Dreams, Visions, Nightmares 101

Mother of the World, of Life and of Death

Mother of the World, of Life and of Death

It was a horrifying dream.  The girl came to the Christians, the Southern Baptists,  so full of hope for humanity, and they cut off her hands and then her feet.  All in the name of God.  I woke up in waves of nausea.


In the dream, the greatest horror was that it was my story.  I was the storyteller, and so this violence, this sacrilege, this horror came from me and was offered up to the community as a story through my presence and by my will.  How could I do this?  For hours, after waking, I felt troubled. Do I hate Southern Baptists?  Do I feel the need to make them evil? And what does Obama have to do with all this?

Because, yes, Obama, was in my dream, bright as day, telling me to tell my stories to the people, and I knew he was hoping I would tell a story to inspire people to come together, to see and respect and appreciate one another, and this young girl in my story, she was the harbinger, the Second Coming, she was Jesus, and the Christians didn’t recognize her because she was telling them about the goodness in all religions, so they sacrificed her piece by piece in hopes that she would see the light or at least, through her pain and suffering become pure enough to be received by their God.

They didn’t even realize:  She was their God.   Incarnate.  Again.  And they did it again. 

We did it again

There is no separation: WE did it again. 

In the dream, the story seemed to take on a life of its own. 

dreamtime

I knew where it was going, only it didn’t go there.  And the young people, the Christian young people who were in the audience kept leaving the room, withdrawing from the story and I felt I was failing and Obama was watching (which was very embarrassing, by the way).

And then I heard myself describing the violence, the dismemberment.  And I could see it all in front of me as the audience could see, vividly, in their imaginations, the carnage my words had created.  And mortified at the violence moving through me, I wrenched myself awake and lay on my bed, breathing in the darkness.

It’s taken me all day to look at this dream.  I was first simply grateful for the young people who left, who had the good sense to get out of that room before the story turned ugly.  Thank God for their boredom.  Were these dream figures parts of myself I was protecting?  Perhaps…

But the truth is,  this is what we do, over and over again, we human beings– we kill God.

We kill God crucifying Jesus of Nazareth, and we kill God burning St. Joan at the stake, and we kill God gunning down Martin Luther King Jr. and Gandhi.

But that is nothing.  That is only the surface.  That is only the obvious.  These tortures and assassinations are the large and dramatic murders.  These are the public offerings, the end result of many many more tiny kills.  For we murder the joy and sensitivity in our own hearts, and we murder the talents with which we were born, and we murder the tenderness which sprouts like new shoots between us.  These are the real murders, the murders which lead to more and more layers of deadness.  These are the kills which we pass on for generations, from mother to daughter, and father to son, and mother to son and father to daughter, over and over and over again.

All because we judge Life and decide what it is instead of forgiving it and allowing it to amaze us.

And so,  my young girl was sacrificed at the hands of the Christians in her own name.  Sacrificed in her own name.  And isn’t that, after all, how so many of us dispose of ourselves, cutting away piece after piece of ourselves in a desperate attempt to make ourselves worthy, to make ourselves Holy enough…

 

Murshida VA

5 thoughts on “Dreams, Visions, Nightmares 101

  1. allowing Life to amaze us … i am so grateful to be reminded of this gift. and also grateful for a conversation with Murshidava today, including these pearls:
    “Fear is a great initiation, because then you can develop faith.”
    “Enjoying your life now is a demonstration of God’s blessing.”

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  2. My dear Murshida – thanks to the craziness of even getting into Facebook over the past short while, I was unable to access this amazing blog of yours until today, when I finally found time to sit still and read it. Interestingly, this weekend I have attended two events concerning death and dying – a native medicine man talking about his life experiences with dying people and the spirits of those who have passed into the other world last night, and a Tibetan lama talking today about the various stages of death – and of course, both of them emphasizing the importance of the quality of our lives day by day, hour by hour.

    These two events as well as the words towards the end of your blog bring me to a place of self inquiry: “For we murder the joy and sensitivity in our own hearts, and we murder the talents with which we were born, and we murder the tenderness which sprouts like new shoots between us. These are the real murders, the murders which lead to more and more layers of deadness. These are the kills which we we pass on for generations, from mother to daughter, and father to son, and mother to son and father to daughter, over and over and over again.

    All because we judge Life and decide what it is instead of forgiving it and allowing it to amaze us.”

    So here is my infant reflection based upon all this: What is missing in my life? What have I murdered in myself? What needs to be reborn and reinstituted? How can I reclaim my birthright? The clock is ticking, ticking, ticking!

    I thank you for your inspiration and contribution!

    Love to you,
    Amina

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  3. Amina-La,

    Your comment connects exactly with what this blog entry has sought to inspire. Life is so precious. Every moment, every moment passing and yet we stumble almost automatically toward sleep. What secret key must turn in each human heart to ignite that passion which seeks to hold onto life with our whole heart until it is truly our last breath and then to exhale without regret. So much love to you. VA

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  4. 9-12-2010 Tortured by last nights dreams… I am watching a friend/Lover/Goddess I’m currently relating with and she’s being intimate with another. We’re at a party with mostly her friends. She knows I’m there and I’m playing cool but really I’m hurting and hating the way I’m feeling. Knowing that I’m choosing to be there watching, Punishing myself. *Maybe I want to see what the worst I can imagine might feel like to be prepared or protect myself? Awful nauseous heart pain this rainy morning. Already I feel grateful… I honor the expansion of light created by diving deep in the dark. I can accept all my relations with Compassion (joy for others joy) – Aloha

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  5. Ahhh Sweet Friend, What a deep and beautiful passage of initiation
    Into divine love you were passing through at that time. And how are you now?

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