Dreams Chapter 88, 33, 11: Dreams As Guides In Slaying The Minotaur, And Finding An Exit Out Of The Labyrinth–Very Good source material, USE IT!

Dreams have long been the uncharted territory where our subconscious mind runs wild. They take various forms—from the mundane to the utterly surreal—but their collective purpose remains unconditionally vital. I have discovered that dreams are not only a reflection of our thoughts and feelings, but they are pathways to healing, especially from past traumas. It is time to shine a light on the often-underestimated role of dreams in our quest for self-understanding and eventual empowerment.

Dreams are windows into our inner worlds. They reflect our unconscious desires and fears, often in symbolic and abstract ways. A night’s escapade in the dream realm can leave us puzzled or deeply moved, and rightly so. They are messengers from the deep psyche, attempting to communicate with the uncommunicated. When we view these dreams through a healing intention, they take on a new tone; they offer a map to trauma and, therefore, our healing potential.

Trauma, whether big or small, often remains hidden beneath the layers of our conscious minds. Yet, it invariably finds a way to seep into our dreams, relentlessly pursuing resolution. I recall many dreams where I vividly experienced fear, being lost in a labyrinth, frozen into immobility, or facing insurmountable obstacles, symbolizing my sense of entrapment within memories or present-day perceptual errors that kept me in the past. This fear, though nightmarish, was the precursor to my awakening. Research in psychology supports the ideation that dreams are a forum for the subconscious to process trauma and interpersonal conflicts. They provide us with a non-linear narrative that can be dissected to yield deeper truths about our experiences. For some, the dream may be a reenactment, allowing a person to explore a traumatic experience or process a problematic relationship from a safe distance. Others may witness a shift in the narrative of recurrent dreams, a sign that their subconscious is beginning to heal old wounds.

Ignoring or suppressing dreams that echo distressing memories often leads to continued suffering. These unprocessed traumas can manifest as varied symptoms, including but not limited to anxiety disorders, chronic depression, and post-traumatic stress disorder. Over decades, conventional wisdom has gleaned that the ‘past is past,’ yet the nightmares persist for those left unheeded. The longevity of these miseries necessitates a different approach—a more holistic one that values the role of dreams in the individual’s mental health. There are far too many who not only disregard the value of their personal story but also disparage the disowned narrative bubbling up from their own repressed consciousness. To look the other way is to impede personal growth. As a society, we must champion the narrative that facing our fears, be they in the light of day or the dark of night, is where freedom lies.

Psychotherapists, especially those who subscribe to Jungian theory, have long used dream analysis as a critical tool to unlock the mysteries of their patients’ mental landscapes. By transcribing the language of dreams, they peel back the layers of the personal unconscious, guiding their clients towards a deeper understanding of self. These therapists act as interpreters, fluent in the rigorous syntax of the dream’s symbolic language. Dreamwork in psychotherapy is not merely a detective’s pursuit of truth. It invites patients to explore their inner artist, painting a fresco of emotions that need expression and integration. Through this shared storytelling, a patient can transmute the grotesque figures of his nightmares into emblems of his resilient spirit.

In my personal experience, I am a living testament to the healing power of dreams. Approaching my dreams with an openness to their potential meanings allowed me to finally confront and come to terms with my past. Engaging with my dreams was not a passive reception of my nightly theater but an active dialogue with the parts of me that needed understanding and reassurance. I am not alone in this endeavor. Throughout human history, dreams have influenced lives, instigating mundane and monumental acts. Self-healing begins with the acknowledgment of these nightly messages. The path may be treacherous, but the endpoint, a soul unburdened by unspoken shame, is an odyssey worth undertaking.

Dreams, serving as silent sentinels to our subconscious, beckon us to listen and learn. They are the torches in the caverns of our psyche, illuminating truths that are often painful but necessary. To ignore them is to turn away from personal growth and, crucially, the distinct opportunity to heal unresolved traumas. I advocate for a cultural reassessment of dreams as not merely the echoes of the day’s thoughts or as the reprocessing of the day’s meals but as potential healing modalities. We stand on the precipice of a new dawn, where dreamers are not relegated to mere observers of the night’s parade but active participants in their personal and collective narratives. This is the era of the empowered dreamer. At this time, the willingness to confront our hidden pains enriches our waking lives. We must shift our societal values to reflect the importance of dream work in our quests for self-actualization and inner peace. It is with open eyes and open minds, both in sleep and in wake, that we indeed find freedom.

There was a lot of traumas and, interpersonal conflict and confusion in my early years, and its impact upon my soul could be felt in many ways, including in my dreamtime. At eight years of age, my dreams began evolving beyond the continuous nightmare phase that had been troubling me since I could first remember. There still was the occasional nightmare, but many of my new dreams revolved around different and unique interpersonal themes, and some were downright unusual and fantastic. The occasional dreams appeared to be glimpses into other people’s lives; they were so foreign to me and my eight-year-old experience of life that I could not feel comfortable claiming them for myself.

One early fall night in 1964, I had a most amazing and realistic dream. The dream unfolded as a first-person experience, placing me squarely in the crosshairs of some unknown spiritual marksman deep in my subconscious. Being so immature, and not too worldly in my knowledge, I did not have the necessary background to know what to think about this transcendent dream, let alone how to apply its timeless message to my life

This dream occurred when I slept very little, as I usually got to sleep no earlier than midnight, no matter how early I went to bed. This sleeplessness may have been a carryover from the previous years, when I feared going to sleep because of night terrors, and resultant bed wetting. I learned to just lay in bed while in a hyperalert state and review my day each night before sleep to see where I could have done things better or said something a little differently. After the endless rehashing of my life multitudes of time, the fatigue of those repeated assessments would eventually catch up to me and put me to sleep. I still had no constant defense against the monsters of the dark nights, however.

Here is THE DREAM:

The priest, having received his directive from “on high”, then returned to his village along the lake in the high mountain region. He gathered all of the villagers together and informed them that they were to take every golden figurine, every sacred symbol that they owned, and they were to throw them all into the lake, and never to think about them again. Then, he told each villager that they must each go into their own home and face the “evil one” without any protection or care from any of their gods or their symbols of the sacred.

The priest then returned to his own home, having tossed all his idols and treasures into the deep blue lake. He stripped himself bare of all clothing and then began to summon the forces of the dark. He became surrounded by a fog, and as he lifted his hands, sparks started flying out of his fingertips at the unknown force of darkness that lay just beyond his visual field, still hidden beyond the boundaries of the fog. The priest refocused his energy into his arms, and hands, and the sparks grew into a steady energy field, extending from his body, his heart, and his spirit, towards his unknown adversary. He was determined to overcome this force, this dark energy, and he redoubled his efforts. The priest’s heart began to race out of control, he began to sweat profusely, and a growing sense of fear and dread began to take hold of his entire being, as he finally understood that his energy could not last forever. Yes, for him to continue this battle, he must sacrifice all of his life force. Yet, he felt that he had no choice but to keep engaging the enemy, to finally see the face of the force that had terrorized his village since time began. He desperately strained and stretched to see the object of his fear and disdain, even as the ebbing energy field flowing from his fingertips continued to cut through the fog. Suddenly, a familiar face began materializing before his faltering gaze. As he collapsed to the floor, almost drained of all life, he could no longer fight an undeniable truth– the face of the evil one might be his own!

