The Wind

                                                     

I am like the Wind of another dimension, animated and still, cartoon-like, as in the enchanted Merlin valley of a few nights back. I am also very hot, as hot as fire. I sleep again and blow around the edge of many worlds. Later I awaken, still on fire, to deliver news of all that I have learned by making love with C at centre.

 

This dream came the night after the great ‘Fire’ processing of our last chapter. ‘Wind’ is a metaphor for the Breath of God, the spiritus that moves the world, moves all things in the world, and moves through all things in the world. It is an agent of growth and transformation; the carrier of what we call inspiration. Its impact is greatly amplified by the addition of Fire, the second of the ‘male’ elements. When this combines with Air, the first, a human life is set alight. That is why I am so hot in my dream, the night after I stepped into my ‘Fire of Truth’.

The archetypal function of masculine energy is to go to the edge. As Fire-powered Wind I traverse the edge of many worlds and return bursting with a primal urge to deliver news of all that I have found at Centre. I do so allegorically by making love with the image of my feminine soul, representative of a female power that holds a Centre while the male is off exploring new horizons.  God and Goddess making love forever renew the One Life of All That Is.

Noting my prowess, evidently, the gods call me back for refinement:

I’m in the concourse of a bright and spacious University building, flooded by natural light. It has a beautiful geometric design, reminiscent of the Sydney Opera. I’m outside a lecture room. This may be my last class. It’s my final year and I’m due to graduate soon. My sense is that I will be a Teacher also.

I move away from the lecture venue, deeper into the building. Two young students approach from the opposite direction – a young man who’s been looking after his sick mother in anticipation of her death and an idealistic young woman who’s anxious not to miss the class. She gives me a hot chocolate. I return to the lecture room with them and go in.

This room is also spacious and bright. The class, given by TB, is already under way. I excuse us. The young man and woman go to the back. TB generously says that he can get a cup of tea. I sit in a single desk up front beside DM. He’s working on a hand-out that presents basic geometric forms and explains their esoteric significance. I glance over them and am reassured that I already know them well.

I am back in a university but it doesn’t feel the same as before. This place is bright, spacious and transparent. It is a University of Light, a Universe City of Light – a centre of wisdom and learning that aims to reproduce the intelligence of the Universe in the order of human culture it promotes. Even the architecture reflects exquisitely beautiful geometries of Cosmos.

I have a sense of imminent ending. I am approaching another final, another opportunity to graduate. I can become another kind of teacher as a result, in another kind of school, perhaps like this.

I am drawn away from the lecture room, which is to one side, towards the centre of this vast public space. I then see two students approaching, the solicitous young man and idealistic young woman. These two represent the fruits, so far, of my aspiration to a more balanced and holistic way of being.

The death of the young man’s mother is imminent. This means that I can soon be clear of negative internalised influence, free to pursue my destiny unchecked. The young woman gives me chocolate – a sweet reward to acknowledge my consciousness for its role in drawing her out from the potentialities of my Unconscious into manifestation. Robert and Tara are their names. I discover all this through enacting.

Both characters are based on actual students from my past. They appear because they represent aspects of my inner potential that I have been attempting to streamline through conscious endeavour. I absorb them on entering the lecture room, and all of the potentials they carry.

The teacher realises this. Based on a most unsympathetic model, his generosity is actually directed towards a tenderness in me, occasioned by my love for the two and a flexible masculine-feminine range they bring to my disposition. This is a strong healing feature of the dream, rehabilitating my experience of many less sympathetic 3D teachers from earlier stages of my life. It feels important that I should be prepared to ‘see’ anew.

I sit at the front of the class, my protégés having disappeared. DM, my diligent and timid former self, is working away on some problems of sacred geometry. I can tell at a glance what they involve, which means I must be well prepared for whatever test I have to undergo before graduating.

I must be doing well in terms of inner preparation for this to register so clearly in a dream. Of course, dream-work is an essential part of my preparation. I have pursued it diligently and therefore, it seems, am well-prepared. I count this as assurance, not congratulations, and surmise that it will be important for me to remember this assurance in due course.

Moreover, I find through enacting, it was absolutely necessary for me to arrive late for class since everyone who makes it up represents an aspect of my Self. Everybody in the lecture room, including the teacher, is a part of me – all fragments of my soul trying to come together and be One. We’ve already seen this inner tendency evoked by earlier dreams – like ‘School Trip’ and ‘Apache’, for example. When I do finally realise this condition, I will be truly fit to graduate to a new level.

My next dream poses further challenges in this regard:

There is a problem. I am in a small flat with a woman and two children, a little boy and little girl. The woman asks me to hold them. I am deflated but take the children on my knees. I feel great love for them but am anxious inside. I’ve been recalled to work some hours in the university, three I think, spread out.

I head for a second-hand bookshop wondering if I’d have been better off not to retire. It’s too late now anyway. The bookshop is in a back alley, very small and cramped. I step into a tiny hallway, crammed with little closed cabinets. I open them to find lots of books inside, all old and nothing of interest. There’s another shelf with old children’s books, large format, as if from a bygone age. I browse through one about Arthurian romance.

