A Funky Smell

Sansaku: A Funky Smell

10/31/22

Sometimes I can’t tell if I’m really dealing well or just delusional.  But I had a good dream last night.  Animals and water.  A small bird pecked at a castle wall.  A huge slab broke off and revealed a renewed and beautiful wall underneath.  Didn’t see it coming -but of course.

A favorite moment at the Denver Zoo.  The family all together.  I might have been five.  I didn’t know birds could talk.  Corder yelled, “Polly wanna cracker?”  Come on, dad.  But the myna responded in a conscious and get serious voice: “Shut up.”  We laughed but I thought: “So it’s true, they really can talk.”  The idea got into my dreams.

The castle was high above a town and looking down the looking took us there.  An unhealthy place, I walked barefoot over rocks and broken glass.  But a lush meadow grew at the edge and we entered.  Walking through long healthy grass, we saw waterfalls and rivers.  The water pure and cold.  Pools and canals where water was channeled to use.

This takes me back to last night.  We attended a trance-dance ritual.  I loved the fact we didn’t talk, only whispered.  Sitting next to Mary Ellen, her art all over the place, the dancers reminded me of hippie days.  Chyako said pagan.  I agreed.  They dressed each other with white and printed paper, strips of cloth, leaves and grass.  The music took me deep.  The dancers read wishes aloud.  I wanted the feeling to influence dreams and it did.  My time in the meadow a tonic.

Being naked is an absence of disguise.  And there’s nothing like art to reveal.  One of the dancers, eight months pregnant, is also a friend.  She displayed an absolute absence of disguise.  The ritual undressed me.

Halloween meant Susan’s birthday and a costume dance.  I wore a crazy ragman suit; it had a funky smell and looked exactly like me.

We Interacted

Sansaku: We Interacted

10/30/22

I didn’t kill the fly, but it looked maimed when I threw it out the door.  If you don’t think small things matter, try writing with a fly buzzing all around the studio.  I got out the swatter and when I did, it reminded me.  I caught another mouse in the trap.  This caused grief to well.

I usually give the mice a better send-off, but I threw the furry body over the fence and into the weeds down below.  It didn’t feel right and followed me into my dreams.  I slept an extra hour and had a lot of dreams to choose from.  I went looking for a boundary.

Before bed, we’d been watching a show called “Alone.”  How long can you last in a hostile wilderness climate.  That also got into dreams.  We’ll see how long I persevere and endure.  So far, not bad.

Where does grief come in?  It depends upon the subject and the stage.  The classic five:  Denial, Anger, Bargaining – what if I’m good?  It doesn’t matter – that’s Depression.  Acceptance doesn’t look like grief.

Although I have no idea what dreams I’ll get, I usually know what they’re going to be about.  It’s not a matter of perseverance; it’s more about praise.  I’m trying to slow it down and experience every moment.

Sister sent us spices and the curry pumpkin soup was loaded with ginger, garlic, Kashmiri chili and smoked pimento.  Along with the vegies, a teaspoon of salt and can of coconut milk.  I baked a loaf of frozen bread and we enjoyed another glass of Prosecco.

I don’t often leave, but in the dream, we were walking down a highway in a show like “Alone.”  We encountered roadkill and dangerous drivers, but we were playful, having fun.  I was the on the edge, facing traffic.  In a nod to the journal, a camera crew followed.  We interacted.

Zen Mix

Sansaku: Zen Mix

10/29/22

Being fond of synchronicity, I couldn’t help but smile when one of the window cleaners said he’d gone to high school in Ft. Collins.  Without having to ask, I knew which one.  Same as the song, Rocky Mt High.

The storm windows in the studio are painted shut.  The glass is streaked and foggy.  He managed to free them when others could not.  He got a lot of praise for what I’m seeing now.  Late autumn.

When I defend what I write, I can be defensive about being defensive.  Welcome to the mind voice.  I woke from the dream with a literal sign, the kind a pub might use.  No words, just a stylized pumpkin.