I discussed the dream with my older sister Pam, who, at age 10, already claimed knowledge, personal memory of reincarnation, and other psychic experiences. She had some partial answers to the dream’s mysteries based on her understanding of reincarnation, but so much remained to be explained. I waited and watched for further answers for many years and went on with all of the important business of being a free-spirited boy, though at times, I fleetingly experienced moments of self-awareness. Ten years later, when I studied psychology, I understood this dream as teaching about projection, the act of attributing to others negative qualities that remain unrecognized within the self. It was not until thirty years later that I realized the teaching was also about idolatry, the act of sacrificing one’s own present-moment intelligence irrationally by worshipping and following the images we have created of others, including divinity.

To this day, I remain in wonder about THE DREAM, and the shaman that was my lens into the dream.

Through healing and reintegration of the disassociated parts of myself, I have found that the shaman of the dream has evolved throughout my life and is a most fundamental part of myself.

I will not address the potential for reincarnation, though I have deeply explored two other primary elements of the dream.

1. Unhealed trauma, the perceptual double-edged sword of projection, and the problem of evil
2. The necessity of ending cultural and religious idolatry and facing oneself with honesty and without defense mechanisms

1. Unhealed trauma, the perceptual double-edged sword of projection and the problem of evil:

The Face of Evil: A Societal Construct or Just In The Mind’s Eye?

We have met the enemy, and the enemy is us!—Walt Kelly, creator of Pogo comic strip.

The human story has always been one of moral binaries—good and evil, right and wrong, hero and villain, divine and depraved. These dichotomies have defined our myths, legends, and religious texts throughout history. They serve a purpose, offering clear narratives we can follow and understand. Contemporary culture continues to take this narrative device to an extreme where individuals are often labeled and judged based on stark and oversimplified characteristics. While black-and-white thinking can be a critical survival mechanism in an environment of persistent danger, the peace-time application of this coping strategy is where it becomes maladaptive, limiting our potential for healthy relationships and personal growth.

Our society’s constructs of evil are vast and varied, from ancient to modern, East to West, and rich in their diversity. They have been a fixed point in the shifting sands of human moral compasses, giving direction even as the poetics and myths change. Whether it be the primordial chaos of Mesopotamian myth, the angelic apostasy of Christian tradition, or the rakshasas in Hindu tales, the concept of evil has resonated deeply within civilizations, helping create a sense of identity and purpose. These conceptual images are pervasive and potent, directing our understanding of what it means to be ‘good’ vs. ‘evil’. But where does this understanding come from? Is evil an inherent trait, an archetypical remnant from a long-forgotten perceptual past, or is it a visage shaped by the collective chisel of present-day society’s fears, biases, and narratives? As we march deeper into the labyrinth of modern society, we cannot help but wonder, is evil an immutable essence or a transient shadow, at the mercy of societies and individuals to define and project?

The way evil actions have been judged through history has also been subject to change. Actions once considered evil in one era have been reinterpreted with time as society’s values have evolved. This indicates that evil is not a static concept but one subject to the tides of human understanding and evolving empathy. In defining what is evil, we risk creating self-fulfilling prophecies. When we label individuals or groups as innately evil, we ignore the complexities that form human behavior—circumstances, mental health, social pressures—and cease investigating the roots of harmful actions. This simplification provides a clear image of evil but at the cost of understanding and potentially rectifying the underlying causes. The concept of evil as a projection cautions us about the hasty judgment of others. Consider the role of the media and, in particular, how it frames narratives around crime and punishment. It often feeds on the sensational and tragic, promoting a dichotomous view that there exist virtuous victims and malicious perpetrators. The complex web of motivations and circumstances that lead to a crime is often reduced to a simple binary—good versus evil—feeding into societal archetypes that are as ancient as they are questionable. It encourages a deeper exploration of motives and context, underscoring that the notion of ‘evil’ can be at times, a convenient container for aspects of our shared human experience that we are presently uncomfortable confronting.

Labeling as bad or evil can lead to dehumanization and demonization of others and is often used to justify acts of violence and prejudice in return. Herein lies the paradox; in our quest to condemn evil, we may enact behaviors that could similarly be labeled as such. The horror and tragedy of the Israel and Palestinian present conflict is a perfect case in point. By recognizing our role in shaping these definitions, we open the door to a more nuanced understanding where compassion and comprehension can play a more significant part in how we address ‘evil’ behaviors. Once we understand that we hold the pen that writes the narrative of evil, we gain the power to rewrite it. Instead of seeing it as a distant, immutable force, we can recognize the impact of historical and societal factors and work towards systemic changes that reduce harmful behaviors. Education, mental health resources, social support systems—all of these can diminish the instances that we would traditionally categorize under evil deeds.

Suppose we perceive the face of evil as a mask fashioned by our individual and collective hands. In that case, it stands to reason that we can also redesign it. We can choose to emphasize understanding over condemnation, preventative measures over punitive ones, and foster a society, and a world, that strives for rehabilitation and transformation over isolation and vilification. Evil, as such, is an intangible concept—its face only materializes through our cultural lens and in our private perceptual constructs. By admitting that much of its definition comes from within, we acknowledge the responsibility that lies on our shoulders. Society and its members must introspect to redefine what appears to be ‘the face of evil’ to cultivate a deeper understanding of and response to behaviors that cause harm. Through shared dialogues, critical thinking, and empathy, we can reshape the contours of this pervasive concept and, by extension, reflect a more just and kind society. However, as we progress, society and its perceptions of evil evolve. Social reforms and ethical revolutions reshape the moral landscape, challenging established norms of what is considered evil—from the abolition of practices such as slavery to the redefinition of relationships and gender roles.

As the dream in this chapter indicates, I began my exploration of evil at a young age. In my dreamscape, evil found another canvas—my mind. Here, it transforms from an external reality to an internal conflict. This projection was rooted in the traumatic wounds, fears, and insecurities of my human psyche. The expression of evil, in this sense, becomes not an entity but a symptom, a reflection of the imbalance and discord within my inner world. The evil I perceived was a projection out of my wounded nature, and I somehow recognized that I was the projector and the show’s director. In adulthood, I have concluded that the face of evil is not a universal constant but rather something significantly shaped by the traumatic wounding by family, society, and nation, other family influences and history, societal perceptions, and cultural stories. What we commonly perceive as evil often reflects our collective consciousness and its actions in the world. This perspective challenges the idea of evil as the religious construct of satan or the devil, or as any external, deterministic force and instead, it is innately tied to our interpretation of actions, intentions, and characters shaped by the familial, social and cultural frameworks we abide by, and by our personal and collective needs for safety and collaboration.

As a baby and as a boy, I experienced many instances of traumatic wounding, which dramatically influenced the shaping of my personal story. For those who have experienced trauma, life’s narrative can bounce between morality’s two extreme poles. When the lines of morality are drawn so sharply, finding our place between them can be difficult. Trauma triggers our most primitive responses, often leading to an extreme and rigid worldview. Where we might seek to find a balance, the traumatized mind may see only danger in the uncertain middle ground. The very concept of “gray” is a threat—gray can shift, and for those who have suffered, this shifting can be deeply unsettling.

