it’s a theater – not my house

This dream I have had all my life, in different variations: lots of people coming in to my house without being invited. They behave as if they have the right to treat it as they choose – no respect, no consideration of borders or privacy.

The dream tonight was an extreme version: Holy Spirit Special Edition. Classroom not to be missed. New people streaming in each second. In the bathroom ( which was big in the dream, like an actor’s. Ahem) several women were sitting and using MY makeup ( which was an enormous selection, well worthy the biggest theaters.)

In the dream, I did not realize that I in fact was inside my own theater/dream. I thought it was my house, and was in my old victim-identity of being violated/abused/raped/not respected etc. – and had a hard time throwing people out. I remember talking to a fat lady who had lots of my makeup on, telling her ” this is my house! How would you have reacted if strangers had come into your house and used your makeup?” She looked very confused – clearly not getting at all that she was a criminal trespasser. She looked so forlorn that I had to give her a hug.

They were not intruders: they were actors in my dream/theater. I/my/mind was dreaming it all.

Waking up, I did not realize this: I was still immersed in the old agonized memory of feeling invaded and disrespected.

I know well that  abusers/gang rapers feel constantly terrified by their own guilt and fear – which they have repressed – and therefore subconsciously are feeling like worthless pieces of garbage  – and the only way they feel better is by projecting their agony on someone smaller and weaker, so they can feel strong and safe.

 T-14.XI.6. 9… I will not use my own past learning as the light to guide me now.

Sitting down. Blue says: “What if there was another dimension to this? What if “rapists” really are crying for love? What if what they deepest want is a taste of innocence – believing that they are themselves completely without it? What if what is really bothering you about these memories is the story you have made of who you are, because of it –  a piece of worthless shit, a piece of meat? Somebody guilty and sinful and in need of this kind of punishment?

We’re not justifying the acts of abusers – but we suggest that you revise your interpretation of their acts as a cry for Love. And if it is a cry for Love, you are not guilty or sinful, and you have not done something wrong that you need to be punished for.

How liberating to realize that it is ONLY my story of what happened, and what that meant about my identity that hurts

Today yet another level of the old story is forgiven.

Level one must be to forgive myself for making up the story in the first place – as something that has power to keep me here in the world, seemingly separated from God and Love. And that power is slipping now: only if I believe in it do I hold on to it as true.

Holy Spirit, thanks for these healing dreams – with so much humor! I really DO use a lot of costumes/identities  and make up to hide who I am in this dream.

 

getting out of the way

When the cramps and pains started again in the night, I went up at once and sat down with the Course, chapter 14.

T-14.XI.6. Do not be concerned about how you can learn a lesson so completely different from everything that you have taught yourself. 2 How would you know? 3 Your part is very simple. 4 You need only recognize that everything you learned you do not want. 5 Ask to be taught, and do not use your experiences to confirm what you have learned. 6 When your peace is threatened or disturbed in any way, say to yourself:

7 I do not know what anything, including this, means. 8 And so I do not know how to respond to it. 9 And I will not use my own past learning as the light to guide me now.

10 By this refusal to attempt to teach yourself what you do not know, the Guide Whom God has given you will speak to you. 11 He will take His rightful place in your awareness the instant you abandon it, and offer it to Him.

Went to bed again. Cramps came, and  I stated the truth that I did NOT want to look at the cramps with a perception from my past. 5 seconds – and the pain left.

Later, cramps came back. I repeated the procedure, more and more trusting that it was safe to step out of the old mode of seeing and fixing things myself.

Cramps went away.

In the morning, the alarm clock came on. Instead of the usual 30 signals, it just went on and on. I  sensed a smile coming inside and stated that I was willing to NOT use past seeing as the light which guided me now.

The same second that thought came, the alarm ended. At 56 signals. And something inside giggled.

Castaways connecting

It’s Mother’s Day, and my daughter and beau come visiting with the biggest bouquet of flowers I ever saw. I feel like a queen. All my pain evaporates as we laugh and laugh and enjoy the good meal.

Watching “Castaway on the Moon” for the third time, their first. We truly enjoy  the film.

 

In the night when the pain-story comes up, I ask Blue: “What do you want me to feel and do and think right now?” I start stroking my thigh gently, and Blue says: “ I want you to stroke your thigh gently.” As I lay there, aware of choosing to do whatever I do with awareness and Love, I hear His voice: “I just want you to be happy.”

Happiness flows through me, and I get the idea to find all the shiny joy filled touching moments from the movie. As I lie in bed and list them in my recorder, I start to feel rushes going through me: it feels like being cleaned and showered on the inside with pure happiness.

I can’t list them here – it would spoil the joy you would feel in discovering them for yourself,

Just looking with Blue at the fear of death

In a Skype session with Mary, I notice how attached I am to being afraid of death. I simply don’t want it to go away. Oh – but that is only ego, and I am identifying with it. Suddenly it is wonderfully OK to allow the wanting of fear of death: that means that there are no judgments, no resistance. It has been brought to Love.

