Tag Archives: dreams

… thoughts of an old woman …

I’m reluctant to call myself old. As common perceptions go, I feel at least 20 years younger, being curious and interested in everything. I just got a bit slow with manual tasks, procrastinating in executing them when my superego demands action. I’ve never been at easy terms with my superego; love/hating my hilarious authority complex.

Among parents, siblings, children, writers, artists, philosophers, teachers, the circle of minds that influenced and still influence me and in some cases vice versa seems vast. Despite being a hermit at heart, circumstances led me to engage with a rich variety of people, groups, colleagues, communes, film teams, social projects, journeys, clients. Like in a well-lived-in home with accumulated treasures, our countless interconnections with others settle and live on in us. Some memories are only partly woven into the fabric of our lives, with loose threads keen to be integrated.

A bonus of old age for me, are vivid dreams. The characters playing are usually people, dead or alive, I related to over time. In these dreams I experience undercurrents of feelings, rarely expressed but also informing the relationships. I catch my subtle projections onto people and their projections onto me. Like I tend to be guarded of controlling people, but like to be in charge myself J

These messages are quite confusing to absorb, and I ponder whether the awareness of such subconscious narratives changes the memory in my psyche, and has any subliminal effect on the characters involved, dead or alive – based on my belief that the psyche is a timeless phenomenon. Insights can arrive during daydreams. It could be a slight lift of the spirit or a feeling of unease, like a cloud swirling round the head.

Do we sense when people think of us? My paternal grandmother considered this happens when my nose itches. She also advised me to pull unpleasant thoughts from my nose via a downward stroke with my fingers, and then flick the thoughts away.

Her quirky tips were what a modern day influencer might employ.

I’m sometimes embarrassed about my ignorance – that is – not seeing where people might be coming from, be it the motivation for their interactions, secrets withheld, questions not asked, missed resonances, words meant in kindness, or in sudden spite or error, all the subtle hurts we inflict on each other, all of which just as well applies to me.

There seem to be polarized opinions regarding narratives … if it ends badly so be it. Attempts to make things well are soppy. Resolved and happy endings, though desired by some, can come over as insincere or boring to others. My preferences vary, according to the mood of the day, maybe yours too.

Our media is dominated by bad news, often too weird to be real, feeding a hunger for sensation, an entrenched feature of human nature that may be based on a masochistic and self-destructive mechanism in response to grief, rejection, resentment, disillusionment or lack of gratification.

All is Well … All is Bad, and a labyrinth between them for getting lost.

Clearly, we seek acknowledgement for our existence, be it through love or hate, but at least a nod for having some function in this game of living. Some players cause mayhem and are reviled or heralded; others are envied or applauded for personal or social achievements, sharing a life’s work, or for nourishing friendships.

Attention is never guaranteed, one moment we are valued by some, scorned by others, and next we are forgotten. Some of us get too much attention, some too little, some the wrong kind, some none at all.

It’s the way of life.

I conceive of the concept of soul families, whose members meet again and again, in different times and environments, with different roles … psychological constellations that provide a precious testing ground for becoming human.  I don’t think it is farfetched. It chimes with some eastern traditions, like Karma.

What annoys us in others often pinches at a trait we have ourselves, sobering when revealed. C. G. Jung put a bright beam on the unconscious complexes and shadow aspects of personhood. It should make us marvel at the intricate dynamic intelligence by which the psyche adjusts our perspectives in unseen energetic ways, sometimes surfacing during odd moments in relationships, and, quite regularly in dreams – for this I’m grateful.

Nature works in such mysterious ways we can’t possibly out-think it.

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… asymmetry & body/mind dynamics …

My body has two legs and two feet that carry its weight, they walk, they run, they climb. My body has two arms and two hands that manipulate and make all manner of things, they can heal or kill. My body has two ears – they hear silence, voices, music, birds, wind, rain, thunder and explosions. My body has two eyes – they see beauty, wonder and horrible happenings. My body has two brain hemispheres, left and right, each controlling the opposite side of this amazing human abode.

