Tag Archives: dreams

Breathing Underwater.

underwater1The water was freezing and violent and I was filled with fear, but I knew that was where I was supposed to be.

I found after that day of being ambushed by grief that the only way I could do my life was to stay in meditation as much as possible. When I couldn’t do that, I walked around crying, the pit of anxiety in my gut sometimes doubling me over in pain.

Even writing didn’t help, which is bloody unusual for me.

Sunday I sat and meditated for at least four hours. It may have been more than that, but I know it was at least that. I suck at tracking time, so I’m not so sure.

I was determined to sit and meditate and not sleep, even though the sleep deprivation for the past few weeks was hard to ignore. I didn’t want to set myself up in the cycle of taking naps so that I couldn’t then sleep at night.

As I sat in meditation, breathing into the panic and heaviness, I was aware of sliding in and out of dream-like states in my fatigued condition. When I was aware enough, I kept the focus on my womb space.

Wanting to stay in my body as much as possible, I concentrated on breathing into my womb space and seeing the fire in my belly glowing brightly.

The get out-of-the-body type of meditation is a very Masculine way of meditating. I admit to using that type of meditation for most of my meditating life without really knowing there might be another way. When I began exploring the Feminine way of spirituality is when I began to focus on staying in the body while meditating.

Focus on the body, emotions and senses is the Feminine way.

While I sat that day, determined not to sleep but to actively process emotions, not just sit and enjoy a ride out of my body, I went into some sort of visualization. I don’t know if it was a past life, a dream, a metaphor—perhaps I fell asleep? I don’t know. But if I did, it was a type of lucid dream.

I was looking down at a blue and white ocean, boiling and spraying. It was violent. It filled me with fear to look at it. I was high on the cliff looking down at the violence.

I knew I needed to get to the water, but I was looking down from the high cliff and everything between the ocean and me was a steep boulder field of huge, sharp, black, slippery rocks and crags.

The waves continued to throw themselves up and against the cliff and the huge, sharp boulders. The water and spray were freezing me.

I started down, and somehow I was able to make progress down the steep, black, slick, rocky incline. When I got close enough, I launched myself out and down into the ocean by pushing off in a jump to hopefully make it out past the rest of the cliff and into the water.

The water was freezing and violent and I was filled with fear, but I knew that was where I was supposed to be.

From my high jump, I sank easily down past the foam and spray and whiteness and then kept descending without trying. It was a beautiful, clear blue-green down below the violence. I was holding my breath.

Down there, it was not as turbulent and I felt like I was being gently rocked back and forth. My feet were down, my arms out, like I was standing in the water. I looked up and could see the violent whiteness above me, but it was silent and almost calm here.

That’s when my sister appeared in front of me, smiling, her long, beautiful, curly red hair spread out all around her like seaweed. I noticed it moved to that same rocking rhythm, waving softly around her, her skin so lovely and pale, her blues eyes somehow warm in all this freezing blue water.

I was so happy to see her again! We smiled at each other and held each the other’s arms, so that we were together, but had room between us to look into each other’s eyes.

I was beginning to notice that I needed air.

She smiled a small, kind of sad smile and shook her head at me—slowly and lovingly. I pointed up and motioned that I needed air. She shook her head at me again, still smiling—patient, understanding.

I began to get frantic, but she wouldn’t let me go so that I could rise to get more air at the surface. She took my face in her hands and looked at me intensely, conveying to me that I must stay. Some part of my brain thought of the drowning scene in The Abyss.

And indeed, she held me there just like Bud held Lindsay in the movie, looking into my eyes softly, with the water beginning to fill my lungs in stabs of scorching pain as I fought her, thrashing about trying to get loose.

Even though the water was freezing, it hit my insides like white-hot heat, searing me, burning.

Finally, with my lungs on fire and with her still holding me in front of her, I took in a deep, lung-filling inhale and completely filled myself with water. Horrified and still looking at her, I realized I was breathing water instead of air at that point.

It felt heavy and laborious to breathe this way.

She was still smiling. I opened my eyes wide and shrugged to ask her how the hell this was happening. She just smiled wider, holding my gaze with hers.

I relaxed as much as I could and looked at her, ready to “talk” to her and find out why we were both here.

That’s when I noticed she was dying in my arms, becoming limp. Her gaze left me and became unfocused and her eyes slid away and over my right shoulder. I began to shake her and was yelling, “No!” at her through the water.

She was already gone though, limp and beginning to sink deeper into the darkness below. I grabbed her and held her to me there in that cold, gently swaying blueness and looked at her face. It was pale and lifeless, her eyes still open and blue. Her long, seaweed hair surrounded us in the water, weaving itself all around both of us.

My tears were indistinguishable from and lost in the ocean water.

She looked like a blue-tinted version of the body I had witnessed in her coffin—deflated and flat and thin, wearing one of her favorite pink sweaters that was now heavy and pulled downward by the weight of the water. The never-to-be-healed knife slashes and stab wounds were now apparent again on her face and neck, showing the tiny stitches.

