Self-hypnosis, dreams, and Easter

I dreamed about a magic garden atop a mountain. I knew the garden because a friend of mine had this huge house up in the Santa Cruz Mountains, and in my dream, I was there... Anyway, it was a magical garden, because at its center was a series of koi ponds flowing into each other.. and the koi ponds were pools of knowledge, and the ripples the koi made were ripples of enlightenment. It was a cool dream.

What is even cooler about it is that the dream was the result of the self-hypnosis session I did for myself. The 'deepener' in the session I made used steps down into a garden, with a pool in the center. I made this session for myself because I wanted to understand how hypnosis works and I wanted to use it on myself before I made sessions for other people. This one had pretty simple suggestions in it, mainly about getting out of my own way and embracing success. I did two forms of it, one for daytime use and one for night-time use. The one for night-time use carried a post-hypnotic suggestion to dream. It will be interesting to find out if there are more tangible effects than dreaming. I'll try this for a week and if I am comfortable with it, I think will work on an erotic version.

Its Easter. The sky is blue, the breeze is tickling my skin and the windchime. It smells of hyacinth and daphne and plum blossoms. It is a gorgeous day. Children are dressed in their finest right now, and getting grass stains on the knees of their finest, as they search for Easter eggs and other goodies. In a couple of hours they will by hyped-up on sugar courtesy of the Easter Bunny, and wiping their sticky sweet fingers on their finest, while their parents and grandparents make noises over the mess. But the kids are having fun! Hey, how often do they get to do their worst while wearing their best?

Hmmm... that sounds fun, actually.... I think I'm going to go do the same.... I wonder if I can climb a tree in that lavender silk dress?

Good morning

Morning. The world is still asleep. Silence. Its almost tangible. It lays over my ears like an amplifier. Every creak, every squirrel chitter, every bird twitter, is audible, even from inside.

It is moist outside. The air caresses my skin, masking my face in cool mist. So refreshing and invigorating. I'm years away from getting wrinkles in a climate like this.

Green. So many shades of green. The guest from England said we have more shades of green here even than in the British Isles. The daffodils and tulips are blooming. The bamboo is dangling diamond droplets from its leaves. The primroses are showing their colours, and my winter daphne is still blooming, sharing its scent with the breeze.

Coffee. Micro-roasted, the 'Fat Albert' blend. The scent is amazing, the taste as amazing as the scent, its flavour moderated with a dollop of heavy cream. Real cream.

Life. "Every day you wake up and then there's a new day," says a very dear friend. Ambivalence. Striving to enjoy the sensual immediacy of the moment--of every moment--even with the concerns of the day pressing, pressing, always pressing.

Deep breath. Scanning my body. Holding tension in my shoulders, my abdomen, my low back. Exhaling. Shoulders drop, hips shift. Better.

Altar. Lighting incense. Sitting zazen. A nod to Buddha, so sanguine and magnanimous. Om. A timeless moment of blankness, of purity. Better. Much better.

Good morning, world.

The sounds of spring

I awakened this morning at a reasonable hour, having slept 45 minutes past my usual waking. Today is the fifth or sixth clear day in a row this week--something remarkable in the Pacific Northwest. Since I'm going up The Mountain today, I brewed coffee first thing, then stepped out into my patio to enjoy the beautiful morning. I was greeted by crisp, moist air that had my nipples standing as a wave of gooseflesh swept over me. Standing outside in a silk nightie in mid-March was a bit too spontaneous. I went back inside and grabbed a robe and camera, then dragged my mic and stand outside. You see, my back yard is a golf course, and the trees are in flower, and the birds and squirrels were chittering, and the fishermen were motoring down the river, and the wind chime was singing, punctuated by the lonely sound of a train whistle. And when the weather permits I am outside in the mornings, experiencing this. So I thought I would share it.
Enjoy.

Free-spirit

"It is easy for you to say, you were raised to be a free-spirit," said a friend I've made this past year. He had asked my thoughts on the imminent 'big step' he and his girlfriend of 18 months were about to embark upon: moving in together. The last girlfriend he lived with drove him nuts in short order and he was reluctant to put himself into the same position again. I told him I could understand that all too well, but at the same time, that I considered the practice of using past experience to predict relationship outcomes to be a form of self-fulfilling prophecy. I told him to take the reasonable precautions and then relax and be open to the possibilities in this relationship, which has nothing to do with the old one, unless he makes it so. His comment about it being easy for me to say made me smile. The road to this place has been far from easy, as my closest friends will attest.


