Like a Snooze Button...
Oh what a beautiful morning! Nearly every day of my trip, I would rise to greet the sun despite my late night stirring to play The Name Game. It really was magnificent: the vibrant colors dancing with the converging light across the sky, bringing about an awe-inspiring display that often brought tears to my eyes as the sun peaked over the horizon. It was all the more impressive that my internal alarm clock woke me up right before the show began. How was this happening? Sure...I am, for the most part, an early riser, yet I have an uncanny ability to be late for everything. My mastery of waking up and getting up to watch the sunrise was a spectacle within itself, and soon I was cheerfully greeting the beaming light as it kissed the ground despite whatever chaos I was battling through at the time.
Well, the weather outside is frightful now, right? And my bed, compared to the tent or Jeep, is SO delightful. And since there's no place to go, what with my schedule not really having a particular shape...Let It Snooze, Let It Snooze, Let It Snooze! That's right, the internal clock that helped me espy the bursting brightness of the day has been silenced in favor of cuddling with my pillows under the cover of blankets till I'm ready to emerge from my dreams. Yawn...in fact, I'm feeling a bit tired now; why not just adopt a Rip Van Winkle-esque lifestyle and sleep away all the fear and chaos and...(?) Sorry...I dozed off for a second...I dreamt I was a spider slumbering at the bottom of a downspout. Below, birds, toads, lizards, and the dreaded spider wasp were stationed as a steady rain started to fall from the clouds, sending a stream of water through the pipes toward me, the sleepy spider. But I didn't wake up; I opted to remain in dream world. I assume you're familiar with the lullaby so you don't need me to remind you what can happen if a spider is unwilling to see the light and climb up the spout, but it's so much easier to avoid the pain of the day by sleeping it away, isn't it? Sure, I can't necessarily escape my problems because they will be waiting for me as soon as I wake up, but if I put it off a little longer, it could get better, right? Just another 5 minutes? My destiny will be there still, I think.
This is why we can't have nice things...like a snooze button.
I never really thought much of my dreams growing up; I didn't consider them to hold much meaning and rarely did I ever research different elements that were recurring. Like when I dreamed that I was on a slide (water or regular) and would be separated from it, gliding through the sky until my inevitable plummet toward the ground woke me up. Perhaps it had something to do with my fateful airplane ride, but the memory never lingered beyond those first moments when I woke up. The only time I acted on a message conveyed through a dream was when I worked for a red light camera enforcement company on the front line (you know, those fun $100 tickets you receive for making a right turn on a red without stopping? I was part of that mess once upon a time). I had a dream/nightmare about the monotony of that job, and I woke up with my hand "clicking" as you would on a computer mouse since that was literally the only movement I would make throughout the day. After that, I decided to go back to school and figure out what (else) to do with my life.
For the most part, my dreams were a dark blur; each night, I'd enter into some mysterious chamber of my mind, and I'd wake up feeling afraid to face reality. Of course, work and other responsibilities took precedence, so I was forced out of bed; however, that fear continued to manifest throughout the day until I'd reach for something (alcohol, sex, drugs, junk food, TV, etc.) to distract me so I could slip into the darkness again the next night. This cycle tossed and turned my psyche into a frenzy as the shame associated with my daytime escapes spread deeper into my subconscious, creating a never-ending nightmare. The worst part was how powerless it made me feel. How do you fight against something that you can't see? In A Nightmare on Elm Street, Freddy Krueger was such a clear villain that those haunted by him were inevitably going to band together and defeat him; how would I even begin to battle against the shapeless, menacing presence before my blood hit the ceiling?
Video Credit: TzTokFlame on YouTube; Film credit: New Line Cinema
A Journal a Day Keeps the Blood Bath Away
There is a particular dream I remember vividly during my first week of journaling at the behest of Julia Cameron via The Artist's Way. I worked in a pet shop where the owner partnered with a puppy mill to make a profit. I'm not sure why I was working there given my level of disgust for such a business, but I arrived one day to find the owner abusing a puppy because he had an accident on the floor before we opened. I lost it. Without getting too graphic, I essentially gave the owner what he dished out to the puppy...with a baseball bat. Then, I let the caged dogs loose to decide the fate of the owner, and they tore him to shreds. The dream ended with me cleaning up the carnage and replacing the store security tape with Barney singing his "I Love You" song. I woke up confused and disturbed. Why was my dream so incredibly violent? Yes, I am passionate about animal rights and welfare but to react in the way I did? Violence, whether I inflicted it or it was inflicted upon me, was a common occurrence in those first few weeks, and it shook me. Was this who I was: a blood-thirsty, vengeful annihilator?
Though my grisly dreams were agitating, I continued to write each morning as the sun colorfully dazzled me. "Morning pages," as Julia refers to this ritualistic journaling, "do get us to the other side: the other side of our fear, of our negativity, or our moods. Above all, they get us beyond our Censor. Beyond the reach of the Censor's babble we find our own quiet center, the place where we hear the still, small voice that is at once our creator's and our own" (12). Inspired by the luminescence, I explored the depth of my relationships with friends, family, and CHICO. I connected the threads of my addictive behavior to my insecurities, fear, and isolation. I dove into the uncertainties of the future and the hurt of the past. With each word I wrote, my vision grew a little clearer but that, of course, is in retrospect. Looking back at those early journals, I read my struggle to live in the present moment. My mind bombarded me with agony and heartache; I battled to accept that small voice that Julia references. However, in spite of this inner conflict, my dreams began to take a different shape. The antagonist that threatened to devour me materialized, and by writing each morning, it lost the power it had over me, both in my dreams and in reality. I wasn't as afraid as I was previously, and it showed in the way I communicated. I expressed more authenticity and vulnerability, more willingness to listen and share. My mental balance improved as I reversed my course down a self-destructive path toward a more loving, accepting, and trusting one. Who I was finally fell into place: a Whole-hearted, Harmonious Organism.
