I had an amazing transition-time dream last night. Like a lot of my dreams it took the form of an adventure. There were curious but telling locations: a dark intersection at night, a celebratory event with friars, a hospital that turned out to be dedicated to St. Francis, Newhallville (a neighborhood near where I grew up), and the home of a high school classmate. Between these there were various means of transportation: walking with the GPS on my phone malfunctioning and a ride each in a soccer-mom van and a dumb waiter. Some of the friars were in the dream, as well as other people I haven't seen or thought about in ages.
In one part of the dream I was cooking. It was like one of the afternoons when it's my turn to prepare the friars' supper. The funny part was that people kept bringing me new ingredients. Since the new items I kept receiving were of very high quality, and also to be polite, I had to keep revising the meal in order to include them in the dish. It got to be very challenging. Isn't that a rich image of the spiritual life? God gives us increasingly rare and beautiful graces, and we are left with the challenge of integrating these into the whole of our journey with all of its weeds and wheat, thereby forever arriving at a new grasp of ourselves and who we are before and in God.
The dream reminded me of some truths about people and places in the journey. Because of God's eternity, and because our spiritual lives are nothing but our participation in the mystery of God, our spirituality is somehow simultaneous over the whole of life. When we enter into a new relationship, for example, we bring into it everyone else to whom we have related. This is why we are all such blessed messes of true love and destructive pathology in all of our relationships. Salvation is the process by which each relationship becomes ever more chaste and charitable, with new ones starting at a better baseline. Places exert a similar influence; the places we have been have formed us, and we bring them into the new places we settle. I guess that's why religious life-options like the monastic vow of stability or the mendicant life of itinerancy are so spiritually potent.
In my prayer today I'm just thanking God for everyone and each place I take with me into this new life.
Showing posts with label Dreams. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dreams. Show all posts
May 11, 2012
May 21, 2011
The Snowshoes and the Bees
I had an interesting dream during the night, one that gives me both encouragement and warning in my vocation.
As is very common in my dreams I was both looking for something and carrying some sort of container. This time I was carrying a pair of snowshoes covered in bees. I had the idea that the snowshoes were like the frames that fit into an artificial beehive, and I was searching around to put them back where they belonged. As is uncommon in my dreams, this search was indoors. I was in what I thought in the dream was one of our friaries, but I realize now that it was also Freeman Hall at Connecticut College, the basement of which I was living in during the fall semester of 1992. It's where I was living when I was baptized, received my first Holy Communion, and my Confirmation. My search in the building was cut short when I discovered a dead body partially entangled in a heavy curtain and put down the snowshoes to call 911. That's what I remember. I think I woke up after that.
I think the snowshoes are my vocation; baptismal, religious, priestly, the whole thing. Snowshoes let someone journey safely over an otherwise impassible surface, and so it is with my vocation and the otherwise impassible road that is this world and my own life born into it. The snowshoes were covered with bees because my vocation is supposed to be something that is industrious and bearing of sweetness. But for that to happen, I have to search out how to make it work within the particular context of my religious life. I have to seek out where the snowshoes fit into the beehive that is somewhere in the friary. In this quest, I cannot be distracted by the works of death that tangle us up in the veil--that is, the flesh. I must care for those who come to be injured or even spiritually dead by them, myself included, but I can't be distracted from seeking how to make my own vocation fruitful with the industry and sweetness God wills from it.
A Franciscan dream for Easter, I think:
On this, your night of grace, O holy Father, accept this candle, a solemn offering, the work of bees and of your servants’ hands, an evening sacrifice of praise, this gift from your most holy Church. (Exsultet, new translation)
The Lord gave to me, brother Francis, to begin to do penance: for when I was in sin it seemed bitter for me to see lepers. And the Lord himself led me among them, and I had mercy on them. And returning from them, that which had seemed bitter was changed into sweetness of soul and body; and after that I lingered for a little while and then left the world. (St. Francis, Testament)
As is very common in my dreams I was both looking for something and carrying some sort of container. This time I was carrying a pair of snowshoes covered in bees. I had the idea that the snowshoes were like the frames that fit into an artificial beehive, and I was searching around to put them back where they belonged. As is uncommon in my dreams, this search was indoors. I was in what I thought in the dream was one of our friaries, but I realize now that it was also Freeman Hall at Connecticut College, the basement of which I was living in during the fall semester of 1992. It's where I was living when I was baptized, received my first Holy Communion, and my Confirmation. My search in the building was cut short when I discovered a dead body partially entangled in a heavy curtain and put down the snowshoes to call 911. That's what I remember. I think I woke up after that.
