Listening at the door of the dreaming mind
Our mind "dreams" continuously with bursts of notable activity at intervals in the night, only a few of which we notice. Like ignorant children listening at the door to adults talking, we gather little from the conversation, declaring it so much foreign language babble. Oh the arrogance of the little "self" who rules the conversation in another language nonsense, reluctant to imagine there is knowledge transpiring to which we are not privy. Yet this activity is ongoing and is best thought to be the mind talking to itself, in commune with still deeper layers and potentially transpersonal components. Some of the conversations are modest in scope, sorting through the items of the day that the little self has had to contend, putting them into the larger context of the Mind that has a far more comprehensive scope of future and past, and always in reference to a greater Self that transcends the individual. Some conversations are Large, beyond the scope of the individual who experiences the dream, meant to be attended to by a wide audience, most cultures and thinkers reference these as "Big Dreams." To imagine that I create my dreams, with my little self, denies reality. Why would I surprise, scare, puzzle and amuse, with images and concepts grandly beyond any that my waking ego self can imagine, if I am the creator of dreams. I sit by the door of the greater mind, listening intently, gaining glimmers of insight, occasionally spoken to directly, but always humbled by the marvel that I am witness to, including the modest limits of my understanding. Learning to understand this language is a life's work, always with the assumption that at the end I will remain a child in the reflection of this larger Self.
Here is a poetic reflection that came to mind.
Entrancing Gems of Mind
Entrancing gems of mind, cast up upon the shore
Stumbled on by my waking self
first dismissed as "just a rock."
Waking self is cautious of surprises
particularly those outside of its control.
Both ancient in pedigree, but fresh in the new light of day
Uncountable facets reflect archaic time eternal
and the modest cares of yesterday
Not subject to only the tide of yesteryear
It casts it's light forward into
the dark of tomorrow and futures unseen.
I awake, calling it a dream, but I was only a tertiary
witness to a marvelous staged event.
With minimum volition I played my part
inter-played with untold various characters
only occasionally having recognizable features.
All the facets of these jewels, part of a whole
revealing mysterious shades of thought within
catching fragments of context all the world around
Who is the creator of these gems?
Whose light finds it way into my mind.