Just My Imagination, Reimagined, Runnin' Away with the Spoon
During my week primitive camping in Marble Canyon, the sunrise was hidden from view, unfortunately, but much in the same way the dark and light commingle as the sun reaches the horizon, my dreams and reality united to create an experience that blew my mind. Remember how angry I was in Like Smokey the Bear because everything in Michael Singer's life (and book) fell into place so easily? It was in the middle of my "Canyon Cleanse" (no distractions or escapes) that the mysterious chamber, which previously gave rise to so much terror, transformed into a hallway with 7 doors. As I slept, I explored the darkness that existed beyond these entryways and came face-to-face with my deepest fears, biggest regrets, and most shameful secrets. Be careful what you wish for, I guess...The old MATTHEW (from pre-journaling days) would have folded under the pressure being applied by the evil clown, subjecting me to even more pain and humiliation. This situation was different, though; as far-fetched as it may sound, I found myself active dreaming, shining a light on these bleak dimensions hidden within my psyche in order to be more fearless overall.
Through one of the doorways, there was a sexual labyrinth, but it wasn't as fun as it may sound. In this "space" (for lack of a better word), I was confronted by versions of me in extremely brutal sexual acts, some of which I had been an active participant previously and others seemingly on the forefront based on where my experiences were leading me. Violence, degradation, and torment seemed to be around every corner as the evil clown, who chased me deeper into the maze, tried tempting me with the dominant, masculine archetype I discussed in Sensuality. This lead me to the core of the labyrinth (back in time) to my very first crush. Intimacy and sensuality---in fact, any humanity at all---was completely removed, and after being scorned by my former crush, I shrunk to only a couple of inches tall. He started trampling me under his heel as he verbally berated me, and just as I thought it was the end, an idea flashed: I began to tickle the bottom of his foot. After a giggle, he doubled his efforts to stomp me out, but it was too late; I solved the puzzle. I returned to my normal size as I tickled him, then gave him a kiss till he ran away. The tickle fight continued throughout the labyrinth till I found the clown again. This time, I didn't run. I tickled. In the end, I overcame the fear and shame I associate with sex (with men, women, and myself), found the light switch hidden in the darkness, and flipped it on to reveal the Yellow Room: a warm, welcoming condo (I don't know if I own or rent?) where I'm free and safe to explore my sensual side.
Again, I recognize this probably leads you to believe I should be committed; however, these dreams really helped heal the emotional trauma I've collected throughout my life. When I woke up, I would envisage the symbolic light and journal about the experience. I grew in fearlessness as I braved the darkness behind each door, conquered the challenges that awaited me, and revealed aspects of my quiet center. Whether that be the roller coaster I found in the Red Room (representing Fearlessness) or the theater/recording studio I discovered in the Green Room (representing Joyfulness), each breakthrough brought me closer to my soul and destiny. The night before I emerged from the canyon, the universe presented another test: I dreamt about a former fling. Though he was gorgeous and our trysts were memorable, the overall experience lacked the emotional connection I valued, based on my Yellow Room revelations. While he presented an excellent case to my subconscious, I turned him down; I decided it wasn't worth it. I woke up, shocked. How did I come to consciously choose a course of action like that in my dream? Through the strenuous 6,500 ft climb back up to my car, I laughed to myself about how I said no to "the man of my dreams." What did all this mean, and where would it lead?
Tooby Ooby Walla, If You Keep On Believing
If you read Like Warm Blood, you know that I was immediately challenged by the universe with the discovery of mice camping out in my Jeep. As a result, merging my conscious mind with my subconscious became increasingly difficult; ego-driven negativity undermined my imaginative wonderment, and the battle continued to rage on in the face of societal pressure and expectation when I returned home. Suddenly, I was afraid to believe in my dreams, terrified of where they might lead me. This lack of faith triggered depression because I remained in bed, hiding under the covers rather than making my dreams a reality. I even stopped journaling (and reading The Artist's Way) for a while because I was ashamed that I wasn't fulfilling what I set out to do upon my arrival back. My dreams, and reality, were a dark blur all over again. What did I even go on this trip for if I wasn't going to follow through with what I learned?
Before the blood bath deluged my bedroom, I revisited my morning routine: wake up at 5 am, journal, and meditate. After a few days, my conscious mind and subconscious began to balance out again; each sunrise sparked my creativity, and the journal entries helped me explore my wildest dreams: to write, to do comedy, to dance and sing, to try drag, to create an entertainment and spiritual enterprise...the list goes on and on. Most importantly, once I believed in myself---and the universe---I started taking action. No longer was I pressing the snooze button on my dreams! Julia helps me jump out of the right side of the bed, sharing that "We call [answered prayers] anything but what [they are]---the hand of God, or good, activated by our own hand when we act in behalf of our truest dreams, when we commit to our soul...When we answer that call, when we commit to it, we set in motion the principle that C. G. Jung dubbed synchronicity, loosely defined as a fortuitous intermeshing of events...Whatever you choose to call it, once you begin your creative recovery you may be startled to find it cropping up everywhere" (64). And that's exactly what happened: opportunities began presenting themselves again, both in my dreams and reality; the heady ideas from my subconscious joined my conscious imagination as they burst forth over the horizon together, allowing me to explore new creative ventures in the light of day. My heart feels full of love, trust, and acceptance again as I find myself living like the Whole-hearted, Harmonious Organism I am. So if I were to leave you with one final thought on the matter, it is this:
Video/Film Credit: Disney