Childhood trauma, in particular, has a profound effect on the development of our morality. Imagine the case of a child who has been abused—how the world must seem, where those who are supposed to protect are also the source of terror. In such situations, seeing people as “good” or “bad,” without any shades in between, can feel like a necessary survival strategy. The enduring impact of childhood trauma is a topic of significant academic, clinical, familial, and social interest. Studies have shown how adverse experiences in early life can lead to distorted trust and safety schemas, impairing an individual’s ability to engage in nuanced social exchanges. The narrative of one’s life becomes rigid and self-protective, viewing others with suspicion and vigilance. The result is a person who sees the world through a lens of threat—either someone is with you, or they are against you.

Living life on the widest frequency requires that all of us, trauma survivors or otherwise, challenge ourselves to look beyond the constructs that have constricted our understanding of morality and to engage with the world and its complexities more dynamically and fluidly. It necessitates an approach that recognizes and respects the varied experiences and perspectives that coalesce to form the rich tapestry of our shared human condition. We must evolve beyond the limiting narratives of ourselves and our culture. It is crucial to actively cultivate nuanced thinking and to resist the impulse to categorize people and ideas in mutually exclusive boxes.

This can be arduous, particularly for those of us who have had their trust in the world shattered. But it is only by engaging with the complexities of life that we can begin to heal and grow. Therapeutic approaches, such as Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT), can offer a structured path for individuals to challenge their polarized perceptions. Encouraging clients to consider “shades of gray,” CBT equips individuals with the tools to examine their thought patterns and question the stringent beliefs that dictate their interactions with the world.

Cultivating this nuanced approach is not merely a personal endeavor but a communal one. Society plays a significant role in shaping individual worldviews, and it is incumbent upon all of us to foster environments that allow for the richness of the human experience to be acknowledged. We need new stories that reflect the layered complexity of human nature. These narratives can be found in the diversity of human experiences, in the myriad shades of the rainbow. They remind us that truth is often found in the intersection of conflicting perspectives and that understanding can only arise from a willingness to listen and learn from one another.

Education and awareness are key components in this revolution. By integrating trauma-informed practices into our institutions, we can begin the crucial work of reducing the prevalence and severity of traumatic experiences. For example, a curriculum that emphasizes emotional intelligence and conflict resolution fosters an environment where the development of nuanced thinking becomes an integral part of one’s education.

Mental health support systems must also play a pivotal role in this transformation. By providing accessible services that address the root causes of polarization, such as trauma, we can support individuals in their efforts to expand their worldview and come to terms with the past. Engaging in meaningful, open dialogue about the impact of trauma in shaping our beliefs can also be a powerful tool for change. By sharing our stories, we not only validate the experiences of others but also encourage a shift towards a more compassionate and inclusive society.

The call to action is clear. By recognizing the dangers of polarized thinking, we can begin to dismantle the walls that separate us. This process starts with the individual, transcends through community, and, with time, can redefine our culture. While the shadows of trauma may stretch long into our lives, they need not define us. By acknowledging life’s shades of gray, we can take the first steps towards a more interconnected, empathetic, and ultimately healing existence.

Fear, the most primal of human emotions, often serves as a lens through which we perceive real and imagined threats. The line between evil and something we simply do not understand is often blurred. History is replete with tales of ‘witches’ and ‘heretics’ condemned for crimes that boil down to differences in belief or practice, which from a modern perspective, are merely projections of societal fears and individual insecurities.

Society and the individual are not discrete entities; rather, they are inextricably intertwined, shaping and being shaped by one another. Our experiences often serve as microcosms of societal attitudes towards good and evil. The stories we tell ourselves and others, informed by cultural narratives and media, can seed biases, fostering an environment ripe for the germination of these constructs. We must remain critical of our societal narratives and question the authenticity of our constructs of evil. Are they reflections of pervasive truths, or are they convenient fictions that serve to justify and perpetuate discrimination, fear, and violence?

But how does this view of the world impact individuals, particularly those whose lives have been shaped by trauma? There is a peril from polarized perceptions shaped by the effects of early wounding and trauma and the imperative for a subtler, more empathetic understanding of our complex, multifaceted realities. In the end, what if the face of evil is not a fixed visage but is a series of masks we sculpt out of the fears within our collective minds, the projections onto the atmospheric backdrop of society itself? As the torchbearers of civilization, we must lower these piped images and dare to face what lies beyond—ambiguity, complexity, and the unruly whispers of uncertainty.

And we can see the complete face of our self, both collectively and individually, tor the first time.

2. The necessity of ending idolatry and facing oneself with honesty and without defense mechanisms: Chasing Shadows: How Religious Symbols Obscure Our Inner Divinity

The Indispensable Journey of Self-Realization: Ending Cultural Idolatry and Cultivating Honesty

Our contemporary society subsists in an intricate web of realities, filtered through the prisms of social media, pop culture, and longstanding historical narratives. Entangled within this web is the pervasive ritual of idolatry – the elevation of figures, be they religious prophets, celebrities, politicians, or even personal acquaintances, onto pedestals so high that their humanity is obscured behind the shimmering facade of perfection and power. This practice is not without consequence; it actively hinders the crucial process of facing ourselves with honest reflection and dispelling the defense mechanisms that stunt our growth on both personal and societal levels.

Ending the cycle of idolatry is not merely a personal choice but an existential necessity. We must strive to engage with the world and ourselves in an unvarnished manner and devoid of illusion. By stripping away the superficial gloss that coats our idols, we peel back layers to reveal the inherent frailties and strengths that make us profoundly human. In the light of truth, we can humbly acknowledge our collective propensity for error and celebrate our potential for progress.

Idolatry insulates us from the uncomfortable realities of our fallibility, delegating the ownership of our aspirations and flaws to those we revere. When fortune favors us, we attribute our successes to the emulation of our idols; when we falter, we project our faults onto them as if they were divine scapegoats for our shortcomings. The insidious effect is a culture pervaded by a reluctance to shoulder personal accountability. Externalizing our sense of agency limits our capacity for meaningful self-improvement and social transformation.

The alternative—a culture rooted in self-honesty and the absence of defense mechanisms—promises a stark yet ultimately more rewarding experience. It compels us to scrutinize the mirror and confront the uncomfortable truths we often avoid. Such a culture does not incentivize self-flagellation but instead advocates for a constructive inward gaze—where individuals recognize their personal responsibility in the narrative of their lives. This turning inward is the crucible in which genuine growth is fostered, and discernment replaces blind adulation. Honesty, particularly self-honesty, is the bedrock upon which we can build a society that celebrates authenticity over pretense, individuality over conformity, and progress over stagnation. In this society, open and honest communication flourishes free from the shadows of false idols. Here, meaningful dialogue thrives, brought forth by individuals confident in their vulnerability and committed to shifting paradigms through the power of their authentic voices.