I find the dream fascinating and it’s easy to digress.  The sign reminded me of the one Chyako has at the studio.  In a plain wooden frame hung over the door, a single yunomi with a bamboo design.  But the dream was about something else. 

I must be somewhat anxious, because I’ve been munching on handfuls of Zen mix when I print out and publish Sansaku.  I love the stuff and that’s what it’s called, Zen mix.  But I need to be more mindful.

You can’t read cancer literature without bumping into diet.  I started changing mine from the get-go.  I’m about to make a Zen mix sacrifice.  Last week I switched from beer to wine, and Chyako started brewing cups of matcha for our afternoon pick-me-up.  No sacrifice there.

When we were kids, Irma called us pumpkins.  And the first car I ever owned was a van I named The Great Pumpkin.  It’s close to Halloween; we’ve got pumpkins on the porch.  There’s box of kabocha pumpkins from the garden in the studio.  We both love pumpkin soup and the dream sign reminded me.  I know what I’ll make for dinner.

I Get Defensive

Sansaku:  I Get Defensive

10/28/22

I’ve been thinking about that saying: If you don’t like the peaches, stop shaking the tree. I get defensive when it comes to writing and dreams.

When I first awoke today, the content meant little.  I could have easily forgotten, but I heard a song being sung in the dream; I even mouthed the words.  We were sitting in a circle.

Almost everybody knows the chorus to “Rocky Mt High.”  Siri dials it up.  I hear John Denver’s familiar voice: “Coming home…  born again… a key to every door.”  There’s a reason the song’s famous and that’s the reason it’s dissed.  Feeling defensive, I almost dissed it, too.

My friend and I go to a specific restaurant for birthdays (and that’s where we were in the dream.)  He paid the bill, so it must have been mine.  The feeling tone was strong: happiness and gratitude.  Then we gravitated to a lounge where friends were waiting (and that’s going to happen next week.)  Softly playing in the background, “Rocky Mt High.”

It fits.  But a bird just hit the window.  A puff of feathers.  It’s not a good omen. Somewhat dazed, the bird flew away.  Coincidentally, window washers come today.  Earlier than I’d like.  I’ll have to cut this short.

I’ve found, time and again, if I want more time, I need to slow it down.

And I’m still pondering that bridge in yesterday’s dream.  Everyday I walk the River Trail, Five Bridges and a View – actually, it’s six bridges and ten thousand views.  The road in the dream was the trail.  And that’s where the treasure is buried.  Walking with friends.

Besides dreams, I can get a little defensive over my nonlinear style of writing and narrative voice.  It’s not for everyone and not how I talk.  But it is how I sound in the journal.   

I Found the Dream Comforting

Sansaku: I Found the Dream Comforting

10/27/22

Common advice: Keep the pen moving.  This opens the flow.  When I studied hypnosis in college, I learned to use a pendulum – it’s similar to applied kinesiology.  Ask a question, true or false.  The body responds.

At the time, a senior in college, I’d broken up with my long-time girlfriend and started doing therapy by writing in a journal.  This dialogue with self soon led to dreams.  I’d wake and ask, “What was that about?”  The way to work with dreams is not to work; just relate.

The movie I watched last night, about a cool old woman at the end of her life, followed me into sleep.  In the first dream, a design I wanted to remember.  It kept changing form and was very hard to hold.  And then:

Going too fast as I approached a curve and bridge, I knew I wouldn’t make it.  A kid was coming just as fast from the other direction and we were sure to crash.  I went off the path and under the bridge.  Not what I expected.  There wasn’t a river, only a creek.  I began to explore.

What’s that about?  Keep the pen moving.  It needs to cook and takes a few pages.  Oh yeah, that dream about the bridge and buried treasure.  Now I’m underneath.  Where we stumble or crash, the place to dig.

Bridges are big-time symbols with quick associations – like transitions.  Several friends have recently crossed over.  And relationships are bridges that connect, not just self to other, but outer self to inner.  The near and farthest shore.  At the moment, it’s a stage of life situation.