I think the snowshoes are my vocation; baptismal, religious, priestly, the whole thing. Snowshoes let someone journey safely over an otherwise impassible surface, and so it is with my vocation and the otherwise impassible road that is this world and my own life born into it. The snowshoes were covered with bees because my vocation is supposed to be something that is industrious and bearing of sweetness. But for that to happen, I have to search out how to make it work within the particular context of my religious life. I have to seek out where the snowshoes fit into the beehive that is somewhere in the friary. In this quest, I cannot be distracted by the works of death that tangle us up in the veil--that is, the flesh. I must care for those who come to be injured or even spiritually dead by them, myself included, but I can't be distracted from seeking how to make my own vocation fruitful with the industry and sweetness God wills from it.
A Franciscan dream for Easter, I think:
On this, your night of grace, O holy Father, accept this candle, a solemn offering, the work of bees and of your servants’ hands, an evening sacrifice of praise, this gift from your most holy Church. (Exsultet, new translation)
The Lord gave to me, brother Francis, to begin to do penance: for when I was in sin it seemed bitter for me to see lepers. And the Lord himself led me among them, and I had mercy on them. And returning from them, that which had seemed bitter was changed into sweetness of soul and body; and after that I lingered for a little while and then left the world. (St. Francis, Testament)
October 17, 2010
Recent Dreams
I've been having a lot of dreams lately about not managing to get where I'm supposed to be going.
The troubles are varied. In one dream I forgot to respond to an attractive invitation because I got distracted. In another I missed an appointment because I didn't leave enough time for travel. Another time I couldn't even begin to get on my way because the vehicle I was supposed to drive was too complex and unwieldy, a huge RV full of different systems and gadgets. In the most recent dream on this theme, the street on which I was walking was blocked off because the buildings were on fire.
The images are very telling, but the question arises: what is this troublesome journey which I am either anxious about beginning, making, or being able to arrive at its destination? What increase in vigilance and mindfulness do I need to adopt? What do I need to let go of in order to be free to begin or continue? What old paths need to be re-routed that I might avoid the destructive forces, inside and out, that impede my steps?
The unwieldy vehicle is probably my own soul, and a warning to me that I need to care for myself better in these days full of new distractions and temptations to the dissipation of my internal attention. But I'm also worried that the unwieldy vehicle might be our province of the brothers which finds itself at a contentious moment and needs to find a way to step forward. The burning block of buildings is also full of possibilities. Probably it's one of the old paths of my prayer and interior habits that has become useless and even dangerous. New and less comfortable paths to God always need to be charted. This, after all, is the journey of faith at its dark and searing heart. But I also fear that the burning buildings might have something to do with BC; I walk the paths of that campus and I always remark on how robust, beautiful, and well-maintained the buildings are. (In contrast, of course, to the buildings of other Catholic institutions and parishes.) I worry that the vision of the dream might have been a glimpse into the actual, spiritual condition of BC. In the dream I remarked on two oddities of the scene: there were some firefighters, but they didn't seem to be doing anything, and there were people in the buildings, but they didn't seem to be trying to escape.
More importantly, though, what is the journey which so challenges me? Is it the STD program? Is it my place in the province and my obedience to the brothers, aware as I am aware of certain forces swirling about me, imagining particular outcomes to this course of study I have begun? Or is it something more fundamental and internal in my own interior journey with the Lord? Am I at one of those places in which I am straining to go to the next level of faith and trust, moments that always come with a lot of confusion and vertigo and grief at letting go of aspects of the false self I always thought were irreducible parts of "me" but which have to be jettisoned if I am to take another step into the Mystery?
The troubles are varied. In one dream I forgot to respond to an attractive invitation because I got distracted. In another I missed an appointment because I didn't leave enough time for travel. Another time I couldn't even begin to get on my way because the vehicle I was supposed to drive was too complex and unwieldy, a huge RV full of different systems and gadgets. In the most recent dream on this theme, the street on which I was walking was blocked off because the buildings were on fire.