For all that I grew up around a bunch of carefree hedonists, there was little stability, consistency, or parenting. In one form or another I raised myself, four sisters, and three parents. My parents were young, self-absorbed, and oblivious to the danger they put their daughters in. I learned first-hand what could happen, and spent my teen years vigilantly trying to protect my siblings from predators. I developed stress-responses and habits, expectations and fears, that stood me in good stead for survival, but handicapped me when I attempted to join the mainstream, to attempt to seem 'normal', to develop and sustain romantic relationships. When I was 18 I returned from a few months in Europe and developed an inexplicable aversion to strangers and unfamiliar places that grew until I was afraid to leave my home. The world of possibilities was terribly large, and my experience of it quite dark in ways. I wanted to try to make sure that whatever I did, whoever I met, created only positive outcomes. I was young and foolish, and terribly controlling. Eventually, I overcame the fear of people, but the fear of the unknown, unknowable, and uncertain became the core of my existence. I did not feel afraid--I was afraid. I did my best to cope, and I grew in and changed in spurts and often lost as much ground as I gained. But I kept working at it, trying to learn what I needed to do to reach for the next rung on the ladder. Striving to become more fully alive and aware, more fully me. All the while keeping in mind that as difficult and slow a process as it seems, even plants can climb ladders.


Just three years ago I was in a miserable relationship that should have ended years earlier but did not, for reasons I cannot recall. We rarely had sex, argued often, had different wants, needs, desires. But we loved each other, and it seemed we thought that was enough. I suppose we preferred being miserable together to being miserable alone. Admittedly, it was a difficult time for me--four people I loved died in as many years and I think I could not face any more loss. When that relationship ended I went into therapy, determined to learn new coping mechanisms and break old patterns, determined to address the issues and complaints my partners had given voice to over the years. And in the therapy- process I chose meditation instead of medication, and did the hard internal work, and read and explored and conversed and contemplated and slowly came to the realization that nearly everything I need I already have within me, and that fear of loss, of death and uncertainty and the 'other', is natural. But rather than deny those fears, rather than sublimate or ridicule them, I realized that it was best to recognize fear for what it was, and allow myself to feel it--let it fill me and flow out of me and let another emotion fill me--love, hope, joy. One day I realized that while I will never be rid of fear, I do not have to be ruled by it.


And I have to remind myself of this daily. I no longer tell myself not to be afraid, or to stop being silly. I remind myself that it is ok to feel afraid. I tell myself that it is ok to feel afraid, but it is not ok to use fear as an excuse not to live every day as fully as I can, to use it as an excuse to avoid embracing the fullness of life. It is not easy. I am flattered that, for all I feel that I am struggling and flailing around, I am somehow managing to meet the challenges of life with enough grace that others think it comes easily to me. But at the same time, I admit that it is coming easier to me--more and more I find myself practicing acceptance and facing each moment with equanimity and spontaneity. They are coming more easily. And perhaps one day I really will be a free-spirit. Who knows? For now I'll savor feeling free-spirited every moment that I can.

2006: The year of love and friendship

In the past year, especially, I've learned the value of open and honest communication, and more, of putting myself out there emotionally and being vulnerable. My awareness of the world and my inner life has deepened with both therapy and my meditation practice. I've had some insights and put into effect some changes in my life and I've found that my ability to relate with others has increased dramatically. Yes, in putting myself out there, I risk emotional pain, but life is as transient and uncertain as it is beautiful , and I've realized that if I'm unwilling to embrace the possibility of negative consequences, I'm not really living my life--I'm playing it safe.

These flowers are from a friend I've made this year. A wonderful man of intelligence, wisdom, and kindness whom I never would have met if it was not for the changes I've made in my life this year--of my choice to take risks, to be spontaneous, to follow my intuitions.

A retrospective of 2006:
I am, mostly, well. 2006 was a tough year--My sister spent January through September in and out of the hospital and I did a lot of travelling back and forth to Massachusetts. She seems to have stabilized, but the medical estabilishment says it will be another year before they know what the lasting effects of the illness will be, and if she will require convalescent care for the rest of her life. We did not think she would make it to her 37th birthday, but she is a stubborn wench and surprised us all. Work has been awful--so short-staffed that I was asked to stay on even after I offered to resign because I was having to leave for MA for weeks on end and at a moment's notice.

And yet, for all that, it has been a great year, too. I've been dating some amazing men, completed two years of counselling/therapy, seen friends and family, and done a fair bit of travelling. I am participating in an ecstatic dance group, have been exploring tantra and intimacy, and I've been developing my abilities as a writer and a photographer with the encouragement of professionals in both fields.

This year my friendships have deepened, and I've learned just how secure a support system I have. I've learned that I don't always have to be 'strong' and that it takes more courage to lean on others than it does to be the one others lean on. I've learned that I can feel fear without embodying it. As a consequence of my sister's illness, which was partly brought on by self-neglect, I've come to the realization that I need to learn to live in and with my body--to fully inhabit it--rather than driving it, or using it as a tool. The seat of my self-awareness and the source of my connection with reality are my flesh and my senses, and neglecting to care for my body means that there will likely come a day when it is unable to furnish my needs.

