A friend passes over and a big dream….

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The Fish Dream

All of my work is about water. Or so it would seem. Even my being at the keyboard invokes a fluidity of my fingers. And I am a water sign in the zodiac. So I have had a big dream about a fish. Today I met my friend, Tallulah, a dream expert.

We met in the parking lot where the restaurant was located, both of us wearing water colors, naturally. I had told her about the dream so it was not at all surprising what happened next. She said, “I need to pop in at the gift shop for a minute.” So I tagged along with her.

On the counter was a fishbowl with two pottery fishes in it. I knew I wanted one. Turns out she got a couple as well. “This is a waking dream,” I said, for the fishes had just come into the shop. “This is symbolic of my dream,” I said and she agreed.

Over lunch we discussed the dream and its possible interpretations. As always, nothing literal could be said, although there were allusions to the higher life mixing with the normal waking consciousness.

We shared a chocolate bread pudding and then went back into the shop to pick up our purchases. When I was getting out of the car at home, I’ll be darned if the cellophane package with the 2 fishes didn’t jump out of my hands and land on the concrete. “There is a crack in everything,” came to mind, for the larger fish was cracked in the fall.

So I sat in my bathroom glueing the broken fish back together. Hopefully I will get a bowl for the pair of them soon.

*I wrote a note about the fish dream earlier. In summary, it was about a friend talking with my father about his life. She went home and he went to the drugstore, leaving me alone in the house. She burst back into the house, holding up a colorful fish with coins in its mouth. It had dropped between her house and a wall in front of it. She was awe-struck. Then my father returns and when he sees the fish, he exclaims, “I just wrote a note to the wife of my friend who died. I wrote, ‘Throw him back. Throw him back into the sea!” And with that I woke up, knowing I had had what Jung calls “a big dream.”

Over lunch Tallulah and I discussed it the best we could, throwing out ways to live with such a gift, such a mystery. Of course, in the end, all one can do is stay open and see what happens next.

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Pure Presence as an Exercise

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Welcome to my home….

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Waiting for the Miracle

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I have daily doubts about the direction I am headed and that is only proper. Anyone who does not have doubts is dead. My faith is constantly being tested and often I fail miserably. But something in me is resolute in its intention to serve something higher. This happens when I sit here and type.

I have no way of knowing who I will reach or what any reader may be looking for. So I start with honesty about my own condition. Even though I may be reassured on occasion, I still look for signs that I have not gone completely off the rails of my original intentions to wake up.

Saturday and Sunday seem endless. Today I will putter around the house and take a walk. Cook a simple meal and meditate. Watch TV and go to bed early. Nothing spiritual about that.

I feel I should be doing more. But doing is not the answer. Letting go is the answer. Letting go of my deep desire to make progress. Progress is not in my hands, thank God. If it were, I would be free of anxiety and desire. I would be who I would like to be. But that is not how God works. His ways are infinitely more secret than that. Nothing adds up in His world.

Out of my own mind, I enter His. Out of my own plans, I am in His Hands. Out of this world, I am in the higher world.

The higher world will always be a mystery for anything solved becomes organized and static. All anyone can do is witness their own lack of spiritual success. Watch themselves crying out to God. Watch themselves waiting for the miracle, as Leonard Cohen says. It will come. It will come.

Vicki Woodyard

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Leaving the World

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When you leave the world….

When you leave the world, things are often seen in slow motion. You watch yourself with time on your hands. You dangle them by your side, you use them to go online, you feed yourself snacks with them, but time still hangs heavy.

If you were in the world, the world would know you and you would know it. Alas, that is not the case. It used to be, when you thought it was a club you should join, that it would give you benefits.

But as the world robbed you, you begin to make efforts to leave it for a better one, a more conscious one. And these efforts soon landed you in big trouble. For you tried to share this world with your old friends, who still believed in it. And you begin to find yourself alone.

So you tried to have it both ways and that didn’t work either. For that required you to play false and your new world would have none of that.

Your new world revolves around the True You and not the false one you imagined yourself to be. It contains a lot of silence and a lot of mystery and solitude. For solitude is where you develop your spiritual muscle.

Meditation becomes more your style than rumination, thank God. You no longer get embroiled in your thoughts as long as you used to. Now you become someone who is watching them go by, like clouds in the sky.

At some point you recognize that you never had any friends in the world, just fellow sufferers. But you wanted to suffer consciously, and that is why you heeded the words of the Master when He said, “My kingdom is not of this world.” And so life goes in a new and mysterious way.

The worldly roll call no longer includes you and so you sometimes feel alone and without a job to do. Learning to simply be is your new calling. And you begin to offer your being up to God. And perhaps the word “hallelujah” is heard deep in your heart, telling you that you have come home. The river has returned to the sea.

Vicki Woodyard

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Resting in What Is

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The Death of a Child

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Returning to the Sea: No one is Safe from Love

I am learning to live in the sea. After a life of being on land, I am being recalled, if you will. A while ago, a dear friend said that she felt that I wanted my books to sell too much. That the very desire was keeping them from selling. And I took it personally, of course. But nothing is ever meant to be taken personally, as I was soon to find out.

A few days after that incident, I had a big dream. In it, the friend was at my house engaged in a lovely conversation with my father, who was the villain in the family story. But as he spoke of his life, she listened tenderly, and I begin to understand more about the hardships he had faced and the wonderful creativity he had brought to his life.

She stayed a long time; it was growing late, but finally she went home. My father had gone to the drugstore. Suddenly, she burst into the house, holding up a rainbow-colored fish with coins in its mouth. She was horrified, said that it had fallen from the sky between her house and a wall in front of it.

Just then my father returns from the drugstore. He sees the fish and exclaims, “I just wrote a letter to the wife of my friend who died. I told her to “throw him back, throw him back into the sea!”

And I woke up, realizing that this dream was somehow speaking to me and what I must do with my writing. But that is all I knew. I told my friend Tallulah that I had had a big dream but didn’t understand it.

So another friend says I might enjoy Llewellyn-Vaughan Lee’s book, “Fragments of a Love Story.” It came in the mail a few days ago and I read this:

“Khidr is found by Moses ‘at the place where the two seas meet’.” This place where the two seas meet is the locus of the spiritual journey, “where the dead fish comes alive,” where spiritual teachings become a living substance that nourished the wayfarer.” When we meet our teacher, when we meet the path, this is what happens; something comes alive in our heart and soul: we become nourished, not by spiritual texts or teaching, but by direct transmission. The spiritual journey is a way to live with this spiritual substance, to be burned by its fire, to be consumed by its love.”

And this will never make sense to the rational mind. Big dreams are to be honored, to be absorbed, to be mysteriously lived. And so begins the next chapter in my story, the next leg of my journey home. The friend who gently chided me for clinging to my books, now became, in the dream, my answer to larger questions. What am I to do with my life? Whose life is it? And how can I learn to live in mystical waters? I hold the questions as tenderly as she held my father’s life story. For none of us are bad; we are just doing what we feel we must in order to feel safe. And no one is safe from love.

Vicki Woodyard

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