Reflection 282: Sure Death

June 28, 2012

Often, when I first wake up from a dream, I am unsure where I am. Eyes closed, I try to remember where I was when I went to bed. It makes all the difference how I am to relieve this fullness in my bladder. Eyes clouded with sleep, do I stand up and make two turns to the left into the bathroom, or do I climb down a ladder on my right, which will land me by the door so I can go outside to pee in the woods? Am I in Bar Harbor or Franklin? How am I to engage the world in meeting my needs? Which depends on setting off in one direction or the other.

Welcome to my world of streaming consciousness, to what I call my loop of engagement, which is always intentional in being keyed to this or that situation as it develops. Is this the day I am going to check on horseshoe crabs at high tide? Fly over the watershed? Go with my brother to the “dance floor” on Baker Island? Set my mooring in Muddy Cove? Print out recent posts to my blog to see where I’m headed? Give a talk? Shop? Make myself happen in some other way?

That’s what this blog is all about, using myself as a handy example of how we rely on consciousness in making ourselves happen in the world, starting first thing in the morning, going all day, and into our dreams at night when we can neither act nor perceive, but stay engaged nonetheless in periods of REM sleep.

The dream I awoke from this morning was one of my better ones. I flew to Australia where I found a kind of hostel to stay in. It was packed with diverse folks all easily relating to one another. A friendly lady told me I was to sleep in the library, which she said had a good many fans, and I took to be a good thing. No one else was there, but abruptly people streamed in and began laying out bedding on the floor. The place I had staked out got taken, so I found an empty spot and moved in. There was no conflict or competition; people simply got along together. It was crowded, but felt right. Upstairs, my son was taking a bath in an old iron tub, which drained through a groove into a hole in the floor. The man and wife who ran the hostel greeted each guest on the stairs, and even a baby who got my attention was delightfully keen and friendly.

Night and day, I am engaged, shifting from one scene or situation to another, always giving my full attention, always moving beyond myself into a new self emerging just ahead. That emergent self is who I am, kinetic, always on the go. Always trying to figure out where I am so I can take appropriate steps in reaching toward the next stage of my development, whatever it turns out to be, knowing full well that a set mind is sure death.


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