Eye of The Storm

This is a real picture of a storm on the Planet Saturn. Its a lightining storm that's about the same size as the United States.

Darn straight that's big.

But I saw something in the storm...I can see something reaching over the side of a little boat and brining up something that doesn't look quite human.

I'm wondering...what do you see?

Dreams

Dreams

Dreams are your other life,
yet so many let them lie
discarded on the bedroom floor.

Collect your dreams,
gather them,
learn from them,
remember them.

They come from deep within your being.

Heed them,
laugh with them,
cry with them,
but do not ignore them.

Dreams are an opportunity
to be with friends far away,
to be with once more
loved ones who have gone beyond.
To play again
children’s games we loved so well.
To climb that old tree once more
and stroll a far off country lane.

Dreams are the ships that sail us home again.

Have you ever dreamed so vividly
that you cannot tell
what is real and what is not?
Chances are it’s an opportunity
to mend old fences,
to forgive,
to say once more,
I love you, dear.

Do not push your dreams aside
as if they’re worthless
subconscious rambles
when, in fact,
they teach you things about yourself
that you did not even know.
Dream on, my friends,
but pay attention
to the messages they bring.
May your dreams be filled with joy,
with laughter, and with love.
And if you want to dream of me,
that’s okay—
I often dream of you.

Vi Jones
©February 3, 2006

Thank God for Answered Prayers

The Reality

I have a permanent disability from polio and have always used crutches. In July of 2004 I had a serious fall and injured both good and bad legs from the knees down and broke the ankle on my bad leg. It was four months before I was able to return to work. As I began to recover, I had this dream.

The Dream

"Help me please."

An elderly woman, white-haired and frail holds out her arms and pleads with me to help her transfer from wheel chair to bed. It takes all the strength I have to lift her and ease her into the bed.

"My arms, they ache so," a second woman whimpers. She looks exactly like the first.

I don't know what I can do to help, so I stroke her face and whisper, "Hush, Dear Heart, we'll pray and you'll feel better soon."

A third woman waits for me, mirror image of the other two. She leans around the corner into the room where both women now sleep and says,"It's hard to get old."

"It's too much," I think. I am mentally and physically exhausted. "I can't take care of three old women. As my eyes fill with tears the women shimmer into a single image and the face and body become mine.

The Lesson

When I awake, I'm not depressed. I've put the old women to bed and I can restart my life.

Daffy commented that my visit to the Land of Dreams and encounter with a mermaid needed an illustration, so here it is.

Dream Housekeeper

Fast asleep, I hear the rythmic thud-whisk-thud whisk of a straw broom sweeping nearby. I shift position and slide into, rather than out of slumber, happy to let someone else clean for a change.

My eyes shut, body blissfully relaxed, I recognize the sound of cabinet doors gently opening and clicking shut and tip-toing footsteps that seem strangely metallic. I hold my breath to listen more intently and realize someone is in my bedroom going through my things. Survival instincts kick in and whatever wisp of a dream still remains bursts like a pricked balloon. In an instant, I've flung off the blankets and I'm up and on my feet.

"Who the dickens are you?" I ask a trembling, barrel-shaped woman dressed in a haz suit and combat boots.

"One of the dream housekeepers. I'm supposed to tidy up your mind so that you can start fresh each day. I tried not to wake you, but I guess I haven't got the hang of things yet; you're my first customer."

"I fell asleep in the Land of Dreams?" I ask, not believing it for a moment, and she nods her head vigorously. "I'm not awake then?" She blinks and shakes her head. "What's in the bag?" I ask.

"Scraps. Snips and swatches, bits and pieces of your old dreams."

"My dreams are precious to me. If you want to toss the worries and aggravating crap I've been thinking lately, feel free, Lady, but not my dreams. Give me the bag," I demand and make a lunge for it.

She sidesteps gracefully considering her age and the bulky suit and clutches the plastic bag protectively to her chest. "Can't. They'll let me go for sure. Customers aren't allowed to see."

"Listen, Toots, I don't want to get you fired, but this is my head you're in and I call the shots. Hand it over," My words have the ring of an oldtime movie and for the first time I notice the lack of color. Everything, including the woman, is in black and white--I am dreaming!

"You really should let me clear out your dream clutter," she continues. "You've been accumulating it for years and your cabinets are bulging.

Just as I'm about to decline her offer my bedroom dresser shudders, the hinges on the overhead cabinet strain and begin to creak.

"If I don't catch that you'll be sorry," she warns, making a wild dash to the swollen door and covering it with her black bag.

"What's in there?"