She had kept me here and helped me learn that I could survive in this “foreign” world below the violent waves above. Then she was gone, reclining now in my arms, both of us swayed and rocked by the water, surrounded by her long, floating, seaweed hair.

I “woke up.” I didn’t know if it had been a dream or a vision or what. I concluded it didn’t really matter.

I use Bing as my home page on my computer because I love their photos. The next day when I opened my laptop, Bing’s page came up and the underwater ocean scene was the exact color my underwater “dream” had been.

karma

Moving away from the eye
it begins
once again
to get sloppy
and I watch it rotate from my birds-eye
relieved to not be a part of that
but I can hear the waves of thunder
all the way over here

when he speaks I can feel
see
the small slow brown hurricane he carries
inside his chest
wanting to do what not only is correct
but also what is right
it spins slowly
he takes his time
it is home to him now

I feel the heavy brownness
of it
how it feels thick and congested
unhappy and weighty
sad
I can also feel the uncertainty there
that has become his certainty
and the obligation
his way of living now
his norm

mostly it feels heavy
like a burden he picked up
or that built up slowly over time
and now he doesn’t quite know how to put it down
doesn’t know if he even wants
to
it would seem unnatural to be without it now
not right
surely there is a completion here to be navigated
I feel him feeling

like that dream that wakes you
but without a conclusion
and you wonder if that was
the dream
or if like an unfinished movie
it is still playing somewhere
and you just woke up before
the natural end

karma is like that
I burn it until it is gone
but there seldom seems
to be a real conclusion
an ending
annotated by the credits

I don’t always know when
we’re done
when it is completely burned
because I’m too busy
wondering what happened
where did I go wrong this time

only nothing went wrong
it actually went according to Plan
it’s just done

grace

this bliss
flows up and over my banks
spills so easily from me
like water from
an underground spring
rising up rich, thick
cool and heavy

pure
fresh

sleeping,
it brims up over my edges
and sloshes
with every tilt and turn
and sigh
my dreams are silver, liquid ribbons
of rivers through ink blue deserts

I walk weighted,
watery steps
solid and flowing
constantly in flood

it’s like I know a secret
even I don’t know
so close and immediate
and at the same time
so removed
detached

I am in love with everything I see
fall in love with everyone I meet
fall in love all over again every time I see you
recognize everyone I come into contact with
swim in them for a moment
taste their colors
letting their theirness swirl
over my soul’s tongue like sweet
fine wine
taste their core
feel our likeness
smile at our dislikeness
pronounce us lovers
kin
and then move on to the next family member

just sampling
not taking
not drawing
just tasting
and it delivers me up to myself every time
offered from the palm of the Beloved
back onto myself
rolls my human eyes back
in ecstasy at your taste
your colors
the delicacy
the simple intricacy that is you

I want to peel us all
down to that energetic skin
I want to talk about what is Real
talk about it loudly
as well as in warm, tickly whispers

it shouts from you
drowning me
in your waves

what are we afraid of?

even I play the game
don’t want to alarm anyone
I pretend to pretend like everyone else does

could you forgive me
if I let you see me,
if I quit pretending?

could you be so kind, so generous
as to step out of the play?
exit stage right, perhaps
and meet me in the wings?

for We

vulnerable
naked
raw, even, perhaps
so unaccustomed are we to being this naked
but not that human ‘unapologetic’ thing either
b/c even that is pretending
just there

just

Here

and then see the Divine in both of us?
see that that IS the Divine?
could you allow it
be able to stand the brutal gentleness
of it
the power and simplicity?

could you forgive yourself then,
offer up that sip of grace
from the sacred Vessel,
if you let yourself be seen?

could you forgive me
if I told you your own shame
labeled it for you
told you its source
where it lives in you?

would you even claim it
or would you continue to pretend
even then?
and if you claim it
could you still allow
yourself to be loved?

don’t you see that to offer ourselves up naked
to everyone
is the most sacred gift there is?

it is not embarrassing or shameful or weak or stupid
it is our natural, Real state

and to receive that gift, that offering
no matter its contents
with anything less than love and gentle acceptance
with shoes off and heart open in that sacred place
would be a most horrible sacrilege
and would only make the receiver less

and not you?

I am weary of this human play
this human suit
mask
pretending
weary of trying not to alarm anyone

I want to throw this weariness
on that flame I see burning
so bright in you
and let it char and purify me back to myself

I already see you without the mask and love you
not in spite of that
but because of that
and what I want more than anything
is for you to come to me

my door open
swinging easily
softly
in the dark, warm breezefull moon

me barefoot inside
leaning into the night sky
kneeling my forehead onto the Breast of the Divine One
having been absorbed back into the Bigness again

and hand me the key to your door
as you walk over my threshold