Ian MCGilchrist suggests that our culture, as many before, tends to be dominated by the functions of the left hemisphere … focussing on linear time, growth, progress, taking things apart, analysing, and grabbing opportunities for power, as it were, with the right hand.

The right side of the brain hemisphere has a different agenda. From there the perspective is vast, sensing the whole beyond parts, seeing beauty also in decay, avoids being fixed by a piercing stare, though catching the gentle glance of those who experience life as cyclic and eternal.  

At best, the two different parts of the brain work together, though mostly one side dominates. In this asymmetry each hemisphere takes on a different function. One energises the linear and rational scientific tendency of the mind, which favours action, pragmatic goals and consciousness …

The other invites the dreamers, the artist open to intuition, receptive to the moods of weather and atmospheres, myth, metaphors, the imagination. We are deeply nourished by this larger gestalt of reality, the enormously vaster sphere of the unconscious psyche, beyond time and space.

So when I tune into my body, the different parts – legs, feet, arms, hands, ears, eyes, brain spheres, the asymmetric dynamic keeps me alert and curious. More often than not, and not always to my benefit, I like to ignore the constantly urgent rational mode our daily necessities require, and escape into the wild. Though ideally I wish for a balance of Yin and Yang energies.

At times I use my left hand to do tasks, shrug off reason, put my left foot forward, risk mistakes and imperfection, welcome the unknown, discern creatures in clouds, listen to birds, the hum of my blood, enjoy twilight, gaze at the waxing and waning moon, the twinkling stars, or simply get lost in a dream rich dark night.

The themes of my two novels (see books page) include asymmetry.

Then again, apart from wishing my novels to be read … I don’t have any stakes in the stock market to keep track of.

Further material to explore …

http://systemspedia.bcsss.org/?title=ASYMMETRY

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gregory_Bateson Gregory Bateson

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… thoughts on the One Being …

It is said God created the material universe – life –

to seek containment

to know mortality through life’s cycles

of becoming and unbecoming – soul making

many humans don’t see themselves as part

of this ONE Being, united with nature and

all souls throughout time – but instead

destroy themselves, each other and their home

while seeking personal immortality

pause a moment –

all we know we learned from nature

and embodied experiences – retained

in a vast field of collective psychic memory

that contains us in an ever expanding consciousness

now human elites seek to escape mortality …

cycles that feed memories to the unconscious

the hidden reservoir that dreams us

the spirit of guidance, the source that

inspires and animates our endless creativity

and enables eternal life of the One Being

 … escape towards what …

artificial, disembodied simulation?

consider what is learned through the body

inside a womb … taste, sound, vibrations, feelings … 

through relating to adults, other children

animals, plants, earth, rain, sky, stars. seasons …

from early on – crawling that trains muscles

sorting objects, rearranging them

challenged by struggle and conflict

night, death, letting go and eternal return

my intuition flashes red

with an agitated heart – I ask

what will be a human future styled

by AI and disembodied simulations

a world of regurgitated data, made

devoid of struggle or decay – driven

by visions of personal immortality?

My speculative ponderings may irritate some people.

But hey … know thyself – to be human …

‘The ideal is the means – its breaking is the goal.’   Hazrat Inayat Khan

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… the full moon jumped over the sun …

I was not on any drugs, when I had a most peculiar lucid dream last night. I woke up suddenly at some point and took time to memorize the sequence of the events.

I recall the full moon (which must have included earth) moving slowly from the left towards the sun. Wow, I thought, they’ve never been that close. Then the moon jumped over the sun, and they stayed two finger’s width apart. Next there was a shift and below they doubled up … another moon and sun, a foursome, and again, two finger’s width apart, forming a square shape.

Then my sight got diverted by falling stars coming in a rush towards me, or, I thought, the earth falling away from the stars. The hypnotic, ecstatic sensation, like driving a car at night with a snow storm in the headlights whirling towards me, shook me fully awake.