The images are very telling, but the question arises: what is this troublesome journey which I am either anxious about beginning, making, or being able to arrive at its destination? What increase in vigilance and mindfulness do I need to adopt? What do I need to let go of in order to be free to begin or continue? What old paths need to be re-routed that I might avoid the destructive forces, inside and out, that impede my steps?
The unwieldy vehicle is probably my own soul, and a warning to me that I need to care for myself better in these days full of new distractions and temptations to the dissipation of my internal attention. But I'm also worried that the unwieldy vehicle might be our province of the brothers which finds itself at a contentious moment and needs to find a way to step forward. The burning block of buildings is also full of possibilities. Probably it's one of the old paths of my prayer and interior habits that has become useless and even dangerous. New and less comfortable paths to God always need to be charted. This, after all, is the journey of faith at its dark and searing heart. But I also fear that the burning buildings might have something to do with BC; I walk the paths of that campus and I always remark on how robust, beautiful, and well-maintained the buildings are. (In contrast, of course, to the buildings of other Catholic institutions and parishes.) I worry that the vision of the dream might have been a glimpse into the actual, spiritual condition of BC. In the dream I remarked on two oddities of the scene: there were some firefighters, but they didn't seem to be doing anything, and there were people in the buildings, but they didn't seem to be trying to escape.
More importantly, though, what is the journey which so challenges me? Is it the STD program? Is it my place in the province and my obedience to the brothers, aware as I am aware of certain forces swirling about me, imagining particular outcomes to this course of study I have begun? Or is it something more fundamental and internal in my own interior journey with the Lord? Am I at one of those places in which I am straining to go to the next level of faith and trust, moments that always come with a lot of confusion and vertigo and grief at letting go of aspects of the false self I always thought were irreducible parts of "me" but which have to be jettisoned if I am to take another step into the Mystery?
September 6, 2010
A Dream for the First Day of School
So I wake up on Labor Day, the last day before the real first day of school. (The days of so-called orientation don't count.) I am anxious, for sure, but I also had an encouraging dream.
I am anxious because I am not confident that I can manage the doctoral program. I learned well certain school-going habits as a small child that will have to be unlearned if I'm going to make it to the STD. These were a matter of survival at the time, and so I don't have any grudge against myself about them, but like many survival strategies we learn along the way, they have become maladaptive in later circumstances.
In the midst of this worry I've been having some rich dreams, full of people and places and teachers and schools from the past. As I was praying through some of it this morning, one moment seemed particularly revealing. I was with one of the professors whose disciple I hope to become this year. He had a son with him, maybe four or five years old. The child was babbling like an infant, full of syllables and seeming just on the edge of true speech. "He can almost talk," I said to the professor. It was the joy of the dream to announce it.
In my prayer I realized that the kid was probably me. By the discernment of the friars and the generosity of our benefactors, the transformation to speech is offered to me. If I can overcome what keeps me from working as hard as I can and if I can make myself a fruitful disciple of my professors, perhaps I can become a bearer of coherent theological speech, a doctor.
I am anxious because I am not confident that I can manage the doctoral program. I learned well certain school-going habits as a small child that will have to be unlearned if I'm going to make it to the STD. These were a matter of survival at the time, and so I don't have any grudge against myself about them, but like many survival strategies we learn along the way, they have become maladaptive in later circumstances.
In the midst of this worry I've been having some rich dreams, full of people and places and teachers and schools from the past. As I was praying through some of it this morning, one moment seemed particularly revealing. I was with one of the professors whose disciple I hope to become this year. He had a son with him, maybe four or five years old. The child was babbling like an infant, full of syllables and seeming just on the edge of true speech. "He can almost talk," I said to the professor. It was the joy of the dream to announce it.
In my prayer I realized that the kid was probably me. By the discernment of the friars and the generosity of our benefactors, the transformation to speech is offered to me. If I can overcome what keeps me from working as hard as I can and if I can make myself a fruitful disciple of my professors, perhaps I can become a bearer of coherent theological speech, a doctor.
January 30, 2010
The Little Bird and the Lions
I had a striking dream last night--a very biblical style dream, in fact--and I think it was about Twitter.
I have to say that I'm surprised nobody has called me out on my having resurrected my Twitter account after I quit another micro-blogging service, Plurk, with such a display of fervor some months ago. I had a Twitter account then too, but I synced it with Plurk so the updates were duplicated on Twitter without my having to look at it.
