Tag: dreams

The Angel Made Me Do It

Dare to dream!

If there’s a will there’s a way!

These used to be my favorite clichés growing up. I miss that sometimes now that I’m growing old and cynical. I miss that crazy big picture dreaming like we do as kids with seemingly the expanse of the world and infinite days ahead of us. My mom really did often repeat that we could do or be anything we wanted.

Prima ballerina even though you’re short and curvy? Sure, why not!

I never really believed it, but I do agree that to dream big is a good thing, and not just for kids. The older we get though, the more that critic steps in even before his queue, the inner voice of impossibility. A necessary ally, no doubt, in his strict adherence to the practical and well-tested norms.

Let’s call him Jack, from another of the well-worn clichés, “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

What if we put Jack in the box for now, where he prefers to be anyway, and we enjoyed some precious time without him?

It seems like a lot of folks have dreams they would call big that center around money. They want a new house, for example. And that’s true for me, too, I would like a new house.

But I think of that as a small dream. When we first moved here we didn’t expect we’d stay in this house. It’s not where we would choose to have a house on this property, and it’s not the kind of house we would choose as far as style either. We thought we could make this one into a ‘project house’ where we did all our work and hobbies, then we could have another small one more suited to us, off the road, on a more picturesque part of the property with views all around.

Then after making so many improvements over the years and spending so much time, money, energy on the surroundings, we downsized that dream. Jack won that one, as usual.

But that doesn’t mean he’ll always win, right? Back in the box he goes!

Dream BIG! It’s not that easy. I used to have lots of big dreams and many of them I wrote down and some of them have come to pass. At least partially.

Like, I always said I wanted a small house on a big piece of land. I just had no idea that would be in rural Texas, or there would be the whole menagerie attached. I was thinking more like an acre in Corsica or Guadeloupe overlooking the sea.

Guadeloupe, French West Indies 1997

Sometimes I dream we could still do that if we really wanted. But, Jack doesn’t have to bother getting out of his box for that one, that’s how little chance of it there is.

But, what if we could bring some of what I love about that dream into this dream we’re already creating?

A spring-fed pond, that would be a good start. No, make that a lake!

There are properties all around us that may soon be for sale. We’d buy them all!

And then what? (Back in the box, Jack!)

I heard a friend talk behind my back once a few years ago when she first visited here. Directed at her hubby, as we were driving them in the tractor to their lodging in the still-unfinished cabin we built, she said, “Why would anyone need so much property?”

I didn’t, but wanted to say, “But, you see, but we would have, could have, SO much more!” Why not?!

Hubby used to joke about our paltry 50 acres, “In Texas, 50 acres buys you a front yard.”

It’s not a matter of need, obviously. How much land does the Queen of England own?

It’s not even about what one might accomplish with a few hundred (or a few thousand) acres. I don’t imagine we’d aim to accomplish much at all. Jack would want to put a name on it of course—a nature preserve, or a dude ranch, or a future botanical garden, or a (God forbid!) another of the popular ATV parks.

I think in my biggest dream I’d invite some cherished friends to our rural sanctuary, with the spring fed pond (lake!) and wooded paths strewn with pine needles, and secret herb gardens, where we’d enjoy some homemade wine on a fine pergola made of bamboo watching the birds . . .

And the chemtrails.

Fuck you, Jack!

Nightmare vs Reality

I’ve had a recurring nightmare for too many years to count. I call them ‘stress dreams’ and there seems to be a direct correlation between how little stress I actually have and the overwhelming stress in the dreams.

A year or so ago I thought they’d stopped, or at least I’d hoped. I’d even written about this hope at the time, with fingers crossed. But, a few nights ago, it came again.

The details of these stress dreams are always very similar. I’m in a large, dirty, foreign city, alone and lost. I’m roaming the streets, looking for help, having lost my wallet, phone and shoes. I never find help and wake up feeling miserable and scared.

In reality, I haven’t lost my wallet since I was a kid. I’ve only once been barefoot on city streets (Paris), by choice (what was I thinking?!). I’m not all that attached to my phone either. Maybe that’s why sometimes in the dream I never had a phone at all, but find myself in phone booths (remember those?) unable to recall the phone numbers of anyone I know, Hubby included.

Now this next part might seem unbelievable, but it’s 100% true. On Friday I lost my wallet and two nights before that I had had the dream again. I didn’t even realize I’d lost it before a got a call. A woman’s voice from a nearby church left a message on my phone: “We found a wallet with your business card in it. If it’s yours, please call us.”

Not for one second did I think it was my wallet. I never lose my wallet! I went about my day for several hours after that wondering who at that church I’d given my business card to. I thought of several ladies I might call to see if they’d lost their wallets, in which my card could’ve been found, in order to be the Good Samaritan.

I was in the middle of making cheese (Munster, for more advanced cheese makers) when I had a sudden flash. Dumb move dipshit!

Remember putting your wallet on the hood of your car?

Oh yes!

Remember retrieving your wallet from the hood of the car?

Oh no!

I checked my bag, sure enough, no wallet.

Hubby was coming inside at that moment and I repeated my foolishness. He jumped in the car with me and away we went.

