-beam, perhaps three inches in diameter. The hole was not entirely round. The edges of the hole were as uneven as the rough-cut ragged end of the I-beam. Through the hole in that filthy, crusted chunk of steel grew several slender flower petals forming a spiral perhaps eight inches tall. The petals were a captivating deep ultramarine blue with fine veins of translucent violet running their length. The contrast between the unforgiving mass of steel surrounding the supreme delicacy of those lovely blue flower petals triggered an immediate sense of incongruity. Instantly I awoke to the fact that I was being presented with a meaningful vision.
Moments later the tranquility of the vision was disturbed by something occurring outdoors. The skies were darkening and gusts of wind were beginning to blow. Before I knew what was happening a great storm came upon the scene. Wind came blowing through the garage doorway with gale force.
Fierce winds bent the fragile flower petals from one side to another. As the storm increased in it's ferocity the blue flower petals were being shredded against the steel. Soon there was nothing remaining of the once perfect blue petals after they’d been brutally smashed against the harsh unyielding steel I-beam. At this point I was fully awake, aware, and operating in my customary Observer mode. I knew that their was something to learn from what I was experiencing. My thoughts were as clear as they are now, as I write, if not even more clear in the dream. I quickly took in the entire scene along with all of the events in detail, looking for clues as to the meaning of the vision and the destruction of the beautiful violet-veined blue flower. The garage, the mechanic, the street outside, all of this was taken into consideration. The I-beam and the battered remains of the flower were the only clues that made sense. Yet I was certain there had to be more to this vision. With that thought my attention was brought to the steel I-beam itself. The hole the flower had grown through was now larger than it was before. In a sudden moment of realization it was clear; as the flower petals had been shredded against the steel by the wind, they’d cut through the thick steel even as the delicate petals were being torn to bits. This, in itself, was the core of the vision as it was presented to me.
To put this dream and the vision into perspective, months prior to that dream I’d become involved in a situation that battered me in real life much the same as the wind storm had battered those flower petals in the dream. I’d been lied to and deceived in such a fashion that I responded with a level of anger that I’d never dealt with in the past. The anger and rage I was experiencing had been ongoing for months. I’d become afraid that the anger was in fact ruining the best parts of who I am in this world. In those final moments of the vision I came to realize that even solid steel could not destroy the best of me. The most valuable, most beautiful parts of ourselves may appear to be the most frail, yet when the storm subsides, as in the vision, what seems to have been destroyed will in fact grow again
with greater freedom to bloom than before.
No sooner did I come to this realization in the dream but the mechanic crawled out from under the car in the garage, went outside, and proceeded to drive away. I attempted to follow, thinking “Wait a minute, you can’t leave now, there may be more to the dream. . . .” But this part of the dream was fading, having served it’s purpose. Now, just as in other similar dream experiences of mine - those that involve distinct visions - there will be two sequential parts to the overall experience. Another example of this is found in the post I titled “The Bridge”
https://projectavalon.net/forum4/show...=1#post1342427
The secondary part to this current experience found me standing beside a two lane highway. On one side of the highway was a tall mountain range rising near-vertical from the shoulder of the road. The highway followed the base of the mountain range for miles. There was an average amount of traffic on the road – not too busy, but enough for me to assume that this was a major thoroughfare. On the opposite side of the road was ocean shoreline. Much of the shore was rugged and rocky. In a few locations there were small beaches that attracted many of the travelers from the highway who needed a rest from their drive. I stood in an area near one of the sandy beaches, but there was more rock than sand. Small pools had formed far away from the breaking ocean waves.
