I am up now from a long dream. It was in another place, a place which I’ve been to before. A dark place, a cold place. I was in a mountainous city, perhaps like San Francisco, but colder. I was happy there and happy to be back.
I remember being at my old home. Stories were being whispered to me about who my parents were. I told them I already knew, but what I didn’t know was that Huizilpochtli is my father. He told me the sacred year has 52 weeks and the sacred leap year, 52 months. The color blue figures and I was taken aback. I gathered some things, then flew northeast over the town, trying best I could to avoid the powerlines. I looked carefully down.
I then found myself wandering through a hospital. I fit in as a doctor I realized, because I had the hair of a doctor, which was to say long, thick and wavy. Mouse platinum blond and stiff. Not really attractive hair, prone to split ends. All the doctors were males with this long, feminine hair. I didn’t realize I looked like that too for a while. At one point I wandered into a biopsy lab. First, I read about outside the lung tumor operations, which has to do with the operation that Tulsa James’ wife is being prepped for at this very moment. It was a bloody operation. There was much talk going on about the cell types and I had an ability to see at the macrocellular level, which interested me for a short while. Then I was looking at the results of a liver surgery. I have a hard time understanding this in words because I am seeing at multiple scales and whatever it was, it was not a liver. More like a deep bloody red ultradense tripe that was peeled away layer by layer. At some point there was hearty laughter, because we came across the woman’s high school hope chest of dreams — like cellular memories of dream artifacts. Like a hope chest stored in liver tissue. Well, obviously, I am not dreaming another place but rather dreaming another reality, or a different level of this reality. The surgeons, two of them, stripped back the layers, the first few of which were cancerous but not completely so. I could see the dramatic differences in texture and color. But then after three or so layers, the fourth was clean, but it didn’t feel right to the left. The color wasn’t right. I was trying to understand that when one of the surgeon’s pointed that out to the other surgeon, and they were left with a difficult decision of keeping or removal. To remove was certain dysfunction, to leave was probable recurrence of the cancer. It was a hard decision, but they voted for the present — to at least give some happy present times before the certain unhappy future were to arrive.
I then continued on my journey and found myself lost, in the middle of the gruesome ICU. This is where the worst of the worst were found. There was one horrific piece of equipment, like a giant plastic bed acting as a giant iron lung that had a person inside. Two technicians were slightly outside the door operating the machinery and I did not want to go in. I turned to head out the room only to find my way blocked by beds and gurneys with people so sick, I could not bear to look at them. Shells of human beings, disfigured by disease and surgery. I only looked at a single jaundiced face and at that empty face I looked with neither compassion nor fear, just with openness. It was an odd feeling for me.
I was standing flummoxed, unsure how to leave the room, blocked by misangled beds filled with the barely living, when one near-dead smiled and commented on my predicament. He had kind words to say and from him I felt compassion for my feeble plight. He even made a kind joke accompanied by a kind smile and I understood his words. His gentle act, done from the most dire of personal circumstances, was done with love and joy. I understood the simple message, that it is always the right time to be kind and helpful. I felt neither ashamed nor less than, for my own selfishness or even my own unwillingness to help. Part of me is going gentle on myself believing that I was in a place where I wasn’t supposed to touch things. I accepted this dying man’s kindness and moved on. Even now I am confused by why there is such a strong will to live. “Why not” are the words I hear echoing through my brain at the moment.
I do not feel open to channel. But that is what I am going to do anyway…
And so, I channeled. I don’t remember this dream at all, yet, it feels familiar. Some elements seem to have come out of a learned tour of Monte Albán, near Oaxaca, Mexico, by a historian who went into detail of the stellae depicting medical treatments. And the powerlines? Back in a 5th Grade, my vision was uncorrected and myopic, I was in the back of the class and bored. As Miss P taught, I “astral projected” — although I didn’t know the term at the time, I just called it flying — outside the room towards our house up the little hill. I remember almost getting tangled in powerlines as they somehow acted like magnets on my “flying body”. This was years before I found out I couldn’t fly. Back then I did it all the time.