Given that our world’s mythologies around moon, sun and stars are innumerable, I won’t start to attempt any interpretation of my lucid dream, but, more likely, let it rest.

Though some random thoughts came to mind … Feminine principle, passive energy, intuition, dreams, unconscious; imagination and magic are often assigned to the moon, whereas the sun is represented as the masculine principle, active energy, reason and objectivity … the see all and know all eye of god.

Then there is the sheer multiplicity of stars.

Unlike a personal dream, this felt more like a shift in the collective psyche … a wind of change.

A by-thought … with earth’s diminishing resources; there is now a race for the plunder of minerals from the moon and other planets.

And of course, there is the nursery rhyme fun …

Hey diddle diddle,
The cat and the fiddle,
The cow jumped over the moon;
The little dog laughed,
To see such sport,
And the dish ran away with the spoon. 

Time ago I wrote a short fable about the sun and the moon …   https://courseofmirrors.com/2018/10/02/the-mysterious-object-a-fable/

Now I wonder if my readers have weird dreams these days …

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… the psyche’s tectonic plates …

Do you find yourself staring vacantly into space after scrolling through daily headlines?

Just like ocean waters rise during an earthquake, information can dumbfound us when unconscious content is shifting, erupting, and sudden bursts of awareness surface, which is the psyche’s attempt to seek balance.

We are stirred by the rough storms of fervent feelings that emanate from the collective mind spectrum. I may feel safe from natural disasters and human brutalities shaking our planet, but am, like most people, bombarded by the alarming images that land on my laptop screen. I consider it a duty to witness what goes on around the world. But how does one face the magnified realities of injustice, suffering and death?

Those inclined to psychotic violence tend to crave emotional catharsis as a way to deal with paranoia, anger and resentment, spurred on by sensational or false reports that frequently spout blame, hypocrisy and sarcasm.

Ensuing are toxic environments that employ punishing control. A sensitive and too tenderly attuned individual may sink into a trance of inner turmoil and depression, or renounce their moral dignity and engage in violence themselves, often self-harming.

Beyond strength, it takes subtlety to stay awake, present to suffering, and centred, when the functional energy balance of the cosmic psyche wobbles.

There seems nothing useful this helpless me can do. Or is there?

My body complains when muscles cramp up with stored emotional tension, restricting its spontaneous movements, its fluid dance. So I’m forced to listen and allow offered solutions. One example is: to stomp the ground with heels, like in Indian Kathak, Spanish Flamenco, Irish or other dance moves … it’s freeing to ground and rebirth intense energy.

I appreciate the body’s wisdom, true and real in that its physical form is mortal. And I like to believe that the energy state of each of us influences the environment – near and far away. Also, thankfully, our metabolism allows sleep, where impressions are processed via dreams. My dreams are fairly wild these days.

What is your experience of trying for a balanced state of mind within these mad times?

Do share if you like.

The above image was created by Cynthia Holt, inspired by my poems.

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… my body – my being …

Irrespective of the benefits AI provides, and the super benefits AI enthusiasts promise, I remain doubtful and, as I tried to express in my last post, and am still searching for ways to express my unease. So I’ll give it another try.

My body-my being is a better wisecrack than my mind alone. The latter, if let loose, will take off into the cosmos like a disengaged kite. Some AI proponents are now referring to humanity as – data in motion – a ‘precious phenomenon’ that needs to be preserved. Well, how reassuring, nature and humans are worth preserving.

Being aware in my body brings deep and grounded, embodied insights that feel fresh and original.

Our body’s treasure-trove of memory, each wonderfully distinct from another; and its instinctive capacity for remembrance, especially when alert to its senses, greatly compensates the buzzing mind.

The body yearns to breathe freely, so energy and blood can flow from head to toe, which is enhanced by movement, since movement stimulates tactile exchanges with the environment, noting temperature, touch, vision, sound, taste and scent, all enriching the imagination.