Two things coincided to make my try Twitter again. First came the Holy Father's message for World Communications Day, in which Benedict recommended the use of internet social media to priests as a means of evangelization. Second was the obsolescence of my PDA combined with a need to upgrade my cell phone, which led me together to enter the smartphone world. The possibility of mobile micro-blogging was too much to resist.
But what of the spiritual impact? In my individual case, which is the only one to which I can speak, are the possibilities of serving the glory of God through Twitter worth the risks of distraction? Well, last night I had a dream that suggests to me a cautious 'yes.'
In my dream I was on a neighborhood street. There was a small vehicle something like a chariot. Drawing the chariot was a team of three lions. Driving the chariot was a little tiny bird wearing a little harness that was attached to the back of the chariot with something like a set of leather straps. As I stood there, I was amazed that the little tiny bird could keep three big lions under control as it drove the chariot slowly along. But then something odd happened. The little bird fell into a pothole or some kind of fissure, and was being pulled along under the ground. I watched. Eventually the little bird emerged, all dusty and disheveled from being dragged underground. Then I realized that the bird wasn't moving and was probably dead. Then somebody was screaming from one of the houses and I knew that the lions had escaped their harnesses. I ran away in terror. In fleeing I realized my guilt; I had stood there with morbid curiosity as the bird was dragged underground. I could have helped it, and maybe it wouldn't have died and the lions wouldn't have escaped. Then I woke up.
I think the little bird was the tweeting Twitter bird. The lions, because they became such a danger when they became unbound, were the lion from 1 Peter 5ff., a reading familiar to anyone who prays Night Prayer on Tuesdays: "Be sober and vigilant. Your opponent the devil is prowling around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devout. Resist him, steadfast in faith."
The little bird was able to tame and manage the big lions. In the same way, micro-blogging done for the glory of God could be a 'mustard seed' planted amidst the confusion and sins of the internet. But if we begin to use such a service for simple or even morbid curiosity--as I indulged when I observed the little bird's misfortune without helping--we can be providing an occasion for the devil's work to be set free through ourselves.
Anyway, that's my interpretation.
I have to say that I'm surprised nobody has called me out on my having resurrected my Twitter account after I quit another micro-blogging service, Plurk, with such a display of fervor some months ago. I had a Twitter account then too, but I synced it with Plurk so the updates were duplicated on Twitter without my having to look at it.
Two things coincided to make my try Twitter again. First came the Holy Father's message for World Communications Day, in which Benedict recommended the use of internet social media to priests as a means of evangelization. Second was the obsolescence of my PDA combined with a need to upgrade my cell phone, which led me together to enter the smartphone world. The possibility of mobile micro-blogging was too much to resist.
But what of the spiritual impact? In my individual case, which is the only one to which I can speak, are the possibilities of serving the glory of God through Twitter worth the risks of distraction? Well, last night I had a dream that suggests to me a cautious 'yes.'
In my dream I was on a neighborhood street. There was a small vehicle something like a chariot. Drawing the chariot was a team of three lions. Driving the chariot was a little tiny bird wearing a little harness that was attached to the back of the chariot with something like a set of leather straps. As I stood there, I was amazed that the little tiny bird could keep three big lions under control as it drove the chariot slowly along. But then something odd happened. The little bird fell into a pothole or some kind of fissure, and was being pulled along under the ground. I watched. Eventually the little bird emerged, all dusty and disheveled from being dragged underground. Then I realized that the bird wasn't moving and was probably dead. Then somebody was screaming from one of the houses and I knew that the lions had escaped their harnesses. I ran away in terror. In fleeing I realized my guilt; I had stood there with morbid curiosity as the bird was dragged underground. I could have helped it, and maybe it wouldn't have died and the lions wouldn't have escaped. Then I woke up.
I think the little bird was the tweeting Twitter bird. The lions, because they became such a danger when they became unbound, were the lion from 1 Peter 5ff., a reading familiar to anyone who prays Night Prayer on Tuesdays: "Be sober and vigilant. Your opponent the devil is prowling around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devout. Resist him, steadfast in faith."
The little bird was able to tame and manage the big lions. In the same way, micro-blogging done for the glory of God could be a 'mustard seed' planted amidst the confusion and sins of the internet. But if we begin to use such a service for simple or even morbid curiosity--as I indulged when I observed the little bird's misfortune without helping--we can be providing an occasion for the devil's work to be set free through ourselves.