I go through another door. There’s a man inside with two young helpers, male and female. It’s cramped in here also, but the man seems very generous and charismatic. He’s playing with two robots on a little table. He’s going out for five minutes and invites me to play with them. He’ll give me a revealing insight into some well-known children’s tale on his return. I can’t now remember which.

I browse around more cramped, dingy shelves a little longer but don’t play with the robots. I feel trapped in here. Nothing interests me.

 

On waking I feel as if I’ve taken a step back and want to erase my dream. After the Universe City of Light, I’m back in worry and illusion. I feel that lots of negativity has been released into my system. Where has this come from? ‘Me’ of course.  Will this cycle never end? (Already I forget the reassurance of my previous dream.) I go into my Heart and draw an image from my Book of Revelations. An image of Merlin appears, head only first, then whole body and later a staff. I feel as if I’ve been inside my father’s world. This is inside me too but is now part of my awareness.

There is a problem and the problem is scarcity, a constant worry that tomorrow there might not be enough. In a Universe of abundance we have created a civilisation based on lack. I feel this pressure as the father of these children in my dream. I am again a no-good male, incompetent as their provider and protector. Their hungry eyes look up to mine for sustenance but there is not enough. I have failed them. There is nothing I can do.

My woman is desperate also. She is worn-out and needs relief. Desperately, I take the children on my knees and hold them close, hoping to fill them with a hope I do not have. A wave of love mixed with anguish passes from me to them. Their bodies tense with fright. They are not reassured. I’ve been recalled to work in the Old School but not enough. My hours are meagre and spread out to dissipate my focus. I must take anything that I can get. I have no choice.

Old ways die hard but I have been recalled, unknowing, for an even deeper revision course. This wouldn’t happen if there weren’t traces left in me to warrant it, and maybe depths of motivation or potentials left untapped.  I don’t know but must be open to whatever winds still blow. The conclusion that I have no choice is anathema to everything my dreams have been labouring to teach me. No wonder I feel moved to return this one. Despite feeling chastened by even the prospect of enactment, I set out for my second-hand bookshop.

This is an established source of wisdom and inspiration in my dreams. However, on the level of a surface political reading, it also signifies the poverty-consciousness by which I now feel stricken. I know well that a majority of human beings at virtually all times have felt stricken in this way. And yet in the moment when I enact taking the children on my knees, I experience again an unfathomable depth of love behind every illusion. Our souls create such scenarios over and over to remind us how much we are in love. This is necessary when we feel unlovable within.

Forgetfully, I question my wisdom in retiring on my way to the bookshop. I am utterly desolate and helpless. I step again into my hidden, second-hand world, shameful and cramped. Old books taunt me like the constraining residua of former lives.

A tiny hallway again plays vestibule to other worlds but this time I fail to notice. My awareness is so contracted that even the little cabinets are closed. Nothing is open or flowing in me. I am deadlocked in a trauma of survival-consciousness, precipitated by old memories that need now to be redeemed.

But there is also something vital that has carried me here. This something impels me to open the tiny closed compartments, to search for something, anything, that might be of help. I find lots of books, old, used-up, uninteresting. Even the children’s section seems faded and out-of-date. Only Arthurian lore, which is mythic and therefore timeless, wins my attention. This is at least a clue.

Faithful to my dream, I continue the enactment and go through the other door. At least I retain that much conviction. It’s cramped in here also but the man I meet feels generous and charismatic. That ‘but’ is a gateway into parallel worlds, where other potentialities of consciousness can manifest and get played out. It portends an alternative disposition of energies, another way of being.

The smallness of the space is refuted by the Big Heart of the man who occupies it. His helpers are positive and cheerful. Enacting, I recognise them as transforms of Robert and Tara from my previous dream. All reflect a disposition I would do well to assume.

The man sits in a black suit playing with two robots on a little table, somehow animating them so that they move around freely. He has to go out but invites me to play with them. He promises to teach me something important about children’s tales on his return. I forget which one(s) almost immediately. In my current state of awareness, it’s hard to remember anything at all. I certainly don’t feel like playing! I ignore the young assistants who consequently disappear. This is how things go in the life of soul.

I browse around a bit longer. Everything continues to seem dingy and cramped. I feel trapped but don’t want to appear impolite by leaving before the old man returns. Nothing interests me and this is the feeling with which I wake. My dream has betrayed me or, perhaps, I have betrayed my dream. I didn’t play with the robots after all. I wouldn’t even associate robots with play. And then I remember how my actual children, in 3D, used to play with plastic-metallic robots called ‘transformers’. Of course!

I go back into my enactment, fired by a new spark. I re-enter the inner sanctum to be greeted enthusiastically by a very positive, radiant young woman (my Tara transform), a concentrated representation of newly emerging feminine soul potentials welcoming her ‘father’, my male ego-consciousness, back into her world of creative possibility.