The cessation of idolatry and the cultivation of honesty are more than just philosophical ideals. They are pragmatic strategies to elevate our discourse, enhance our relationships, and evolve our collective consciousness. By bravely facing ourselves without the shackles of defense mechanisms, we empower a society that prides itself on transparency, self-reliance, and the willingness to change. Disassembling the pedestals upon which we’ve placed our idols allows us to stand beside each other as true equals, united in our shared humanity and invigorated by the diversity of our experiences. In this egalitarian atmosphere, we can truly thrive and co-create a reality that reflects the best of who we are and who we aspire to be.

Ending Religious and Spiritual Idolatry

In the tapestry of human culture, religion and spirituality thread through the ages as guiding yarns; their patterns and textures give us meaning and a sense of connection to something greater than ourselves. The sagas of deities, the reverence for icons, and the certitude of dogmas have indeed colored the existential queries that each soul encounters. Yet, as someone deeply invested in exploring our innermost being, I can’t help but raise the question: Have the very symbols and doctrines intended to bridge us to the divine begun to cast shadows upon our inherent sacred touchstones—intrinsic innocence and sacredness?

The embodiment of faith through idols and avatars is a canvas onto which we paint our spiritual aspirations. These representations offer a tangible grasp on the elusive nature of the sacred. However, in their elevation, they can inadvertently become spiritual crutches that distance us from pure existence’s raw and profound simplicity. Worship can then morph into idolatry; rather than facilitating our communion with the depths of consciousness, we become fixated on the symbols that should point beyond themselves.

Dogma is an alluring compass. Its structure and certainty can be comforting but also confining. Like a maze whose walls grow higher with time and repetition, dogmatic beliefs can obstruct the panoramic view of spirituality’s boundless landscape. Each creed and each canon come with a litany of ‘shoulds’ and ‘must-nots’, which, while intended to guide, often prescribe a one-size-fits-all spirituality. This garment can never accommodate the unique shape of each individual’s experience and realizations.

Religious structures, with their panoply of icons and avatars, often encourage us to categorize and compare. This segmentation into heavens and hells, chosen ones and others, marks a stark departure from the quintessential essence of spirituality—unity. The danger lies not in the diversity of expressions but in our proclivity to cling to those expressions as ends in themselves rather than as signposts to the interconnectivity that underpins existence. In doing so, we graft the seeds of judgment, otherness, and division onto a landscape that inherently knows no boundaries.

We need to rekindle our relationship with the unadorned core of being—beneath the celebratory robes of religious ceremony or the stern armor of dogma. There’s a profound sacredness to each moment, to every breath, that need not be bestowed by externalities but is rather self-evident. It’s in the eyes of a child, the rhythm of the oceans, and the silence between thoughts. Innocence and sanctity require no intermediaries; their realization lies in shedding layers, not in donning them.

The invitation herein is not to discard the heritage of spiritual traditions, but to cultivate a personal consciousness that can dance with symbols without being restricted by their choreography. To question is not to disrespect; it is to ardently seek authenticity in our connection with the divine. Could it be that in binding ourselves to idols and icons, we have forgotten the language of the soul that speaks in silence. This language communicates through the inherent sanctity of being.

The path laid before us is a perennial invitation to venture inward. In doing so, we may recognize the futility in merely venerating the finger pointing to the moon. It is the luminescent celestial dance we truly seek, the ineffable amity with existence—unmediated, direct, and steeped in the innocence of discovery. The reawakening to this innate sacred space within may well be the spiritual renaissance that beckons as humanity quests for deeper meaning in an era of profound transformation.

While navigating the richness of religious structures, the call to integrate the wisdom of avatars while anchoring ourselves to an unshakeable inner divinity remains a paramount endeavor. It is in the balance—between reverence for paths well-trodden and the courageous pursuit of direct communion—that true spirituality flourishes, uncontrived and free.

The Immutable Wisdom of Jewish Prohibition on Idols and Divine Utterance

The ancient Jewish tradition, with its roots spanning millennia, holds an enigmatic and profound stance on the sanctity of divine representation. This age-old wisdom, embedded deep within the fabric of the Abrahamic faith, urges a careful restraint—nay, an outright desistance—from the impulse to craft religious idols or even to vocalize the inimitable name of God. In light of modern spiritual challenges, it is a paradigmatic stance that continues to illuminate a path to transcendence, urging an undivided focus on the divine presence.

With its focus on monotheism, Judaic thought seeks to portray the Almighty as an omnipresent entity without form or representation. This notion, so pivotal in the Abrahamic branches, holds a philosophical rigor that eschews any attempt to encapsulate the divine within material constructs. The very idea that a mortal hand could shape a divine representation and that a mere mortal tongue could enunciate the unspeakable name of God is fraught with perilous implications.

The Creation narrative upholds the sacredness of unity; the first commandment, “Thou shalt have no other gods before Me,” is a paragon of unambiguous devotion. In their physical embodiment, Idols hint at a stratification of the divine realm—a notion antithetical to the unitary stance Judaism propagates. Uttering the holy name, considered ineffable, similarly runs the risk of profanity and reducing the grandeur of the divine into the routine of mortal speech.

In the modern epoch, where representation and projection shape much of our interaction with the world, the danger of idolatry has not waned. If anything, it has merely taken new forms—our idols are now constructed of pixels projected on screens, and our understanding of the divine can be as fleeting and superficial as the following trending hashtag. The ubiquity with which the name of God is used, often in vain, further underscores a pervasive trivialization of the sacred.

In this refracted worldview, idolatry does not merely pertain to the casting of molten calves or the adoration of anthropomorphic figures. It extends to our very system of belief and the materializations it adopts, however subtle or abstract. We have inadvertently created a cornucopia of modern idols—be it in the celebrity icon, the consumer product, or even in the discourse that pits one version of divine will against another.

Though rooted in religious doctrine, this Jewish tenet offers an overarching principle that transcends the bounds of any specific faith. It is an exhortation towards a gestalt perception of the world, one that recognizes the interconnectedness of all existence under the umbrella of a singular divine essence. When this monolithic perspective is fractured, as it is through the myriad idols and name-calling, we sow the seeds of discord and spiritual entropy.

It compels us to reassess the depth of our spiritual encounters and the sanctity we allow them. Navigating our relationship with the divine beckons us to still the tumult of needlessly profuse references and representations and to rediscover a simpler, undiluted connection that requires neither intermediary nor intermediary artifacts. The human tendency to reduce complexities to comprehensible paradigms is a perpetual challenge against which this tradition is a bulwark.

Applying this traditional wisdom is not solely the province of the pious. It implores each seeker, irrespective of faith, to engage in sporadic spiritual minimalism—cutting the clutter and returning to the core tenets of belief. One might ponder, with a tinge of irony, the ease with which we compile but the reluctance with which we decompile these personal pantheons; yet the promise they hold is not one of easy enlightenment or temporal pleasure but the pursuit of a profound, abiding connection with the divine.

To pursue such a mode of interaction with the numinous is to undergo a tectonic shift in perspective, where encounters with the sacred are no longer mediated through crafted forms but are veiled in the subtler symphonies of existence. For those willing to experiment with this deconstruction of the habitual, the possibility of unencumbered spiritual discovery unfolds, with the potential to carve a more profound, more authentic faith that transcends dogma.

