A Vivid and Life-Changing Dream and the Juxtaposition of Atonement and Work

This week as I've been at the hospital recuperating from Afib, one of the medicines I was taking was giving me very vivid dreams. One particular night I had what I can only describe as an "end of life dream". I have never had a dream like this so I will share it as articulately as possible. 

I was seeing scenes from my life play out. These were not full blown memories, more like vignettes.  I was aware of an ocean-like "rolling" around me as I watched these pieces and I (present me) was not "in camera" so to speak. The vignettes were displayed in a tear-drop shaped vessel of some sort and they were very brief and very very fast. 

The pleasant moments came first, at lighting speed. Some of the ones I remember now are: holding each of my children for the first time, being at Astro-World with Paul, laughing uproariously with each of 3 best girl friends, my kids being in a play at church with 2 other dear families, the way my daughter's eyelids made perfect half-circles. I was riding the train to Silverton, my head out the window; I was looking at bear in Yellowstone, I had a giant spiral lollipop from Deadwood, South Dakota; It was Christmas and Santa left a doll named Carol with a trunk of clothes, I am in England walking on a public path, listening to music, grieving and healing, I saw flashes of many of my mentors and teachers, I saw a little student who died in 2020 - he was running toward the class on the playground and his face was lit up from within. My last moments with my dad; days and days of last moments with my sister in law. There were more and more and more; and if any of these are familiar to you, as well, you know some have their losses and sadness attached to the events -- but hear this: There was no tinge of sadness as I witnessed these tiny glimpses, only the purest joy. 

Writing that phrase, "the purest joy," I remember how easy it is to let guilt or anger pull us into dramatic behavior that inhibits or blocks the joy. As I think about my dad's death, I could easily lapse into anger at God or regret for not spending more time with him every day or . . . or . . . or. I'm going to give that temptation to misery a name: it's mindtalk. You know, when you're watching your child sing at school, or do ballet, or take those precious first steps and the mindtalk comes in and you start thinking how they grow up too fast, or someone else's song was longer; on and on and on and suddenly your joy has a tinge of sadness or regret or resentment. 

The "Not That"

This moment was not that. There was nothing but joy and love. So much, so many moments so incredibly fast, but because it was a magical dream, I could extensively experience every single moment to it's complete and maximum fullness. Full is the right word, too - how full I was. I was standing tall, my vision glued on the display, my shoulders soft, my face and eyes wide open; I was simply breathing and experiencing. It was expansive.

I remember feeling the ocean rushing around me, pulling at my ankles and legs, my toes sinking deeper and deeper into the sand beneath. I could feel the wind whipping my hair in and out of my eyes and the tears streaming down my cheeks as I witnessed hundreds (?) thousands (?) of these twinklings.

It ended and seamlessly the other memories began. For lack of a better word at the moment, I'll call these troubling memories. These I remember even more vividly. There was the time as a child I broke some crystal my mom was returning to a neighbor, the first time I lied to a friend I did not want to play with, fighting with a sibling, knocking the "paddleboard" behind the stove so mom couldn't find it. Those childhood infractions were there of course but moreso, it was the adult things - lying to a prospective date, standing someone up, cheating, throwing a rock at the neighbor's dog, not offering a hug to a crying child, frowning at another parent in a grocery store, being impatient with my children -- there were many of those, driving past a person begging, walking past a person begging, refusing to forgive quickly,/holding onto a resentment, not wanting to make an expected phone call, being to much in a hurry to stop and greet someone, mess, waste, loss. Interestingly, there were a few I would not objectively consider "transgressions," necessarily. For instance there was not taking a job offered by a trusted friend, not accepting help from my boss as a young single woman, oh so many times I was grumpy, times I withheld information about my own needs, times I skipped my "quiet times," my knitting untouched for months, my daughter's skirt unmended. There was the time I gave up on communication when a friend in pain wasn't taking my calls, not calling a parent whose student shone that day, not sharing a treasured item and so many times I did not notice myself withholding love and on and on and on. 

Here is what was truly amazing about this part of the display. While I needed to label this section to portray it to you and while it was clear to me -- absolutely -- how these images differed from the first, at no time did I feel guilty or sad or remorseful or angry or even particularly surprised. I am only now experiencing surprise as writing has helped me remember what I saw. In my body, I felt like a young child. I was standing there in the surf as the waves frothed around me, more urgently now, and I was just as calm as before. I was perfectly still and whole, simply taking it in for what it was, not in surrender but in absolute acceptance and yes, wonder. This was the past, my past. I was there not as judge or penitent, but as witness. 