Once again there is a contrast of opposites – rugged mountain lands with opposing open ocean. I wasn’t yet certain why I was here or what meaning there might be to discover in the imagery. Nonetheless, I was standing near a small, quiet tidal pool. There were tiny ripples on the surface of the pool that attracted my attention. The ripples were created by a number of very odd fish. I watched these fish swim about at the edge of the tide pool, then attempt to leave the water for dry land. I laughed at these silly antics with much amusement because the source of this imagery was obvious. Aldous Huxley and his biologist brother Julian considered humans to be amphibians. Aldous writes:
“. . . we find ourselves confronted by one of those paradoxes which are of the very essence of our strange existence as amphibians inhabiting, without being completely at home in, half a dozen almost incommensurable worlds -- the world of concepts and the world of data, the objective world and the subjective, the small, bright world of personal consciousness and the vast, mysterious world of the unconscious.” Aldous Huxley, Collected Essays, p.198. (http://miltonthed.weebly.com/uploads...ted_essays.pdf)
My amusement sprang from knowing in the dream that the imagery was a direct reference to Aldous and Julian and their famous amphibian metaphor. But I had to step back and view the entire scene from the point of view of the Observer. While I watched those weird Huxley-ish fish leap and flop around, trying to get out of the water and onto land, to traverse two ‘incommensurable worlds’ in Huxley’s terms, I was thinking that there had to be something more to be learned from the overall dream imagery. There was the land that the fish struggled to inhabit, with the tall mountains being a dramatic symbol of land vs. water, the highway, the cars, the parking lots along the roadway near the beaches, the beachcomers poking about on the beaches – this had to have overall meaning somehow. Then the thought came to me that these rather small, inconsequential fish attempting to leap out of their tide pool in an effort to evolve into something far beyond their nature as simple fish – they were an example of how even in the everyday world, normal as it appears, evidence for evolution in consciousness is all around us, and within us, if we care to look. At that exact moment I opened my eyes. Dream over.
The car in the shop represented my life as it unfolds, as it's being worked on. The plant and the flower
petals represented the part of me that's grown into graceful maturity as a caring, helpful being. The
steel represents the constraints upon me as I struggle in this imperfect world where seemingly
impenetrable barriers impede my progress. The storm was my anger releasing unfettered rage. The
emergent, evolving fish reflect our growth as spiritual beings who strive to live equally in two
realms that sometimes appear to be incompatible, but in a larger sense are not.
Sleeping and waking are a continuum. They’re not separate, disparate processes. We learn and grow from inside out – until the outer overlaps with the inner and our actual ongoing experience reflects that overlap. If we trust the process, if we trust the parts of ourselves that are pure, then our flower blooms. And that bloom is more powerful than any steel impediment. It's more powerful than anything that anyone can do to us out of hatred, malice, or ignorance. There is no longer a subjugation to anger.
We may be delicate beings - in some sense delicately beautiful in an almost painful fashion when we consider the temporary nature of certain kinds of beauty -
but we have strengths that go far beyond what we know, and they can become a part of our daily lives.
* * * * * * * * * * *
I share this story and the one below for two reasons. First of all, I know that there are many people in the world today who face terrible losses and bitter disappointments associated with the ongoing world-wide pandemic. Some express anger in the face of their circumstances. Others turn to depression. I’m well aware of the fact that all that I can share are letters and words on a screen. And I’m the guy who is always there to assist friends and other people I meet. On many occasions I become deeply involved with the lives of others in purposeful healing relationships. But I know my limits. Simple typed words are nothing when you are facing a crushing loss and pending fear. What I’m actually sharing are stories, though. Think of them as a fairy tales if need be. If anyone finds value in the stories then they will already most likely be moving along a path of healing.
So one more short story before I get to my second point.
I consider my life events, the unique abilities that I have, and the many individuals who’ve shared their lives with me in unconditional trust, to all be a gift. However gifts sometimes involve compromise. I’ve gone through periods of extreme challenge, particularly in my twenties, when almost unbearable transformations were taking place for me. During certain periods I dealt with severe clinical depression. In retrospect, I look at those periods of depression as the training I would require so that I could work with others to manage medically un-treatable depression and anxiety. Or I should say the kind of depression that’s been exacerbated, made far worse by medical/psychiatric intervention. I was in the perfect place and at just the right time to undergo this training.