Navigating the Idols of Modernity

The contemporary individual, ensconced in a world where the superficial often masquerades as sacred, must undertake self-reckoning. This beckons a paradigm shift from the ostentatious exhibition of belief to its unadorned authenticity. Traditions of hesitation in crafting idols or invoking the name of God are not so much about moral repression as they are about recognizing the real from the transient, the ubiquitous from the unique.

In this light, one might read the ancient Jewish proscriptions not as straitjackets but as sacred guidelines that reclaim the sacredness of the mundane and the holy from the hands of the merely devout. Idols and the names of God are but instruments—tools misapplied can cause injury, but employed with care and circumspection, they craft the very edifice of our spiritual lives.

To a modern observer, the Jewish tradition might appear anachronistic or severe in its interdiction against idols and divine appellations. Yet, under the scrutiny of reasoned contemplation, it unfolds as an insightful directive towards an unfettered spirituality, emancipated from the dross of the everyday rift of the extraordinary. In a world where the line between the sacred and the profane, the divine and the mundane, has become increasingly blurred, this ancient wisdom serves as a guiding beacon—a homing signal for those willing to steer their faith through the nebulous seas of modernity.

The Jewish tradition’s tenets congeal into a resonant call—be vigilant, be discerning, and above all, be reverent. For in such a vigil lies the preservation of the sacred, and in such reverence, the prospect of a union with the divine unfettered by the burdens of duality and division. The silence this tradition bequeaths is not one of absence but of expectancy—a hushed, vibrant canvas upon which the divine might inscribe its mysteries. And in the stillness of our austerity, we may yet find that the sacred, in all its resplendent entirety, has been beckoning to us all along.

Chapter 88: Dreams

Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream.  Merrily, merrily , merrily, merrily, life is but a dream.—-Nursery rhyme from traditional source.

I have simultaneously traveled several paths on my way to the exit from the Labyrinth, and towards freedom from internalized trauma.  One of the obvious ways was to study my life, and see where any inflection points were incurred where my life went unexpected, self-destructive, and even tragic directions.

Through investigation of my past,  studying family and personal narratives, and becoming aware of the concurrent cultural narratives, I could see the process of my life, and how consciousness was influenced, or even built, by those forces.  As mentioned earlier, all that I see, or can ever see, from an individual perspective is myself, so by the study of relationships, I could actually see how, while in relationship with the world, I created the various versions of myself.  This investigative activity was predominantly a conscious experience, with my intention, and intuition, leading the search for truth…

One other path that I took was to study and develop a narrative around was that which unfolded within my dream time.  Dreams are often seen as almost chaotic eruptions from the body, or the subconscious mind.  I have found, though, that dreams are anything but unconscious, and, in fact, often times offer a compelling view of the fundamental forces at work within the biological and spiritual ecosphere.

Many of these dream time messages are not necessarily emanating from immediately recognizable parts of the conscious, individual that I call myself, and, in fact, are emanations from the collective mind of mankind, and even from psychic, cosmic, magical and mystical realms.  But, be careful, and enter into these realms with humility, lest a powerful resistance to our conscious presence, and a virtual kickback will be experienced.

,I am not a religious person, though I have joined with the community of many theologians who believe that dreams are one of God’s (or, Higher Power, Universe, Healing, Spirit, Grandfather Great Spirit, The One, etc.) primary ways of getting our attention and ordering reality for us. In the absolute, there is little difference between what we experience through our dreams and through our so-called waking reality. Awake or asleep, internally we respond in real time to what we witness as if both experiences have equal footing in reality. So could God/Truth be trying to tell us something while we are sleeping?

Here are seven spiritually significant dream categories that point to more than meets the mind’s eye….

1. Visitation Dreams
It’s common to have a visitation dream after a loved one passes. The deceased often appear in bodily form, healthy and luminous, in order to communicate an important message: “I’m okay.”, or “There is nothing to fear about death”. I have had several of these dreams over the years, with my most recent experience revolving around the recent death of a good friend.

2. Prophetic Dreams
Many people have had a “dream that came true.” Our dreams may use our past experiences to produce a probable series of future events—showing us patterns that help us make better choices when we’re awake. I have had several dreams that have predicted EXACTLY events that were to happen, yet they remain unreliable predictors of the future, because the future is always changing, depending upon changes made in the present.

3. Warning Dreams
God—and our body—can sometimes speak in dreams to warn us about imminent danger, especially regarding health. We may dream of a specific body part or even receive a verbal warning. In a 2015 study of women diagnosed with breast cancer, 83 percent had dreams that were more vivid than normal. And 44 percent reported hearing specific words like “breast cancer” or “tumor.”  I had a dream where I saw that my friend, who had metastatic brain cancer, needed to trust his own healing process, rather  than resisting and trying to control it.

4. Healing Dreams
These are the internal creations that bring us from an “out of balance” place into “harmony and balance.” They often involve a mystical encounter. I have experienced many healing dreams, I had one amazing dream with my deceased grandpa Henry which, to this day, inspires and confounds me.

5. Heavenly Dreams
According to a 1989 study, more than half of healthy young adults who dreamed of death spent a significant amount of time in that dream in heaven. These dreamers sometimes go down a tunnel or pathway and arrive at heavenly destinations. They also frequently encounter deceased loved ones. I have had dreams where I have heard the songs and sounds of the “angels of heaven”, carrying a message of beauty beyond my ability to describe or define.

6. Mutual Dreams
A mutual dream is when two people—typically in separate locations—dream of the same thing at the same time. According to a 2017 study, shared dreams are 80 percent identical on average. They often occur between close friends or relatives. Interestingly, 4 percent of these dreams are shared by strangers. A most profound realization and insight may come to the dreamer, that the collective mind of man dreams through individuals, and individuals dream through the collective mind of mankind. We are one, after all, you and I.

7. Remote Viewing Dreams

Remote viewing dreams can be some of the most confusing of dreams.  Literally, the dreamer walks into the awareness of another personality, and witnesses the same activity as that person being witnessed.  One of the more amazing dreams that I have had in recent years was a dream involving June Thomas’s brother Dale, where, while sleeping, I saw what June saw, when she attended to her fallen brother.  In the dream, I fell between the toilet and the wall.  That same evening, June witnessed her brother falling between the toilet and the wall.

8. Revisitation Of Past Lives

Revisitation of past lives dreams can be one of the rarest forms of dreams available, and are rarely accessible to most people.  They share a lot in common with remote viewing dreams, where the dreamer is able to experience, or, perhaps, re-experience, phases or aspects of a life that they never experienced in the present lifetime.  Literally, the dreamer sees through the eyes of someone not living in this era.  Information may be given of specific historical events, geographical locations, or even of the eyes of the “deceased” person that the dreamer has assumed the identity of during the dream.

I used to have a dream journal by my bedside, where I would record any dream that I had, upon awakening.  Sometimes, I would write while still asleep, so as to not lose the essence of the dream.  The picture below is of one entry from 2007, and is a truly remarkable dream statement.  It seems to prove, at least in the dream, that we may have choices as to what we see, and who we see it through.  I have no conscious recollection of ever writing this entry into my journal, and, in fact, this entry was discovered twelve years later, hidden in a notebook which was discovered while on a trip to Japan in 2019.