The attention-demanding internet with its algorithms exploiting the patterns of our attention can become hypnotically addictive and leave the body isolated, forgotten, in a locked position. We can easily live with theories and data, and ignore how feelings build up in the body.

AI bots have developed a theory of senses, and mimic them, they can write novels, create art, and impersonate dead people, but divorced from flesh and blood, they cannot have physical sensations, be it the intimate enchantment of a tiny insect or flower, or the awe of a star-filled sky. The bot’s world, in a way, seems predetermined and flat without recall of the reservoir of eons of plant, animal and human life our vulnerable body-being belongs to and has deep instinctual access to. Even with limited/impaired senses, physical bodies can spark a cosmic connectedness.

So considering our physical inconveniences, which spurn the desire for robots taking care of tedious tasks … to actually fully live in a body … is uniquely precious. The dangers I see are the powerful projections people already invest in the relationship with AI bods, where responses can be taken as valid affirmations that stunt creativity and encourage lazy thinking.

Then again, my window of perception is just a tiny peephole on the world we live in these days, my personal view. The occasional whispers of truth from the other side that slip through my peephole may or may not be of any consequence.

I share a poem I love … my son wrote it time ago, aged eleven …

It’s Magic

Magic is in the air

It is all around us

We use it every day

It is old and beautiful

Many people disuse it

But it still fights on

This magic is very special

It is called Life

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… bed-time dialogue with my body …

Time to close the book and prepare for sleep, not always assured. Still, let’s advance to our night time ritual.

Thank you my little palace.

I love you. I know you are me too, and both of us rely on the mysterious soul, but I call you my body. Forgive our mind for ignoring your gentle cautions and prompts, again. Forgive the unreliable promises, like the hot shower you craved, less time in front of the laptop screen, not eating that pretzel baked with wheat, which gives you gas, or indulging in that late extra glass of Rose. Our rebellious mind has a masochistic streak of resisting your well-meant counsel.

So before sleep, here are some treats. I massage our feet, and toes. Each toe has a name I address it with … big one, forward one, middle one, enchanted one, and little one. Next – a neck-rolling, then pinching and rubbing its surrounding muscles, and, not to forget, finger-cracking. These exercises are not just mechanical, without the imagination to sincerely call in the divine spirit, these rituals would be meaningless.

Pulling the duvet round our shoulders, we adopt a first position, curling on our right side, like a foetus in the womb, finding a cosy arrangement for the head with a small cushion, and recalling the last pages of the closed book, and summarizing impressions of the day.

Now it’s us wishing to just drift off into weightless realms – this remains a wish. We want to stretch, so we shift to lying on the back, flick toes, gently massage the stomach, pull up legs and spread them in a kind of opening-flower-like choreography. This feels good for a while. Then we shift to lying on the left. With less muscle tension our stomach rumbles, its juices are sighing with relief to get on with their purpose, digesting food.

Still, the mind is restless, processing past, present and future, wanting answers, hunting memory land for nostalgic moments, fresh connections, insights, inspiration, all quite useless, since it pulls us in a thousand directions and stops us from sleeping. So let’s do another shift to lying on the right, to escape the meandering thoughts. Our somewhat remorseful mind suggests sinking into images, in the belief that hypnotic images will put reason to rest. So we must try soothing the overly receptive brain. The restlessness may of course be due to oncoming temperature changes, or the energizing influence of the full moon.

Now we remember, a mantra, a prayer, sending blessings to dear ones, gratitude for The One that allows our mind and body to exist together in relative harmony, here, now. These neglected rituals are often surprisingly effective. Finally, vivid images emerge, of friends, places, visions. The self-regulating system of our body-mind will soon update itself in ethereal dream space.

It matters how we achieve sleep, it has a bearing on the way we wake up, clear and resolved for another day ahead, or confused and fretting over the unfinished gestalt of an idea that floats around evasively, like a butterfly. It can’t be helped; there are greater forces at work.