Anyway, that's my interpretation.
June 30, 2009
Dreams
I've always been a good dreamer, and I usually remember at least something of my dreams. Though there is a ton of nonsense in this area, I do believe that reflection on dreams can be a useful tool for the spiritual life. For years I've been taking notes on them. Though an individual dream might remind me of something that needs attention, it's the general themes and recurring motifs in my dreams that I find most enlightening:
The most common theme or narrative of my dreams is a search or a quest. I'm looking for something or somebody. Within the movement of seeking it's often the paths that are the most vivid memory: roads, tunnels, ladders, forest trails, etc.
My dreams are more commonly outdoors than inside. Rocks are a common element: rocky landscapes, rocks that I have to carry, etc. Indeed I'm often carrying something in a bag or--for some reason--in a bucket.
I'm usually on my own in a dream. When I do interact with other people, they are usually people from the past rather than the present. The same goes for the places; they are most often places I used to live. (Since I have received my mail at eighteen different addresses in so many years since I went away to college, there are plenty of choices.) Encounters with others usually take the form of brief and jarring conversations, the kind that change things and the course of the dream.
I rarely eat in a dream. Nevertheless, if there is food in the dream, it is almost always Chinese food.
Sometimes I dream in black and white. Sometimes I'm reading the dream like a story in a book, instead of actually seeing it.
The most common theme or narrative of my dreams is a search or a quest. I'm looking for something or somebody. Within the movement of seeking it's often the paths that are the most vivid memory: roads, tunnels, ladders, forest trails, etc.
My dreams are more commonly outdoors than inside. Rocks are a common element: rocky landscapes, rocks that I have to carry, etc. Indeed I'm often carrying something in a bag or--for some reason--in a bucket.
I'm usually on my own in a dream. When I do interact with other people, they are usually people from the past rather than the present. The same goes for the places; they are most often places I used to live. (Since I have received my mail at eighteen different addresses in so many years since I went away to college, there are plenty of choices.) Encounters with others usually take the form of brief and jarring conversations, the kind that change things and the course of the dream.
I rarely eat in a dream. Nevertheless, if there is food in the dream, it is almost always Chinese food.
Sometimes I dream in black and white. Sometimes I'm reading the dream like a story in a book, instead of actually seeing it.
March 31, 2009
The Paschal Nightmares
I wake up with a start. It's 12:21 am and I realize that the time has come for that especially terrifying nocturnal visitation, the Paschal Triduum liturgy nightmare. No wonder I can't remember the Mass of the Lord's Supper the night before...Holy Thursday isn't until next week.
A few moments before, I'm dreaming and it's Good Friday afternoon. Charles, what do you mean you're not familiar with this specially adapted version of St. John's Passion? Haven't you been practicing? We're all ready to go. I can't find the prayers in the Sacramentary. And why can't I remember Holy Thursday Mass last night? You were there, Father. It was beautiful, as always, Father. It must be nerves. Am I going crazy? And why am I wearing this aquamarine chasuble? I need to go find something else. I just need to untie this other thing, whatever it is...oh no, stuck in another conversation on the way back. I still can't find the page. I make it back and I hear the intoning of the Gospel acclamation--they started without me. The pastor is going to be so mad at me. The kid working the fog machine shakes his head and I understand that I'm not to go out there now. It's too late. Panic. What is wrong with me that I can't remember Holy Thursday Mass last night?
And I wake up.
A few moments before, I'm dreaming and it's Good Friday afternoon. Charles, what do you mean you're not familiar with this specially adapted version of St. John's Passion? Haven't you been practicing? We're all ready to go. I can't find the prayers in the Sacramentary. And why can't I remember Holy Thursday Mass last night? You were there, Father. It was beautiful, as always, Father. It must be nerves. Am I going crazy? And why am I wearing this aquamarine chasuble? I need to go find something else. I just need to untie this other thing, whatever it is...oh no, stuck in another conversation on the way back. I still can't find the page. I make it back and I hear the intoning of the Gospel acclamation--they started without me. The pastor is going to be so mad at me. The kid working the fog machine shakes his head and I understand that I'm not to go out there now. It's too late. Panic. What is wrong with me that I can't remember Holy Thursday Mass last night?
And I wake up.
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