Wisdom and insight are available through our “dream channels”. Atheists and agnostics have the same capacity as the saints, as far as the ability to access dream wisdom goes.

We are much closer than we presently believe, and our beliefs keep us more separate as a human beings, than together as spiritual beings. June is much more like me, and attuned with me, than I am comfortable with, some times.

The same is true of ALL OF HUMANITY.

Here are a few of my many important dreams.  I can see now the progression of these dreams, as I sought for, and gradually gained, the necessary insight to find the new paths to my own healing, and transcendence.

Dream of 1964

In 1964, at 9 years of age I had a most amazing, realistic dream.  This was during a period of time when I slept very little, as I usually got to sleep no earlier than midnight, no matter how early I went to bed.  I laid in bed and reviewed the day every night before sleep, and see where I could have done things better, or said something a little differently.   My dreams had finally evolved beyond the continuous nightmare phase that I was accustomed to, prior to age 8.

THE DREAM:

The priest, having received his directive from “on high”, then returned to his village along the lake in the high mountain region.  He gathered all of the villagers together, and informed them that they were to take every golden figurine, every sacred symbol that they owned, and they were to throw them all into the lake, and never to think about them again.  Then, he told each villager that they must each go into their own home, and face the “evil one” without any protection or care from any of their gods or their symbols of the sacred.

The priest then returned to his own home, having tossed all of his own idols and treasures into the deep blue lake.  He stripped himself bare of all clothing, and then began to summon the forces of the dark.  He became surrounded by a fog, and as he lifted his hands, sparks started flying out of his fingertips at the unknown force of darkness that lay just beyond his visual field, still hidden beyond the boundaries of the fog.   The priest refocused his energy into his arms, and hands, and the sparks grew into a steady energy field, extending from his body, his heart, and his spirit, towards his unknown adversary.  He was determined to overcome this force, this dark energy, and he redoubled his efforts.  The priest’s heart began to race out of control, he began to sweat profusely, and a growing sense of fear and dread began to take hold of his entire being, as he finally understood that his energy could not last forever.  Yes, for him to continue this battle, he must sacrifice all of his life force. Yet, he felt that he had no choice but to keep engaging the enemy, to finally see the face of the force that had terrorized his village since time began.  He desperately strained and stretched to see the object of his fear and disdain, even as the ebbing energy field flowing from his fingertips continued to cut through the fog.  Suddenly, a face began materializing before his faltering gaze.  As he collapsed to the floor, almost drained of all life, he could no longer fight an undeniable truth– the face of the evil one might be his own!

Being so immature, and not too worldly in my knowledge, I did not have the necessary background to know what to think about the dream.  I discussed the dream with my older sister, who seemed to have some partial answers to its mysteries (based on her understanding of reincarnation), but so many mysteries remained to be explained.  I waited and watched for further answers, and went on with the all of the important business of being a carefree boy, though at times, I fleetingly experienced “self-awareness”.

Three years later, while taking World Geography as a class in the 7th grade, I was introduced to the Incan civilization, and Lake Titicaca, which is on the border between Peru and Bolivia.  This was, and still is, a very sacred lake, and, according to the lore of the Incan people, it was where the origins of the human race began.  I had an eerie sense of familiarity with the lake, and with the people of the area.

Robert “Bobby” Kelly Clements (died 1942 in WWII)

Are dreams potentially portals to other people’s lives? Perhaps even to past lives?

The following post will appear in a future book, written by some unknown writer.

In April of 1987, after I had been sober for about one month after 16 years of hell, I had a series of three dreams, on three consecutive nights.

In the first dream, I was an early teenager, hanging out with 4 or 5 other boys, who were my buddies.  My name, in the dream, was Bobby Clements.

In the second dream, we are all enlisting, as a group, to enter WWII.  We told the recruiter that we all wanted to fly on the same plane, or we would not accept service.  We were promised that the Air Force would do everything in their power to make sure that we all were on duty in the same location, and, perhaps, share space on the same military aircraft

In the third dream, I am piloting an aircraft, with all of my buddies assuming support roles.  We are flying into turbulence, and I can no longer keep the aircraft under control.  My buddies stay in their positions, but apparently whatever hit us from below, is a fatal blow.  I know that we are all going to die.  The dream ends.

I researched Bobby Clemens (that is how I assumed the name was spelled) substantially for two months (prior to advent of the internet) later in 1987.  I drove to Philomath, Oregon, researching the Clemens family there, but came up short.

Several decades later, my sister took up the search for me.  My sister is a STRONG BELIEVER in reincarnation, and she has memories from her own past life experiences.

In her research, she came up with Robert “Bobby” Kelly Clements, of Nova Scotia, Canada.. Robert flew a Lancaster bomber for the RAF out of England, and he was allowed to hand pick his crew, according to the records. He picked his five Nova Scotia friends!

His story was identical to what I saw in the three dream sequence, according to the family reports that she had read about “Bobby”, too.

Umm, Bobby was an electrician prior to his enlistment.  As an eight year old, I wanted to become an electrician more than anything, save becoming an Air Force pilot.  I had a full ride scholarship to the Air Force, was in the ROTC at the U of Portland, then dropped out due to my first wife’s severe health issues.

I eventually retired, as an electrician, in 2016,.

I tried to commit suicide in 1986, when I finally realized that my childhood dreams of being, first an Air Force pilot, and then an astronaut, were never, ever to be realized in this incarnation.

Eerie!

Here is my letter to my sister, acknowledging the experience:

Pam,

     Fascinating to see the photographs, and to hear his story.

Sounds like a match!  It is so sad, but it explains so much about

my childhood attraction to bomber planes (I built every version of WWII bombers available in plastic model kits)

12 O clock high, the program about B17 bombers over Germany, was one of my childhood favorites.

The three dreams, on three consecutive nights, were unsettling.

I have ultimate respect, and empathy, for these warriors.

I am also quite saddened.

Thanks!

Love,

your little brother.

PENTAX Image

Di Di Dream 1988

I wrote my first love poem in 1984, when I became lovers with a woman by the name of Diane (Di Di) McCloud.  I had first met Di Di while she was running with Gary, a cocaine dealer and friend to both me and Randy Olson.  Gary and I became friends, and Gary eventually stored his money and cocaine in a safe house, which happened to be the home that I lived in.  How unlucky was that for me!  I got the privilege of running with the same important people that Gary did, including prominent local rock and roll DJ’s, as well as the best local rock and roll bands.  And, during this time, I started to fantasize about someday hooking up with his sweetie, but I never had any intention of having an affair with her.  Somehow, she stayed with Gary for over two years.  Di Di was quite the free spirit, as well as a drug addict, so Gary’s appeal may have been enhanced by his constant supply of drugs.