I now feel a beautiful sense of solidarity and devotion about this place. I am reminded of Santa and his helpers! The proprietor manifests conspicuously as ‘Merlin’, this time wearing a conical black hat and cloak adorned with crescent moons and stars. He even has long white hair and a beard. I have never been so glad to see a Wizard of Change. He leaves me alone without a word.

This time I remember to play. I sit at the table, take up the robots and manipulate them as I have seen my children do, as if inviting them to some kind of combative dance. (There are two, after all, the number of duality!) Nothing happens. I put them down and try thinking piously directive thoughts. Still nothing! Then I recall how Merlin in disguise had engaged them.

I focus awareness in my Heart, allowing energy to build there and rise slowly into my third eye (brow). From here I relay my Heart’s Desire to the robots. Immediately they begin to stir. After a few trials I have them walking on the table, just like Merlin. I sense that there is more to come and continue. Energy keeps rising in my Heart and starts to flow directly from there into my plastic-metallic friends, each just a few inches high.

Then they come together and collide. There is a huge, blinding explosion after which I find myself dwarfed by two huge beings of white light, armed and helmeted, somewhere between Achilles and Archangel Michael. They give me time to note this before merging into an abstract, light form which is also boundless. This Light could expand to encompass everything.

Merlin returns at that moment. We are no longer in a dingy room but on the beach, surrounded by quiescent ocean and clear sky. He shifts between being a Wizard of Change and the shopkeeper from our last chapter. He tells me that all ‘things’ are made of light and that every doorway in a children’s story represents a portal into other worlds.

I know this but do I always remember to behave as if I know it? Children can perceive magical possibilities in every situation but adults are so literally set in their ways that we usually see nothing other than a mirroring of our own preoccupations. I know this also but do I remember to behave as if I know it? This is why I must learn to ‘see’ anew.

I remember then being tightly held in my father’s lap, a moment of remorse after eruption. Rough fibres from his sweater prick my cheek. His hard hand locks my quivering knees. I am taut in the confusion of his smells. My father didn’t have the eyes of a child but craved access to that wonder through me who denied it, having internalised his fear. This is how we live in stories that keep on going wrong.

I must satisfy the hungry eyes of my dream children. I ask Merlin about these, and his assistants. He says that he’s been teaching all of them for me. And my father? Merlin tells me to remember that all illusions are reflections of One Life. I think that this means also One Love. He disappears.

I gather myself on the beach and focus, calling on my father’s ancestral line, on all the inert human tendencies that culminated in him, his childhood and resulting dispositions, everything that has since migrated into me. 

I hold this awareness steadfastly in my Heart and call on the healing powers of One Love/Life to release all the pain and sorrow that has ever arisen from the seemingly unanswered prayers of hungry hearts, bellies, eyes. This takes some moments and a powerful wave of clarifying tears. Then it’s done.

I understand that a similar clearing can be undertaken for my mother’s side but not yet. Everybody in the world has a power to evoke such healing. Imagine the gifts that would be released if we each contributed our uniquely personal keys to opening the cramped lockers of scarcity consciousness by such means.

                                                           *

Something essential has been liberated in me by the Fire of Truth. I become as a spirit wind in consequence, unconfined and free to move between dimensions. But this is just a fleeting, preliminary glimpse of inestimable power. Further training is required before I will be capable of entering into a sustained relationship with it.

I am sent for this reason to a University of Light, where I encounter two burgeoning aspects of my soul: a young man on the point of breaking free from the spell of his personal mother and a young woman who is assiduously refining her powers of focused consciousness. Both are protégés of Merlin, develop in mutual harmony and reflect a maturation of fe/male babies from my earlier dreams.

Despite this, my scarcity dream evokes deeply engrained, limiting and unwelcome childhood patterns – the kind that sabotaged my cup final appearance in the Game of Life. Once again I become a no-good male: timid, pessimistic and insecure. As long as these traits persist, I can never be free as the wind! Hence I am recalled to engage them anew, in a deeper and more conscious way than heretofore. This will be my testing.

Merlin then seeks to restore my sense of childhood innocence and gives me a memorable lesson regarding the transformative powers of consciousness. My masculine spirit erupts, fired beyond its earlier robotic motions. New realms open as a result. Overwhelmed by compassion, I experience the universal reality of One Life/Love. Empowered and inspired, I clear the residual negativity of my male ancestral line and intuit that my female line must follow soon after.

Mythologically, I recall, Mother endows our physical substance and a primal sense of comfort. By contrast, going about our Father’s business entails finding our authentic character and destiny, for which we need to move beyond the Mother’s spell. Such work of individuation now falls equally to women, as repressive shackles of gender polarisation continue to lift.

Indeed, having broken from an early, childish mode of adjustment, we must all return into mature, grown-up relationship with Mother/Goddess. This is a challenge which humanity faces collectively in our time. I didn’t see this so clearly while I was struggling to keep waking consciousness aligned with the inspiration of my nights but it was soon to be disclosed symbolically by my dream journey.

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