I talked to parents during freshman orientation and used a troubling metaphor.  “Your kids have to migrate and they’ve come to a big muddy river with crocodile waters.  No easy bridge to cross, they’ll have to swim, and you can’t help them.”  I found the dream comforting.

A Little Help from My Friends

Sansaku:  A Little Help from My Friends

10/26/22

It’s the center of a mandala, the point to a story.  When I woke from the dream, I’d been playing peek-a-boo with friends.  The song on the inner jukebox was one I knew.  I’ve played it on guitar.

Siri also knew the song; it’s one that Ringo sang.  I’ve been substituting words.  “What would you think if I wrote out of tune, would you get up and walk out on me?  Lend me your mind and I’ll tell you a story; I’ll try not to write out of key.  I get by with a little help from my friends…”

Combined with the dream, the song’s a thank-you note I need to send.  I’ve been getting more than a little help from my friends.  Walking and talking; someone every day.  And if that’s not enough, there’s Chyako.

“Would you believe in a love at first sight?  Yes, I’m certain for it happened to me.  What do you see when you turn out the lights?  I know and I’ll try to tell.  I get by with a little help from my friends…”

If you give this some thought, it’s not that far out: Antigens in the blood, could also be a way to inoculate.  How the immune system learns to deal with cancer.  “I just need a little help from the drugs.”

But I don’t need to fantasize love.  I’m blessed in this respect and plan to repay, “I’ll try not to write out of key.”  What it is I’m learning on this trip.  “Do you need anybody?  We all need people to love.”

Looking in the rear view, I should’ve seen or heard it coming.  I came of age with the Beatles and Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.  Siri gracefully plays it again.  The synchronistic fit could not be better.

“If you build it, he will come.”  It’s the main point to “Field of Dreams.”  Build what?  It’s almost as ridiculous as a baseball diamond in the middle of an Iowa cornfield.  Build what?  What I’m doing now.

A Limb Had Broken Off

Sansaku: A Limb Had Broken Off

10/25/22

Gregory Bateson predicted we’ll know machines are conscious when we ask a question and the computer responds, “That reminds me of a story.”  He also said, “Stop teaching facts and focus on relationship.  Give up predictability and open to potential.”

To get far with some stories, you need to get close.  This is one I’ve told dozens of times.  I’ve taken liberties and didn’t know why it came to mind, until I remembered my dream.

Taylor didn’t like to work.  He spent hours under the apple tree, loafing and day-dreaming.  Ways to get-rich-quick and what he’d do when wealthy.  And then he had the dream.  Unlike any other.

Under the bridge to a castle, buried treasure.  The scene was crystal clear and wouldn’t leave his mind.  Focused on one thing and one thing alone, he left his home and traveled.

He stopped along the way to work, make money, meet friends.  He’d describe the place, not the dream, in the hope that someone would know.  Someone did.  The city in the center of the land.

When he arrived, the scene was just as dreamed with one exception. The bridge was closely guarded.  He knew what he had to do.  He trained the guards to let down their guard.  They soon became friends.

If Taylor had learned anything on his travels it was patience and patience paid off.  One of the guards had a dream, and in the dream told Taylor: “The treasure isn’t here.  It’s buried under the apple tree.”

Taylor thanked and blessed the guard, then headed home to his own backyard.  He’d been rich all along.  Many stories with the same theme.  I dreamed about our apple tree last night.  A limb had broken off. 

Chinese Puzzle Box

Sansaku:  Chinese Puzzle Box

10/24/22

Dreams did a number on me.  Teaching dream classes is how I found both jobs.  The journal and what I’m writing owes its life to them.  I wouldn’t have been a counselor without the influence of dreams.  And at the rate I’m going, this might be the longest dream book on record.

I’m a critical reader and constantly ask if I like what I’m reading.  What makes it good?  What do I choose to remember?  I do the same with writing.  It’s why I pay attention to problems and dreams.  Moses followed a cloud out of Egypt.  Dreams are guiding me through cancer.

The house reminded me of a Chinese puzzle box.  I had to move boards to open a lock to get the key that opened a panel.  The start of many such moves.  In another dream, we’re inside a maze-like hotel.  All kinds of twists and turns.  Unmarked stairs behind closed doors.  We had to feel our way.  Trying to get into one and out of the other.