This wanting the fear of death is the same as wanting a me. I notice the feel of this in the body: what I always have called “me” has at its very ground a fear of death – and it is not serious, because it was never real.

There is nothing to forgive here.

I notice the sharp pain in the ankle, I notice the fear of death -notice the tendency to run – to eat, read the paper – noticing how the body plays along with the wrong mind, having “symptoms” -and I am grateful that I can use these patterns, habits of mind to separate my Self from the fear-identity.

At the Holy Altar there is room for all.

As the fear-identity is watched, the body is filled with moving sensations. I don’t have to fix it or heal it or do anything with it. I don’t need to understand it. Just looking with Blue.

a useless story

After the awakening described recently,all psychic hell broke loose, as I am used to. I got a dear friend who is transparent and loving to help me on Skype – and after that, the nightmares were even more disgusting and vicious that before.

This morning I was praying deeply to see how I want this. I was shown that all my work on archetypes has made me even more acutely sensitive for them – and ontological guilt is a biggie. It makes sense that when I hook on to that guilt and believe this is about me and my personal ( and reincarnational) story, it  is  “only”my mind outside time and space identifying with the ego thought system. Of course “I” would need someone I can project it onto: I need to make a trustworthy guilydangerouspowerful being.

In my story, I made a “being” or “spirit” who is enormous and has enormous power. I still believe it is because of him that the attacks come. No wonder I believe  that he is more powerful than God: I believed I needed that to escape the wrath of God.

Then it is not “my fault that I suffer.” It is his. And i can be innocent and cry to God that I don’t want this suffering. But as long as i chose the story as “mine”, I WILL be suffering. And when I identify myself with this choice of “me”, then I also must keep me belief in powerlessness.

A  burden fell off when I saw this. It was easy to forgive that choice – and I love that the monster is not real in reality: I made it up. I also made up the “me” and its incarnations.I forgive my decision for this story – for believing in the first fear at the TMI. I give up the “need” to keep this story, and allow Blue to choose for God for me.

And reminding myself that my willingness is all –  the rest is up to H.S and his  timing.

Becoming liquid

In the night, with the usual cramps and pains, the thought came: “Fear has nothing of value to give me.” I at once remembered  something from Barbara’s post yesterday on Myron’s blog:

  “As I first began to see that my identity was not in all my relationships, I felt fear tighten like a vise around my heart.  As I wrote this I felt lead to look up vise.
Vise:  A vise or vice (see American and British English spelling differences) is a mechanical screw apparatus used for holding or clamping a work piece to allow work to be performed on it.
Ha!  So what we are experiencing is so a work can be performed in us.  Love it!
And as the work is performed, the vise is loosened.  And when the work is completed, the vise is removed.

(Barb is referring to The Work by Byron Katie.)

The aches and pains are very vise-like in my mind. I have drawn it many time: my head/body being held in a vise. I have lately had a pain which makes me think of cancer – and now, I erase that thought-non-made-by-God, and started to see the pain as a work in progress on my brain. I became filled with peace and gratefulness, and excitement at the process.

This brought me back to a patient’s work in progress from yesterday: A story when Grief was found to seemingly cover up a shining girl of Light. I instantly knew that this black tulle was to play the role of the grief.

And now we needed a symbol of the shining center – the Self:

I asked Tonya to choose an object from my big shaman-bag that could symbolize this Light-girl. Without looking, she put her hand in the bag and drew up the first object her hand found: A shiny Butterfly.

 

 

Now we put the butterfly – the symbol of transformation – under the grief-tulle:

We notice how transparent this grief is. Tonya is breathing easier. I remind her that a butterfly goes through a complete metamorphosis – from larvae to Pupa to Butterfly – and at one stage, it is literally liquid: it has lost all form. I ask her to ask two questions to the objects/symbols – as a child would.

She asks the Butterfly how it knows when to become solid again – and the Butterfly says it is no problem, as long as she looses control, it happens.

She asks the grief if it is something it wants?

It says: “I want to fly.”

And then she allows it to fly.

*

And in the night, I saw myself as a work in progress, and that I saw myself becoming liquid. I want to become liquid when it comes to the pains – that “I” don’t have to plan and do anything.

At one point, I was actually sensing a sweet softness rising from my toes through my whole body, swooning in pleasure.

T-14.III.4. Each day, each hour and minute, even each second, you are deciding between the crucifixion and the resurrection; between the ego and the Holy Spirit. 2 The ego is the choice for guilt; the Holy Spirit the choice for guiltlessness. 3 The power of decision is all that is yours. 4 What you can decide between is fixed, because there are no alternatives except truth and illusion. 5 And there is no overlap between them, because they are opposites which cannot be reconciled and cannot both be true. 6 You are guilty or guiltless, bound or free, unhappy or happy.

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Please note that nothing written here is intended as medical advice. Readers who think that they need help with a physical or psychological condition are advised to seek a qualified opinion.

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