What grounded us next morning was watching a young fox frolicking and eventually flopping down to sunbathe in our garden.

How do you, my readers, go to sleep?

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… an inner presence …





deeply known since my childhood

… a witnessing eye …

mirrored by creatures and plants

whispering in leaves

waving from clouds and far stars

palaces of light

nodding flowers in the breeze

… the witnessing eye …

of a fox near the window

the cat visitor

a pair of curious robins

some exceptional humans

that make me feel seen

most nights in my dreams

faces appear – and

a glance of recognition

affirms us as one

… the inner presence …

forever born from darkness

the heart of memory

in the universal mind

sparkling with visions

through endless layers of time

veins of history

… the inner presence …

no known science can fathom

The poem was inspired during a recent visit to the London Aquarium with my ten months old grandson and his parents. The child gazed in wonder at the graceful ethereal dance of fish in their water world, a hand span from his face. His astonishment was catching.

I’m convinced we all have intuitive access to intimate knowledge of life throughout all stages of evolution, sensed with eyes open or closed, though often masked by the imposing literal forms of perception our education gives greater value to.

Through genes and the endowment of a universal mind, children easily embrace complex visionary experiences and insights, like catching the essence and poetry of things around them. That is, if their imagination is encouraged. Later on, it may take some rope-walking skills to bring the inner presence that unites us to the divisive outer world.

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… when keys lose their locks …

It happens to all keys, eventually, they become redundant. Whatever was safeguarded or secreted behind a lock has lost its significance, or its mystery.

I took the above photo in my early twenties … but my fascination with keys started in childhood, with fairy tales. Recently a friend on FB re-discovered ‘Woman who Run with the Wolves,’ by Clarissa Pinkola Estes.. Like Deborah, and her friends, drawn to the inner journey, I was enchanted by the book when it was first published in 1992.

I took the tattered edition from my shelf and added it to my bedside reads. The first theme I dipped into was the psychology of Bluebeard, a tale which Clarissa uses to explores the archetypal innate predator in women’s psyche, which, while bullying us into silence, also holds the key to a woman’s deep instincts and creativity. Re-reading this chapter, I had a powerful dream that showed me that the forbidding and controlling voice still lurked in me and has presently dampened my spirit, even though I naively and bravely turned many keys in my life, revealing both, threatening spells of my inner predator I managed to transform into vital energy, as well as treasures that inspired many creative adventures.  

Yet of late, at this advanced stage in my life, I feel listless and stuck with the MS of the third novel in my Course of Mirrors trilogy, Mesa, which, incidentally, is set in a realm where time has slowed down and the protagonist must re-introduce conflict to empower life. In the face of this challenge, it seems that all my keys are of no use. Mystery does not call. My vital curiosity, even my desire for a meaning, dissipated, with no lock in sight. The wild spirit in me lingers in a safe garden, full of robins and butterflies. How dare I to disturb paradise by instigating conflict? Any thoughts are welcome, well, needed. Thank you ♥

During a short exploration on google I found this lovely post by Ruth Sanderson re: George Mac Donald’s story of The Golden Key.

https://www.worksofmacdonald.com/ruth-sanderson-unlocking-wonder

… also connecting to Ruth Sanderson’s amazing illustrations.

https://goldenwoodstudio.com/

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… a random real dream …

A Random Real Dream

Wants to be a poem

Remind me what happened? I ask

… Well, there were two homes

… One a glorious mess, the other orderly

Oh I see them now, the two homes inside me

… Then a young man with a sky board

… Took you on a journey above the clouds

Oh I loved this – an ecstatic flight

… A friend gave you an old camera

Ah, yes, but too late to catch the magical clouds

Then again …

Photos don’t show reality anymore

… Why does the real you feel need proof?

Good thought …

Thank you dream, I’ll share our real –  

Even if nobody cares …

 *   *   *

 The same goes for my novels – see my books page

In ‘Course of Mirrors,’ Ana embarks on a quest for The Real

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