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I visited a teacher named Phil once to help me decipher a dream. We made an appointment to talk about the dream. Phil charges $100 per hour for his sessions and I hoped that he would help me find answers hidden within the dream. When I arrived the following week, we sat facing each other for a few minutes while I grounded, feet flat, hands open on my lap, breathing, his steady gaze scanning me.
"Tell me the dream," he said.
In a steady voice, I recounted the dream in detail: myself, two dogs chained in a basement of my childhood home, my brother and an older boy from the neighborhood. I described the action and movement of characters.
It took about 10 minutes.
Phil paused, talk a breath and said, "Tell me the dream again, but this time from your brother's point of view..."
He sat back and I paused and re-told the dream.
10 more minutes passed, as he required the same level of detail.
I waited. He said, "Tell me the dream again, but from the boy in the neighborhood's POV."
I must have looked puzzled, but he nodded and I re-told the dream...in the same level of detail, no skipping.
I was now half-way finished with our session and I silently wondered what the clock on the wall behind me said.
He paused. "Tell me the dream again, but from the big dog...what was his name?"
"Laddie," I said.
"Yes, from Laddie's point of view." He settled back to listen.
As you can guess, he next asked me to re-tell it from the last dog, Boo's, point of view.
I did it again, but each time, the telling deflated a little more, like a tire with a slow leak.
I figured time was nearly up.
The whole hour, the whole $100, wasted.
He saw my frustration.
"Do you want to now why I keep asking you to re-tell the dream?" he said, a little amused.
I had wondered. I wondered if he wasn't having a off day, like a cab driver, taking the long way to the airport, just to run up the fare.
"Okay," I said in a small voice.
"Everyone in the dream is you," he said patiently. "There's no one else in your head, so all the aspects and characters reflect something that wants attention. The meaning and symbols are yours to decipher, but think of the dream as reflections of you, the meaning is less important."
He saw me take that in.
"Take your time with that," he said.
I paid and left.
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A few weeks later, I called him excitedly. "Can I see you?"
We made an appointment.
When I arrived and after we'd finished grounding / scanning, I blurted out, "Is everyone in my life me?"
He smiled. "Very good."
"I mean, the dream is, well, you're not real, are you?"
He shook his head. "None of this is real."
I stared at him for a while. A long while. An 75-year old ex Jesuit stared back at me solemnly.
Father energy, my imagination said.
Accepting, loving, father energy.
I felt grateful.
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This morning, while I did my meditation, instead of closing my eyes, I held a small oval mirror at arm's length while I rattled my little gourd rattle and kept a steady eye on the man in the mirror, paying attention to the feelings and sensations in my body.
Culling the aches and pains and sensations out from the whole and felt things releasing until my insides felt clean, soft, and shiny.
I imagined myself healing, letting the sound and my voice chanting do the work.
I used the mirror to take that courageous journey and my eyes, so that I might stay present.
Loving energy, my imagination said.
My own eyes smiled.
Accepting, loving, healing energy.
I felt grateful.
- Danny