Inside the Teardrop

Quite suddenly, the display was over and I was somehow inside that teardrop. I was on the floor - the place of prostration - and the wishes or prayers or thoughts (but not words) were rushing from me unhindered. It was a mix of things coursing out and I have the notion that I addressed each image. Again in the magical mix of technicolor dreaming, I was somehow addressing several things at once yet separately. There was an apology for one thing at the same time (or nearly) as gratitude for another; a commitment to be different or more at the same time as love was expressed. It is fair to say it rushed from me and yet there was no rush in it; perhaps it was more the quantity of what I expressed that makes "rushed" the right term as well as "flowing." The tap was on and the fitting response flowed straight from me. 

When I woke up, lying there in the fragile expanse between awake and asleep, I first thought I had just atoned for all my sins.  However, later, as I started remembering more and more of what was displayed, and remembered my responses (which were still not words so much as "intentions") what became clear was that these displays were all the "work" I have yet to do. In some ways, it is the the opposite of atonement, which implies both forgiveness and finishing. It was, quite clearly, a call to action.

It was the most cleansing moment I have ever experienced. Whereas, before, during the display, I was both full and fulfilled, now I was empty -- as empty could be -- but without the loss so often associated with emptiness. It was more purifying than a process or retreat or confession. I was hungrier than I have ever been - a very physical hunger - but without the desperation. Here's the best example I have so far: it was similar to having had a amazingly hard and thorough workout and then a shower, and finally that very unique and pleasant experience of being clean, accomplished, empty and hungry at the same time. 

Can you see it? What do you think of this experience? Yes it was a dream, but it did come from my brain! I'd love some feedback on this wild ride. 

It was the most holy experience of my life. What happens now remains to be seen . . .

Stay tuned. 

Putting my (Social Justice) Money Where my Mouth Is

A while back, I heard that the mayor of Phoenix was going to eat on a "food stamps" budget for a week.  The same week while grocery shopping, someone commented to me that a product was expensive and said, "but you just buy whatever you want without regard to price."

I replied that I was buying it for a treat, for dessert, and it was an extravagance.  (It was organic fresh squeezed orange juice, just in case you're thinking caviar or something!)

The comment bugged me though.  I noticed I felt defensive and kept wanting to come back to the conversation and somehow defend myself.  I didn't.  Instead, I took to the "work" book and wrote my heart out, taking a closer look at it.  I uncovered that defensiveness right away and under it, guilt, and under that, fear.  The guilt was about being a poor steward, not only of Dear Hubby's hard-earned wages, but more, of our ample blessings.  And we are blessed.  The fear was that my kids might not get what they want, or need, or (worse in my mind's eye -- not reality) that they might think I didn't love them.  

But beneath all that was something else, something more.  I had bigger purposes lurking beneath that rancid pool of dark water.  I have a purpose to feed my children a wide variety of whole, healthy food; I want them to think about food as a sensory experience, a loving experience, and a family experience.  I want them to know that healthy food is good food too.

There was another intention too, beating soundly and slowly beneath it all.  I have chosen to be a good steward.  I want to share good things with my children, yes, but with others as well.  I want the money I save through sales, coupons, planning and compromise to be used to help others.  So many are hurting and hungry.  It's my intention to share.

Then and there, in recollection of my larger purposes, I resolved to take more time in planning, reading sales and shopping to get the reasonable values.   The Governor's story, too, resonated with me and I talked to family about it.  I explained there would be little or no eating out and that even our choices at the grocery store would be affected. Together we decided to try a week on a food stamps budget and we chose this week, the week before Christmas.  We have a big Italian feast planned for Christmas Eve so we chose this final week of Advent to practice more frugality.

At the outset, I was nervous.  Could we do it?  I had no idea.  Pepper helped me plan a cost-saving menu and as we shopped, we were both nervous.  It took so long.  We normally pay attention to prices when we shop, but this week we had extra pressure.  We were seeking to feed our family of 7 on $225 a week.  Clearly, some choices were out; we decided to forgo our favorite Clementine oranges ($3.50/pound) for an 18# bag of grapefruit for only $7.  Almost nothing we purchased was name brand as the budget couldn't afford it.  The Captain's school meals ate up $10. My organic salad greens are nearly twice as much as the standard kind but I argued for them and prevailed.  "It's lettuce," I whined, "so full of pesticide and the Littles love it. It's necessity not luxury"  It was challenging.