And so, while I am not the sort of person who participates in the New Year's Resolution ritual, I am committed to making 2007 the year I make peace with my body, learning to inhabit it fully, ceasing to use it as a shield between me and a world whose attentions I'd become so averse to.

I am off to the Coast for the weekend for a quiet retreat in a little 1920's cottage, where I can recuperate from 50 to 60 hour work weeks to the sound of wild surf and blustry winds. I expect to sit by the fire, read, watch movies, and enjoy the opportunity to write and photograph.

Change

Its been very stormy here. I've watched in delight and awe at the high winds making 60 foot trees dance like palm fronds in the hands of children cavorting after church on Palm Sunday. I've listened to the rain pounding my window; record rains that are washing out roads and flooding homes. I live where two rivers meet and every morning I've looked with wonder at the new heights the water reaches, wondering if the State parks that border my home will flood again, as they did in January.

This morning, it stopped raining long enough for the sun to peep through the clouds, creating a golden stage that I fully expected angels to appear upon, blowing their horns. It was so glorious I stopped my car and pulled out my camera and snapped a photo. People looked at me--other drivers, their passengers--they looked at me and they looked in the direction I pointed the camera, looking for what I was photographing, and their faces wore puzzled expressions. I realized that they did not see the sunrise. It made me sad that nature had put on such a gloriously, exquisitely beautiful display for us as a consolation for two weeks of rain, and it went mostly unnoticed.

The trees are still changing. Some still wear green, but many are golden and ruddy, and some look ragged, with their leaves torn from them prematurely, leaving baldspots amongst the colour. At lunch I put on my rain-slicker and my Tevas and went for a walk. And as I walked, I noticed the ground was littered with jewel-toned leaves. I chased the ones recently torn from their trees, gathering them up into my hands, delighted with their singular beauty, each one unique as a snowflake.

I walked back to the office soaking wet. Cold. Ankles muddy. Hands and nails dark with smears of leaf litter. A colleague held the door open for me, and I grinned at her, filled with a child-like glee, and showed her the treasures in my hands. She shook her head, this woman a dozen years younger than me and said that only I would be chasing leaves in a storm. Her smile was condescending. The leaves were unremarkable to her. She has a whole front-yard full of them, she said.

A conversation with a friend, someone I love deeply, oh so deeply, and whom I miss every day because I seem him so rarely. We talked and I spoke of how pleased I am with the amazing people I am inviting into my life. And we talked of change, and in his frustration he mocked me, stating that perhaps the best way for him to effect change in his life was to "start pretending that everybody in this world is fucking amazing."

That hurt. It brought tears to my eyes. I said, "Its not my place to tell you whether or not you need to grow or change, and it is not my place to tell you how. I am the child, remember? I am the idiot who chases pretty leaves in a storm. And looks like a simpleton grinning ear-to-ear because they are so beautiful to me. But they are just leaves to everyone else, you know. You are a leaf. You are beautiful to me. Perfect as you are. And I don't need you to change in order for me to see you that way. But its silly of me, isn't it? Pretending that there are so many fucking amazing people in my life? They are just people. Just leaves, you know? I find them beautiful and incredible, but to other people they are just people."

He said, "Your people aren't my people, and you seek to find the silver lining in the clouds. You are free to look at people however you like hon. What upsets me is that I feel you are telling me what I cannot do, ie change."

I responded with, "I thought perhaps it would be good for you to try being more like me, to see the possiblity and the beauty in even the littlest thing--I thought maybe if you could see the world from a perspective of change, it would give you hope and pleasure... But I want you to know that I recognize that my child-like enthusiasm for the adventure of both my inner and outer lives is not a paradigm that is for you. And I am trying to apologize for trying to get you to look within and explore the possibilities that changes inside you might create outside you, via a change in attitudes/perceptions."

He said, "Change for the mere sake of change, is a waste of energy. Change, to impact that which brings the most unhappiness in one's life, is meaningful."

I thought for a moment and said, "Indeed. Pity so much technological progress is tied to change for the sake of changing, of trying something new... "

I felt an ache in my solar plexus. I had trouble fitting my mouth around the next words, but I managed. "The truth is I should probably be more like you. Obviously, you only embrace change when it is absolutely necessary. You have your feet firmly planted on the ground and change is something that comes to you, not something you seek. You are perfect as you are. I love you as you are. And as you say you are happy as you are, I am happy, too. You don't often seem so to me, but maybe I need to grow up and live in the real world, like you do. Its rather ugly, it seems, and unhappy, too, but its real."


There are days like this when I go to bed wondering when the curse of experiencing reality differently will be lifted.

And with that final thought, I'm off to bed to catch a nap. I'll be in California for about 10 days. It will be lovely to see my friends and family.