We drove to the church on the beautiful quiet country roads just as the sun was beginning to sink low in the sky. I hadn’t realized it before, but this particular church is part of a very large and impressive complex—a retreat—spread out over rolling hills, with a big lake, lots of buildings and impeccably maintained grounds. To add to its picturesque-ness, there was an elderly man feeding the geese as we crossed the bridge to the main campus.

A stranger had found my wallet on the back road that was part of the property, a tiny dirt road, which I take as a shortcut to a friend’s farm. He turned it in to the groundskeeper, who took it to the church’s office manager, who in turn called me, all within a few hours.

The wallet was on the desk waiting for me, fully in tact, even with $220 in cash still there.

On the drive home I pondered my extremely good fortune. Not alone. Not barefoot on city streets. Not without help. Benefitting greatly from the kindness of strangers and on a lovely drive with my hubby on empty country roads at sunset.

And I thought, “What the hell is wrong with my artificial stress-filled dreams that can’t seem to align with my idyllic natural reality?”

Blind Empathy

I’ve had a recurring nightmare for a decade or so.  This is not unusual for me, I’ve had them all my life, the contents and themes just shift.

I only have an elementary knowledge of dreams and their symbolism and I avoid over-researching in this domain, because I believe these things to be highly subjective.  But still, I try anyway to record them and discern their meaning through dynamics happening in my life and all around me.  I know someday I’ll have a broader lens and previously unseen layers of the dreams will be revealed at the right time as long as I don’t fall for the illusion and convenience of ‘forgetting’.

This most recent recurring stream recently ended and I’m so glad for that.  I believe energetically the message the dream meant to convey was purged, after a traumatic few months last spring, which thanks to any kind readers who’ve hung around that long and are paying attention, because I don’t have to repeat the entire storm scenario.

This recurring nightmare was different, but very similar versions of losing everything and being lost—being alone in a big, foreign, sometimes bustling, sometimes abandoned city, unable to contact anyone because I was without money, had lost my wallet, phone, even my shoes and sometimes clothes.  I’m always barefoot in these dreams, on the pavement of a foreign city, completely without support or resources.

Then just over a week ago the dream shifted, dramatically, for the better.  It started off just the same, no wallet, no shoes, no phone, no contacts, in another crowd, of this time all women.  I’ll skip the boring details.  It was some kind of meeting group in a mall, I set my bag down for minute, then walked outside.  Once outside I realized I’d forgotten my bag, knew just where, went right back in, but the bag was gone.  I immediately yelled at the women there to give me back my bag, that I know someone took it, and I was very angry.

All of sudden, a woman threw my bag back at me.  And then a dozen women began throwing at me all the wallets I’d ever ‘lost’ (in the dreams).  I was stunned, but happily so, and was marveling at all the different shapes and colors of them from over the years.  My anger that they might have been stolen, and my shame that I’d lost them, dissipated instantly.  I smiled, dropped them all and walked back out the door.

Today I read two excellent article by Michael Tsarion, and listened to an interview on it.  It struck me that these passages are related somehow to what I hope is the permanent passage of this nightmare for me, and also where I think the culture in general is currently circling the drain.

I wish I had the insight now to connect the dots for any curious readers, but I’m afraid I don’t.  I think it’s one of those cases of knowing what you’re doing without knowing what you’re doing.

All text below from either of two recent MT articles: Souls in Darkness and/or

Children of Thanatos

“Basically, human consciousness and behavior are directed by the search for pleasure and the avoidance of pain. The Marcusans decided to co-opt this basal tendency and use it as a tool for building the utopian society they wish to see replace Western civilization.

The Marcusan plan was to establish a society based on the Pleasure Principle. They believed they were following the course of history, and that their dream was quite rational.

Success was assured as long as one systematically removed obstacles causing distress, want and injustice. Hence the welfare dependent “Nanny States” that now proliferate throughout Europe and America. Hence the endless supply of bread and circuses and “good times” had by all.

Nine times out of ten, there’s not much wrong with the psychopath’s sexual life. Why should there be? It’s just a physical act. Because no feeling is involved, and because there’s no genuine care for the other person, what’s the problem? The psychopath has no hang-ups in this regard, no need to sweat bullets like a neurotic or seek out head-shrinkers to help him develop confidence with the opposite sex. Sex is mere recreation for the psychopath.

Indeed, male psychopaths often have no problem getting dates. Many women actually find themselves attracted to them, adoring the fact that they can finally be with a “man” uninhibited by loathsome morals, ideals, sensitivity, hang-ups or qualms. They just get on with it, and don’t care about boring social graces. In extreme form this condition is known as Hybristophilia.

Since the psychopath is unencumbered by emotion, he can easily focus his brain and learn things quickly. If he already has a high IQ, his success is certain. This is why we find a great many psychopaths in high places. They covet the power offered them by religious and political appointments. Our present hierarchical systems make it easy for psychopathic types to excel. Indeed, our world is infested with them. Without upgrading our psychological knowledge, we have no way of ridding ourselves of their loathsome presence.

Sadly, no expert on pathological types dares utter a word of this in public. There’s no longer any mention of the effect on society of psychopaths in high places, and no comment about how whole nations can be psychopathic.”