"Nightmares! Old ones that have been breeding and festering for years! Got it!" she yells triumphantly, as the door blasts off and shoots into the bag along with whatever propelled it. The momentum of the crash flings her to the floor where the bag wrestles and kicks at her as she tries valiently to twist it shut. I rush over, drag her to her feet and together we stomp on the hideous thing until it lies still on the floor. When we back away a thin stream of black oozes out and along with it a pair of enormous fangs and a revolting stench.

Breathless, I can only point in horror at the fangs, while this dumpy old woman jumps straight up in the air and lands with both feet smack on top of them. A resounding crunch and they are history.

"Awesome!"

"Steel soles," she says, turning pink, whether from pride or exertion I can't tell. "I didn't realize I'd need them so soon. Now, you'd better let me put some salve on those feet before they blister. Don't need these any more," she adds kicking off the boots and unzipping the haz suit, until she stands before me in a faded housedress and fuzzy slippers.

For the first time I realize my bare feet are itching and there's a peculiar burning sensation in my ankles. When I lift my pajama legs I see tiny red lines snaking their way up my calves.

"Poison! That thing with the fangs was poisonous."

"Not to worry," she says with a reassuring smile, "It's serious but not fatal; after all, we're in The Land of Dreams."

Mind Tidying

When my children were young, I used a kind of `mind-tidying’ process on them when they were afraid, or about to undergo something unpleasant but necessary, like an injection. I held them tight and told them to think of the nicest thing they could imagine.

My father used to say that the only place we are truly free is in our minds. No one can tell what you’re thinking, no mind police can tell you what to think and you can go anywhere your imagination can take you in seconds. He would not have approved of Mrs Darling’s mind tidying.

As I tried to show my children, I believe the mind can be trained away from depressing or negative patterns, and that it can help us cope with unpleasantness. The mind responds well to habit. If you think habitually, ``this is going to be bad”, it generally is – if you think, ``I am strong, I can get through this,” you generally can. The Buddha said ``with our thoughts we make the world” – well, perhaps not all of it (nature is a great thought but I’m not taking any credit for it) but with our thoughts we can certainly make our own world. ``Imagine,” said John Lennon, imagining that if everyone had the same thoughts, we could remake the world.

That always reminds me of the Berlin Wall, which divided a city for 20 years. Then everyone had the same thoughht and the wall came down. At any time during those 20 years, this mass thought could have occurred – the wall was more psychological than physical, kept standing by fear rather than bricks and mortar. I believe thoughts can travel, sometimes flitting from mind to mind (so that more than one person may have the idea – that way it stands a good chance of being born, like necessary traits in natural selection) or it can occur to a whole generation.
I think of my mind as a kind of attic storehouse. Shelves upon shelves of papers, books and boxes spilling their contents, all mixed up in a frightful clutter with no filing system. Anyone venturing in there bent on tidying would face a daunting task.

But I don’t need Mrs Darling anyway – journaling, writing and art are my way of mind tidying. Ever written a good idea down then lost the bit of paper? Try as you might, you can’t recall it. The mind, relieved of the burden of having to keep yet another brainstorm on the front burner, has tidied it away into one of those boxes. You wrote it down. My work is done.

But sit down with a journal, or a pile of collage material, and just let the mind find its own lost stuff. Suddenly, all kinds of things pop up. ``Remember this?” shaking the dust off of some long forgotten memory or piece of trivial information. A rusty old projector cranks up and pictures flicker across the screen – this was the view from the mountains over Avila – this was a Scottish morning with the mist lying in the glen like steam on a giant teacup. This was a face you loved dearly once and have not seen for decades…

There’s a comfy old chair in my mind’s attic where I can sit back and watch the movies of the past, or read through one of the crammed folders in the file boxes. Unless I journal or draw it, I’ll probably forget all about it again, but once I have done that, it becomes magically tidied. Since I joined the Soul Food community, I have found this process comes much more easily.

Of course, in every attic mind, there is a basement – a place where all the childhood terrors and adult fears are stored. It’s murky down there, the light bulb gives off about two watts, and if you’re not careful you’ll come out bleeding.

Anna Marie seems very at home in her basement but I have to confess I need one of those miner’s helmets and a lot of happy thoughts for protection. My fear of heights is the first thing to come up and grab me as I peer down into this dingy space. I know I will have to write about it – put myself on the edge of a precipice, or going down with the Titanic, but so far I have only squealed, jumped back and given it a paragraph or two.

But it badly needs tidying. Or least a better light bulb.

Travel into your dreams

ATC Dreamer
Come close your eyes
and take a trip into the world of your dreams
Be ready for the ride of your life.
you never know where you will travel
or even how you will get there.
Will it be a pleasure cruise or a nightmare ride to doom.
It changes so fast you could go a hundred places in one night
or revisit the same place over and over.
Its not something you can excape it will take over at some point
as we all must sleep and the dreams come in our sleep.