I haven’t seen a puzzle box in years, but they remind me of my brother.  Garon’s had a number of them and is gifted with solving.  We talked yesterday.  Because of no testosterone, I need to be careful to preserve muscle mass and not gain weight.  “The way to Hell is easy; it’s climbing out that’s hard.”  He said it’s like a monotonic function.  Look it up.

He’d just come back from a hiking trip near the Bugaboos in Canada and wanted me to know our brother-in-law is failing.  I’ll be calling Sheryll soon.  Life can be intense.  How to deal is all about direction. 

I’ve decided to switch from a glass of beer to red wine.  It’s supposedly healthy.  And the key in the dream looked like a wine cork puller – the kind with two prongs that slip between the bottle and the cork.  The theme seems to be getting in, getting out.  Garon loved puzzles boxes.  The joy of how to solve did all the work.      

Familiar

Sansaku: Familiar

10/23/22

One of Pema’s slogans:  In all activities, train with slogans.  And there won’t be many in the audience who don’t know some of Mark’s.  “They came by it honestly.”  “It’s common but not normal.”  I’m priming the pump before his celebration next week.

And my personal favorite: “This makes more sense when you realize we’re only at 1% of our potential development.”  I love the implication.  It’s outrageously hopeful.  If I can go from 1 to 2%, I’ve doubled my realized potential.  Thank God we’re not at 90.

The walks I take with friends are finger-print unique.  Late afternoon with Mark along the river.  Aquamarine, blue-green clear.  We stopped on the bridges.  Golden leaves drifting by.  We tell stories.  Some I’ve heard, many times.  Each time, deeper still.  The attitude of gratitude.

His journey as psychiatrist took him to the river.  He discovered kids were drowning and needed to be rescued.  More kept coming down.  He traveled up-stream to find the source.  Pushed into the river before they could swim.  The vision of how to teach.

He never fails to ask how I’m feeling.  Wet and in the river.

My left leg hurt last night.  From hip to big toe.  I couldn’t get comfortable and my thoughts weren’t good.  The cancer is spreading.  This amped up the feeling and entered the dream.  Every emotion comes with an image and the image carries meaning.

I was feeling rushed and unprepared.  About to run a race.  The place was a mess; I was trying to clean it up.  I wore a fancy watch; it told many types of time.  Outside reminded me of Boulder.  The town I knew had changed.  At the same time, familiar.

Build the Temple

Sansaku: Build the Temple

10/22/22

The diagnosis did something fundamental to me.  Even if I live to be a hundred.  Out the window.  No leaves on the tree.  The waning moon.

I worship sun and moon and stars.  The night-time sky, the day.  I write in praise of clouds.  Wind and wild weather.  It’s cold and dark outside.  I take the pose:  Taking-in, Giving-back.  Breathing with the body.

Dreams are meaningful and weird.  A dialogue with my oncologist.  I leaned in and asked, “Cynthia, how do you feel about religion?”  She didn’t believe.  About that time an envelope with money arrived.  Shyly smiling, she put it in the drawer.

The cynic in me and the dream perceived her religion in that simple act of worship.  Counting money.  We’ve all been conditioned to believe.  But the problem is not the market; it’s our level of moral development.  If people practiced love as we are taught: To give according to ability and take according to need.  No need for the cancerous greed.

In the dream, I pointed to the west.  The sun was setting over canyon country.  A full moon rose behind us.  We were sitting by a pool. A radical change in context.

Dreams scale: Some highly magnify and some zoom way out.  Like watching an artist paint.  Focus on the color of the stroke.  The way the brush is held.  Or back away and see the painting as a whole story.

I asked my dream-self oncologist about religion.  Her answer implied it wasn’t important.  She had to be careful with her boundaries.  It’s a painful specialty.  No wonder she focused on symptoms.

I want it to be a much better story and that involves religion.  Build the temple: Keep the water flowing, the channel clear and open.