4 days in and I have to say, it's actually wonderful.  I did not realize how much money we threw away on needless luxuries each day, things that do not enhance our quality of life.  The way that we eat, cooking most things from scratch, does make food more affordable.  We will finish the week, I'm happy to say, with money leftover. [To learn about what we ate on this budget, check out this  Bright Love  post]. Pepper thinks the government should invest some money in teaching people to cook because "its' healthier and cheaper too."  It's a valid point.

That said, no extras were included in our week.  No Christmas stocking candy, no desserts for birthday parties or school.  I allowed limited school lunches and no eating out for anyone.  The girls did eat out, but on their own dime (both painful and eye opening for them!) We also took advantage of our larder.  We ate a roast we cooked and froze a while back, a whole chicken we got free, and a surprise offering of a bean pot from my mother in law.  Without these, we'd have barely broken even. Economy of scale helped a lot too. And I found it very stressful. Feeding a family with consciousness is hard; firm financial constraints definitely increase the pressure.

Our take away is that we need a longer experiment to fully appreciate the difficulties in having such limits on our food dollar.  I am proposing that we conduct the experiment for the entirety of Lent, this time with no-one eating out unless it comes from the budget.  It may be a hard sell, but I have an adventurous crew, I think they'll go for it.  It will make our Easter joy that much fuller, especially our appreciation for the bountiful choices we have about how we eat.

On Monday, we will brave the Christmas Eve crowds to go as a family to the grocery store with $75 and fill bags with groceries for the food pantry. [Post publication edit:  we actually spent a little less and bought a large grocery gift card for a friend in need.]  This will be our Christmas offering when we head to Mass at 6:00 PM.  I promise you this, as we sit down to our feast on Christmas Eve after church, I will be expressing gratitude for the moment of  good fortune that bore me into my particular family and I think the rest will feel the same. I wish to take nothing away from how very hard my parents worked (and Dear Hubby's too) to clothe and feed us.  They were magnificent in providing for us.  Yet we are also extremely blessed.  Please remind me if I ever forget.

Merry Christmas.

The Water Wheel

This weekend I "stirred" the contents of the house again.  Dear hubby hauled a crib to the attic and a bed down; I hauled a crib and other stuff to the fire victims.  I built the bed and rearranged the little kids' room.  Now I am sorting through a Mount Vesuvius of toys. I'm actually afraid if I don't tame this growing beast, it's gonna blow.  A week ago I did this whole routine with clothes;  it seems like all the little kids suddenly shot up and outgrew everything.

I don't mind this routine of shuffling, sorting and purging.  It's quite satisfying, really.  What hangs me up, however, is that every time, I think, "This time, I finally have it all in order."  Then a week later, I'm doing the same thing with some other set of someone's somethings.  I thought last weekend, "It never ends."

Bingo.  The reality of life in a household of seven is that a constant cycle of stuff coming and going is essential.  I'm now seeing it as a wheel, like a water wheel.  With every revolution, some water comes off and goes back into the pool and some new water is scooped up.  Maybe if I'm not always hoping I'm finished, I'll be able to fully commit to the process of evolution.

It's just like my spiritual work, isn't it?  Sometimes I get so wrapped up in getting the job done, I actually start to  think I'm "finished."  But seriously, can I ever be "finished" noticing what trips me up?  Can I be "done" refining my goals, deepening my faith or feeding my relationships?  Of course not, it's a ridiculous thought even if it does float around -- unnoticed -- from time to time in my subconscious.

I am bringing that image of the water wheel into my spiritual life.  My spiritual "work" is constantly changing and yet it bears some striking similarities to work I have done in the past.  With every revolution of the big wheel I am scooping up a fresh outlook, a new opportunity while letting go of that which is not essential.  It is truly a constant and ongoing process of purging and refining and-- in recognizing its ongoing-ness -- I am able to release the demand that every step be the perfect one. 

All spiritual work is "good" work.  It is all contributing to the process of me becoming more and more the woman I was created to be. Sometimes I can afford to take my eyes off the prize and focus them on enjoying the journey.