This holiday, I got the opportunity to record a song with my Omaha buddies. The night before, I dreamed I was looking in the mirror, a close-up of very crooked, sharp snaggle teeth. The dream book says this is a dream of insecurity, of not feeling good enough. I didn’t think I was feeling uncertain of my ability before the recording, but I guess somewhere in that subconscious Clem, those feelings were lurking.
Catching glimpses of news stories on the internet as we launch into the new year, I wonder how we can ever feel good enough. There seems to be so much evidence to the contrary. Never pretty enough or smart enough, accomplished enough or loved enough. Thin enough, rich enough, healthy enough, young enough… the things we need to change about ourselves seem infinite. This time of the year, the list spills out like a worn-out grocery list. I guess I haven’t been making the right choices. I guess I haven’t been the absolute best I can possibly be. I can look forever at mistakes of my past that brought me here, never enough. This year, can it be different? Or have I already failed?
I love to think of the tantalizing possibilities of time and space. Alternate realities, time as a spiral, the universe speeding up as it falls over an unseen edge, the particles we are made of flashing on and off many times a millisecond. Reality is gorgeous and intricate and illusory and I see the image of a hawk flying and I am stunned by beauty. Maybe the natural world just reflects our emotions. Maybe the natural world dreams us as I write.
The air is chilly today. I guess I will get one day of cold this whole Nebraska holiday. This has happened before: the day I arrive it gets warm, and the day I leave it snows. Even though of everyone I know I long for snow the most, sometimes it’s denied me. It almost feels like someone playing a joke on me, as we taxi out among flurries on my way home.
I was corresponding with my friend in Finland, looking at photos of his small cabin in the snowy woods where there is no sound of humanity at night. No rumble of traffic, no hum of the wheels of population. I read that we’re losing our stars with streetlight pollution. I guess we’re losing the sound of the wind in the trees with the cacophony of humanity. I guess we’re losing the weight of our thoughts with our darting attention spans. I guess we’re losing a sense of being enough with our narrowing ideas of perfection. The funny thing is, the stars are still there.
A few weeks ago, driving through Central Oregon with Zepparella I had a thought as the girls lay dreaming in the back: maybe all the natural world is here purely to be recognized. The grass was waving at me as I drove, and I had a flash of gratitude that I could dream it into being. Maybe we are all here to just be seen. Maybe we are a dream of the hawk and maybe the hawk is a dream we set to flying. Maybe my true self is all the dreams dreamed. I am being seen and breathed and experienced and that is all I need to be.
(Noelle said, “did I see you wave at a tree?”)
There is the horizon out the window, the yellow and grey landscape of western Omaha and the sky rests heavy and seals the earth shut. In my daydream I play with perspective; I see the tableau as a flat backdrop, and I imagine pulling a zipper up through the center of it, revealing a dark starlit sky beneath.
Once, I had a dream that I was in a room, like an office, and I saw that the walls were flimsy and weak. I went over and began shaking the pillars that held up the roof, and as the thin acoustic panels fell around me I was overwhelmed with the view of the night sky crammed with billions of bright colored stars, every color of star above me and of me. I was breathless with the revelation that I had been falsely under the impression that stars were one color. I fell into the expanse of infinite light. I was under the sky and I was the sky. How can I not be enough.
The pine trees outside wave at me through the glass; I hear their song fall through the quiet bedroom, a rising chorus of wind and tree. The song exists for me to hear it. The sky seals the horizon because I dream it that way. My breath falls through my lungs and through my skin and the atmosphere breathes me. I am a wisp of smoke in time and space, a collection of particles, a contraction of consciousness. A star and the expanse of star.
I am learning to take comfort in my self. In this true dream of awareness, we are enough. We are everything. Let me fall deep into this sanctuary. I am see-through, a light that flickers on a dream of planet in a millisecond flash. When I shine alongside the other lights in my life, the light of the ones I walk with, the light of those I have known and those I have yet to know, what can we dream that is beyond limitation?
You can hear me read this here: https://soundcloud.com/clemthegreat/dream-of-hawk
Hawk photo by Vicki Wallace Caucutt.