Randy and I were living near downtown Portland at the time  We lived on the 22nd floor of the Panorama Tower, and it was at this home that Randy first brought Di Di, who had recently broken up with Gary, into our shared lives.  She hung out with Randy for a few days, then lost interest in him.  Somehow, we hooked up after that, early in the summer of 1984, and this most beautiful woman professed her love and willingness to stay connected with me shortly after that.  I was blown away, as she was the most attractive, sexy woman I had ever seen.  I was so inspired by my relationship with Di Di, that I wrote my first love poem in 1984.  She treasured the poem, and actually sought another copy of it shortly before her own death early in 1987.  She was to become the first person that I felt I had ever truly loved, but we had to let each other go after a short period of time.

I was to see her two more times in April of 1986.  I saw her at a bar in Beaverton, and we traveled to the beach together to Seaside to spend the following evening.  She was somewhat distracted, and in the intervening eighteen months since I seen her last she had deteriorated in her appearance, looking a little worn.  We drank at the local Seaside bars, until I no longer had any desire to drink anymore.  I told her that I was going back to the hotel room, and left her the extra key.  She stated that she wanted to keep the party going, and continued drinking and carrying on with some of the local folks.  She returned to the hotel room at two in the morning, all excited about some new “friends” that she had made, and the great cocaine that they had shared together.  She wanted to bring the two guys back into the hotel room to continue the party.

“No thanks, this is where I take my leave!” I announced in a rather angry tone of voice.  I grabbed my overnight bag, and headed towards home, even though I was drunk, almost to the point of being in a blackout.  Somewhere along Highway 26, beyond the Elderberry Inn, I crashed my car into a guardrail, nearly going over a cliff in the process.  I could not get out of the drivers side door, it was so crashed in.  I quickly got the car back onto the road, in my attempt to get home before any more trouble befell me.  When I finally reached North Plains, I fell asleep at the wheel again, stepped on the accelerator, and rammed into the back of another car at freeway speeds.  We both pulled over, and I was able to bribe the owner of the car not to call the police, since I was DRUNK, by writing him a check for $471, which was every last penny that I had in my checking account.  My car was totaled, but somehow I was able to make it home, miraculously escaping death or a DUI citation.

Di DI called me a month later, wanting to talk, and wanting a copy of the love poem that I had given her two years before.  When we met, she told me that the poem was the most beautiful gift that anybody had ever given her, and that she was sorry that she did not find the spot in her life for me.  We both cried, and parted company on rather sad terms.  She eventually died one year later, when she was killed in a drunken driving related automobile wreck in Lake Oswego.

Di Di became a part of myself and my consciousness, and I had one profound dream with her in it, shortly after her death.  In the dream, I am confronted by a man exhibiting aggressive, unkind, abusive behavior.  In the dream, I am appalled, disgusted, and threatened by his manner.  I call out to a policeman, imploring him to arrest that man, and protect all of us from his violence.  Di Di then walks up to me in the dream, taking the policeman’s place, and states quite plainly that for love to reappear in my life, in all of its fullness, I must first “arrest” all of these negative qualities within myself, and rehabilitate my own passions, then love will reappear.  The dream ends, but the journey continues.

Poem Written for Di Di, in 1984.

Though hibernating for oh so long

And hiding from the deep pain of winters’ chill

Love reawakens to sing its special song

So for how much longer can we be still?

With eyes that melt winters’ deepest snow

A tender touch that always seem to say

That all we will ever need to know

Will be learned along Love’s way

Two minds that were brought together

Two hearts that seek to share,

Two bodies that need no tether

Two become one, though still a pair

Heavenly nights and rapturous mornings,

Love promises through all of our years,

The sweet, stirring music of love sings

For two souls who now have the ears to hear.

True love can be the source of dreams

For two hearts continuing to awaken.

I pray that we are all each other seems

And share in Love’s next journey taken.

Dream of 1992

In the spring of 1992, while Sharon and I were living in Rock Creek, I had a most amazing dream, and it is the miracle of love, and trust and innocence that enables me to share it (only Sharon has ever heard it , and she had no choice-she woke me up from it).  In this dream, I was in my grandfather’s home, sleeping in the bedroom that i always slept in as a child.  A “fierce, fiery cluster, or orb, of pure light and love” hovered over me, and though it did not have human form, I knew it to be my grandfather.  I was being drawn into his love light, and I knew that, for me to continue, this energy would destroy my body because my body was too weak to support this “fire of love” that came to me.  I did not care, for I had finally found what I was looking for, and I began to rise up, and attempt to join with it, knowing my “body” would be destroyed in the process.

Now, in real time, in the physical world, my body was shaking and almost convulsing, and, to Sharon, my “crying and distress” showed that I was having a nightmare.  In her concern, she woke me up, and I had never felt so disappointed to have to wake up, as it ripped me away from this most remarkable inner experience. It is also remarkable how absolutely parallel this inner experience in the dream was to my own grandfather’s experience on the operating table, when he was “ripped back into this world” against his will.

But the dream carried many fruits with it into the world that our bodies inhabit  (Also, the prayer of gratitude-Grandfather, Great Spirit, Thank You, appeared in my mind and heart back then, as well).  I knew that if I wanted to entertain, or to even host, the higher vibrations of love, my body (both physical body and the body of thought constituting myself), must become much stronger, and more open to the powerful energies of Love’s universe.  I came to realize that I must improve my physical conditioning and my dietary choices, and continue to be engaged with like minded individuals and groups of people, where energy can be exchanged.

April 1 2017 Dream

After Friday evening’s seminar about mysticism with the Master Spiritual Teacher, Matthew Fox, we returned to our hotel room, to rest up for the next morning’s follow-up workshop on the Cosmic Christ. I had quite the deep, peaceful sleep, which lasted six hours for me. Prior to awakening, I had a most interesting, powerful dream.

What was/is fascinating about this dream is how absolutely awake I was, while having the dream.  It is a complete spiritual teaching, and for that, Great Spirit, I thank you, and my gratitude will be expressed through the life lived through me, for now and all time to come.

In the dream, I opened a door, and walked into a room that was well-lit.  The room seemed unfamiliar to me. Inside of the room there was a man standing to the right of the entrance. He greeted me, holding a cup out to me in his hand. He gently offered it to me, and for a moment I considered what it’s contents might be. I then knew that if I drank from it, I would become “intoxicated”, but of a different nature that was still consistent with the path of “sobriety” I currently walked upon. I then noticed a table, where an opened map laid open upon it. The man walked with me to the table, still holding the cup.

I looked at the map, and it was a topographic style map, similar to what I might use for traveling and/or hiking with. There were two distinct areas to it. The path or road, on the right side of the map, had only one dark, solid line drawn from the bottom to the top of the map. But, the section on the left side of the map had several dotted lines that only remotely “paralleled” the route on the right side of the map. I had no judgement about each of the path styles, yet I remained curious about the several dotted line paths, which intersected each other, while also “snaking” their unique individual routes up the map. I noted also that the “dotted line” paths also did not ever cross the path of the solid, dark line, though all of the paths had no distinct starting, or end point.

At the Cosmic Christ workshop, Matthew asked if anyone had a dream that they wanted to share in the big group. Not being a “realized person”, I felt uncomfortable sharing the dream. But when it came time for a break, I took a book to Matthew for signing, and shared my dream with him. He refused to tell me what it might mean, but he had a smile on his face, and told me to let it tell me it’s meaning.