In one instance I’d been sealed off from all others for weeks. I wouldn’t even allow the animals into the house. I lived in a small cabin on the edge of Forest Service land in isolated mountains. Depression in those days was like a deafening silence. Black, yes, but also devoid of any possible positive response to anything whatsoever. It was an intractable, deep denial of everything and anyone under all and any circumstances. There could be no connection. It was a dark denial of life. Of course this denial is in conflict with life itself. But there is no battle because it’s been lost. That is not where anyone wants to be. I lived in fear that I’d never be able to break that deafening silence – it was impossible.
These were long ago days. Music has always been a large part of my life. In those days Tower Records was in their hey-day in Seattle’s University District. They were open 24/7. In the midst of this particularly long streak of depression, in desperation, I decided to drive my rusty old truck ninety miles down the mountain to browse through the classical section upstairs at Tower. I came back late at night with some new vinyl to listen to. One album featured one of my favorite conductors and symphony orchestras. On one side were extracts from Tchaikovsky’s “Romeo and Juliet” suite, and the other side was the same but from “Sleeping Beauty”. I’ve always studied composers by immersing myself in their work, listening over and over. I always keep my eye out for any works I haven’t heard that might give me greater insight into a particular composer. I’d built a fire in the living room stove when arriving home that night, then I listened to one side of the record or the other for a few minutes. I relaxed enough to dim the oil lamp to a more comfortable level, then I was finally able to risk allowing the dog and the cat inside with me. I’ve always protected the animals and other people from my worst darkness. But I was making progress that night.
I spent a lot of time with the animals in those days. I used to sit on the floor with them, get them totally relaxed, and play music - mostly symphonic. I’d practice forming emotional imagery from whatever music I was hearing, and beaming that imagery via telepathy to the animals. My goal was to provide them with the best encapsulation of what it’s like to be and feel human that I could possibly create. So that night I was listening to Tchaikovsky’s “Sleeping Beauty” suite while holding my German Shepard’s rather large head between my hands, focusing the emotion that the music conveyed to me into telepathic energy gently beamed from my hands to the dog laying beside me. By the way, the animals always loved this treatment. But that night the music brought something out in me that I didn’t expect. Very simply, I discovered the sleeping beauty within myself. We awoke to one another. This was a powerful experience that I can never speak of or write about without utterly failing for words and having clouds come to my eyes. The depression of the past weeks had been instantly broken.
. . . if we trust the parts of ourselves that are pure, then our flower blooms. And that bloom is more powerful than any steel impediment.
Secondly, and finally, I share these stories here on this thread as examples of how stretching conscious awareness past the customary bounds can actually mean the difference between life or death. The energies of mis-directed anger thrown into destructive action can lead to the dissolution or death of essential parts of oneself if those energies aren’t re-directed into useful patterns instead. The same for depression, and maybe even much more so. Severe depression deprives the self of access to the depths of our being, from where all growth and healing is derived.
Changes are coming soon on the national and international stage. We all know that. Some changes could come in the form of a fresh bloom of extraordinary awareness growing here and there across the globe. As much as the media hypes financial pains and unemployment, I suspect that potentially the most profound changes to come will derive from growing awareness in sufficiently large populations that will drive the direction of our future away from where we are now. It’s time to speak about this. Experiencers will need help and understanding. They will teach. Research will open up. This coming from an old man who has witnessed many changes over time in academic, medical, social, and psychiatric practices. He could separate the wheat from the chaff long, long ago. These days have been coming and now they do seem to be here. Many who are experiencing anxiety today are not aware that it’s partly or fully due to changes in the way they customarily think and feel, and those same changes are replicated innumerably in others. I’ve always felt that teachers need to be ready, my entire adult life. Now more than ever.
In terms of ‘stretching conscious awareness’ I’m planning a thread dealing with the continuity of consciousness. Actually, the idea of continuity of consciousness is most often associated with reincarnation. But in the old days of lucid dream research (pre-internet) there was much talk of the continuity of consciousness in terms of daily variations within consciousness that appear as distinct altered-states. Sleep is the most natural laboratory for studying the boundaries of one’s awareness, as well as for defining the nature of the transitions between one state of consciousness and another.
Thanks to Elisabeth25 @pixabay.com for providing the purple striped crocus image
Re: Covid19: the coming psycho-social transition
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