What do you imagine life to be?

[curious....@gmail.com]

I think that everyone, at some point in their lives, has a dream that
verfies the order of their mind. That is to say, we all have dreams
that confirm our individual set of beliefs, that proves to us that
life is what we imagine it to be. These dreams stick with us no
matter what, there is no need to record them like ordinary dreams, for
once they have swam into our consciousness, they become a part of our
awake self, where they renew our faith in humanity. The symbolism,
the settings, the characters and events of these dreams are alive and
constantly evolving; they have no definitive interpretation, or
rather, what you see in these dreams today may not be what you see in
them tomorrow. The following is one of my own "Order of the Mind"
dreams.



I have developed the habit of giving my dreams evocative titles. I
call this one, "Ahhhh! The sweet scent of God".

I am at the home of a relative. I am with my mother and maybe some of
my sisters. There are other old mothers there too, my aunts. My aunt
Janet has died and we have come together to honor her, in addition to
us there are also some of her friends here. We are in the living room
of this beautiful, cottage style home. All the colors are white, neat
as a pin.

We are standing/sitting in a circle and we are performing many rituals
that we believe will help her soul pass easily into the spirit world.
I can't recall (damn the conscious mind and it's unreliability) all of
the rituals. It seems like we each tell a personal story of
remembrance, we light candles and do other things that have resisted
my recall. During one of the rituals, I look up and realize that there
is no roof on the house. Behind the house is a exceedingly steep field
of wheat. The bottom of this field comes right down to the back door
of the house. It slopes upward at an impossible angle. The wheat is
a deep, harvest, orange color. Beautiful, perfectly orchestrated,
thick, thick expanses of wheat. The top half of the slope has been
mowed, exposing the bare earth, exactly the same color as the growing
wheat, just a shade lighter.

At the line of demarcation, where the growing wheat meets the mowed
wheat, stands six Native Americans. They are dressed like Pueblo
Indians. There is a group of three, perhaps mother, father and older
child. A few yards away, one stands alone, then a few yards from him,
stands two more. They are watching us very intently.

At the end of our ceremony we collect several of my aunt Janet's
undergarments: pajamas, slips, etc. They are all white. We tie them
together in a large circle and each of us holds onto part of the
circle. We lift the garments over our heads and dance in a circle
willing her soul into the spirit world. I glance up at the Indians and
know that they are pleased by this last ritual.

I am looking out the front of the cottage and I see a sea of water
stretching endless away from the house. The beginning of the water is
perhaps 100 yards from the cottage. The surface of the water is jet
black. People are out walking on the water. I go out onto the porch
and there is an old lady there. I get the impression that she, too,
is Native American, though she isn't dressed like the ones behind the
house. She's a modern day Native. She has shortish, all white hair
that stands out from her head like a halo. She is standing next to a
tall porch railing. It comes up to about her waist or maybe higher
and she is delicately painting a globe.

I begin to speak to her about the people walking on the water and she
tells me that yes, they can walk on water because they've touched her,
actually placed their hands on her body. "Oh!" I say, "please, I want
to walk on water to," and I reach out to touch her back.

But she stops me and says, "Please don't, I can only be touched by
people who know me and who have a relationship with me." She isn't
rude. She seems somewhat saddened by the proscription. Then she
indicates that she needs a dish of water to rinse her paint brush in
and I hurry into the house to find her the perfect dish.

When that happens then I am standing at the edge of the water and
thinking to myself that if I just believe that I can walk on water
then I can. I also notice lots of bubbles rising to the surface of the
water. All over you can see these little channels of bubbles rising
to the top. I look around and notice that there is no one on top of
the water anymore and understood that they are underneath the surface,
breathing as if they are on land! I still want to walk on that water
and so I take a few tentative steps and lo and behold, I don't't
sink. After a few steps I do sink though and below the surface is yet
another world of great astonishment to me.

There is an entire Pueblo village below the water. It is occupied by
tons of people. It is the most surreal place. Narrow alleyways
winding through a maze of buildings with narrow windows and doorways.
The people I see are getting around by a combination of walking and
swimming. I am in a state of great euphoria and I explore around for
a while. Then I see the painting woman, with the white hair. She
comess down from above me and swims/walks into an alleyway in front of
me. She looks back over her shoulder at me and when I see her eyes I
know that she is pleased with me.