But the part of the dream that really grabs me is how real I am about being a very human, flawed doctor, being horrified and uncaring about the sickest of sick in this gruesome ICU and at the same time clinically fascinated by a surgery. And even though I can’t remember the dream, right now I’m having the strongest feeling of what it felt like to be so self-centered and then have a dying man put me at ease and extend compassion to me from his worst-of-circumstances. Talking about role reversal. Talking about the “Coming Out” process I mentioned last night…
And now, I’m recalling the opening of the channel:
Dreams occur at a level of description nearly impossible to describe to all of you so intoxicated by the waking life. … Actions taken while intoxicated are no less than actions taken while not. Therefore to those who have chosen to remain sober, when others have not, may find themselves in an awareness of the lack of their awareness. It can be an isolating experience. One neither belongs or does not belong. It is a place of “just is” and can be lonely.
But the rewards of the sober life are sobriety and with little extra effort, serenity. Much is revealed to those who choose to remain centered within themselves, for they can observe. We would say that watching your world through your dream eyes is no different. Touching and sobering. Even you found the dream images shocking at times, quietingly so. It is a humbling experience to see those that are loved, dying in a place of no return. Our physical shell separating and disintegrating back into its own primordial matrix, with only the core of the human being standing. You do not realize yet the purity or the purification potential of such situations. It is the “why” for the will to live. The human within steadfastly refuses to believe in his own demise. It can, yes indeed, be a stubborn defense of the ego. But it can also be the wisdom of the wise, who realize the vanity of all things physical.
The take on the dream world here is the opposite of what we believe. We believe “the real world” is the waking world. But, thinking about it, this makes little sense. While “in the real world” we spend 1/3 of our time elsewhere, in a dreamworld perhaps, and then the other 13.7 billion years of existence, where are we? Is that world “the fake world before we existed”. If anything, “not here, not now” is the default. Yet, where are we other than “here” and when are we other than “now”. I’ve only experienced that and have never experienced “there and then” except as a memory construct in the here and now.
And isn’t reality intoxicating? Like the sun in daytime bleaching out the sky, we can’t see the vastly more populous other suns and other galaxies filled with suns like ours. It’s our proximity to the sun and to the day that overwhelms us. Are we so intoxicated by our brief waking reality that the much more vast (in space, time, matter and energy) reality seems pale in comparison?
And another weird hint: I was happy there and happy to be back. … I remember being at my old home. We generally assume dreams are a one-shot affair, but here I am stating I’m happy to be back … in my old city … in my old home. The part about Huitzilpochtli, an Aztex deity, is some sort of delusion I would guess and at first I thought a “52 month sacred leap year” was hogwash, then I did a calculation. If a sacred month has 28 days, then in exactly four years there would be 52 moons, not 48! The “leap day” would signify the sacred “four year period” rounding out a calendar of 365.25ish days/year. The length of a month is contentious actually as it depends upon the frame of reference. 27.3ish days if I remember right relative to the stars (sidereal) and 29.5ish days relative to us stationary observers on earth. 28.4 days would be an “average” month…
Finally, the issue of scale. Friend Jim pointed this out on our architectural tour and I am very aware of a problem my personal beliefs create with respect to my Buddhist studies. Since I believe everything is alive, from the lowly electron to the hyperextended, hypermassive galatic filaments, to extend compassion to all means to somehow connect to each and every particle and collection of particles at every scale of existence. While this felt impossible just yesterday, today upon reading this, here in this dream I am appreciating reality at several different levels of scale… the human as a curious doctor, the interpersonal as the recipient of unwarranted compassion (is compassion ever unwarranted?), the tissues where “I had an ability to see at the macrocellular level” and finally at a scale unheard of in human terms and that is the storage of memories and dreams at the subcellular level, yet of course that makes sense. Isn’t all our earthly experience somehow encoded in the structure of our brain and nervous system? How could those memories not be encoded at that scale?
And that’s the conclusion. This dream comes across as way more interesting and enlightening than anything else in the gruesome sun-filled day has brought me. Even if it’s “Larz, dreamparty of one”, that’s enough for me today.
In conclusion, the goal per the channel seems to be this:
Much is revealed to those who choose to remain centered within themselves, for they can observe.
and this (although the idea that the dying process has purification potential requires a lot more study on my part):
It is a humbling experience to see those that are loved, dying in a place of no return. Our physical shell separating and disintegrating back into its own primordial matrix, with only the core of the human being standing. You do not realize yet the purity or the purification potential of such situations.