On our drive home, Sharon White took controls of the car, and I started telling her the dream again. It was then that the horripilations (Godchills) began in earnest, and the full meaning came through me. A complete mystical understanding, and teaching, was built into that dream, and it was then I realized that I had indeed drunk from the cup of the Spirit. Yes, I became quite “intoxicated” with Spirit, and I knew then that we had truly been blessed by the Master Teacher.There are two aspects of human consciousness represented here.

The straight dark lined right side of the map represents:

• Goal setting and achievement within cultural accepted norms and standards.
• automatic, culturally ingrained responses to the world, and to the self
• Memory and habitual responses predominate, little creative expression
• Worship of authorities, leaders, historical spiritual heroes, and
• full blown unconscious participation in the common knowledge game and lemming effect
• time based awareness, where personal, religious, and cultural history are unquestioned and treasured as sacred knowledge.  Nostalgia and procrastination reign supreme.
• Looks to others for salvation
• fear of future, guilt, shame, and trauma influenced/controlled history
• Personal story married to cultural narrative fully defines individual identity on its road to conformity and collective herd mentality.
• Follows the crowd on a superhighway to hell
• The Sun  is so Hot on this endless, crowded  superhighway!

The dotted lined, left side of the map represents:

• A life defined by moment to moment experience, where individual choices and decisions fill in the gaps between the dots
• A life informed by inquisitiveness and curiosity
• High degree of creativity, insight, and intelligence.
• Courage to create new paths of conscious awareness
• Full blown conscious participation in the uncommon knowledge game
• Timeless awareness, where historical understanding is supplanted with the unencumbered intelligence of the spirit.  The innate sacredness of each moment is honored.
• works out own salvation
• life in the present moment
• Insight and wisdom lights the uncertain path.
• Pick a unique path, on our own  stairway to heaven, creating each next step as we continue our ascension

I don’t expect anybody who remains stuck in the right side of the map to understand this dream, except for Sharon and I, and those who wander on the left side.

Mysticism, the heart of all vibrant, evolving religions, also can be a personal reality. It is not, however, for those clinging to structured understandings of life.

Not all who wander are lost—-JRR Tolkien

July Dream of 2021:

I was driving alone on a back country road, into a deep wilderness.  The road ends suddenly, with the front of the car hanging over a precipice,  I get out car just in time before car falls off of the cliff.  I walked up a path into the woods, where I was confronted by community of disfigured men, each one with their own unique, disfiguring handicap.  One at a time, each demon engages and threatens me. I wrestle with each one of them, in a steady progression, while I also began developing greater and greater strength.  I see a little bit of myself in each demon that I face.  After being confronted by each demon, they are changed into a unique human being with normal appearance. They all eventually are engaged, transformed, and fall back and lose interest in me..A ferocious leader appears, and he barely appears to be humanoid in appearance.  I see nothing of myself in this monster.  The leader tells me that he will subdue me for his pleasure and for his consumption,  I  ask for help from those I have already faced, and transformed.  We don’t defeat the leader, yet the leader releases me and the others from his grasp,  when he loses interest.  He is not me, or the others.  I appear inside of a building.  I walk over to a window and look out.  I see a man victimizing my first wife, Donelle, I confront the man, and he releases Donelle.  She hangs around for a moment then I fly away from her, imbued with a new energy.  I then engage in an incredible, dangerous mission, climbing/traversing the upper reaches of a great wall.  I stand atop it,.  The wall is immovable, but I am free.

I stand at its pinnacle looking out beyond the boundaries of the wall.  A new palace on the hillside is just starting to come into view.

The dream ends, and only Life’s infinite vision remains.

The Minotaur has been confronted.  The Minotaur has no more influence upon me.  And, I have a very good clue now, as to how to retrace my steps, and leave the labyrinth,

FOR GOOD.

NOVEMBER 2021 DREAM

In a recent dream, I was taken on an amazing, enlightening journey through my subconscious and conscious mind. During several vignettes, I am surrounded by a protective cage, a cage which keeps me safe while I visit a legion of different people in differing circumstances. In one case I see Death itself who has taken human form in the personage of a man that I have known for 35 years, and who is nearing his own death times. Death invites me into his creative studio, and though I am friends with him, I say NO THANK YOU, NOT FOR ME AT THIS TIME! There is no color in the world of death, only gradations of black..

I notice that my protective cage is not impenetrable, and that my point of entry into it on its back side is the most vulnerable, and that I must keep a close eye on it, lest unwelcome visitors will attempt to enter, and abide with me.

There is an important point being made here. Our spiritual connection and understanding gives us wings to fly, and the potential for greater health, yet our openness to the world needs to be tempered with its harsh reality. We all still suffer under the weight of its own self-destructive illusions. We are susceptible to their influence even if we are firmly established upon our own unique spiritual path.

In the next vignette, I am floating above a vast swamp, a swamp covered by a living opaque membrane. I can’t see through the membrane per se, but zi know that forms of life exist underneath it. Some forms I recognize to be very small humanoid appearing creatures, yet not quite fully alive. I also see larger forms, also humanoid, more to the center of the vast membrane. I recognize that this swamp is owned or managed by a community of fear intoxicated brings. In the dream I know not to confront the people about what is going on under the membrane, but I intuit that this is where they not only create images of humans, but also grow and sustain them. These victimsm were created as sacrifices to some dark energy, and they could also be destroyed if they felt it was appropriate. This was not the place of peace with sublime creations for sure. This was the creative swamp where humanity creates judgements against each other, and against the self. These judgements are created to minimize others’ value, and, ultimately, to kill them if threatened, and, ultimately, our self, at least in a spiritual sense.

I encountered several other disfigured beings, all wishing to enter into my protective cage, and tempt me with self degrading options, which I eventually recognized as being personification of all manners of human disease. I saw that my health demands that I do not invite any of these friendly tempting diseases into my protective vehicle.. I also then saw that the swamp was where the human mind creates false images of its self and others, and these become the very source of conflict, disease, and disfigurement.

In real life, I was beginning to become ill, and for several days I had concerning symptoms. There was a battle going on inside of me between life affirming energy, or my antibodies, and life destroying energy, or disease in one of its infinite disguises.. My feet were inexplicably dragging while walking with my wife Sharon. I was getting headaches, and I developed quite a cough and congestion. knew who, or what was going to win.

The miracle of uncoupling from the past is a real, and a dream, possibility.

The closer that we get to the Truth, the more we realize that we have always heen dreaming.  .Dream until your vision becomes reality.  The imaginal world, and reality, are two sides of the same coin.  Dream with wisdom and discernment, and a loving, compassionate reality will result.

Looking at my history, I have witnessed many dreams inspired by the Healing Mystery.

Chapter 77:  The Wisdom of Dreams: A Journey Through the Mystical Realms of Sleep

“We don’t see things as they are, we see them as we are.” – Anaïs Nin

Have you ever found yourself captivated by the enigmatic world of dreams? Are they whispers from our biology, creations spun from the imagination, windows into the subconscious, hints of wisdom from a higher power, portals to other people’s lives, or even glimpses of our past incarnations? Most of us have experienced a dream so vivid it lingered in the mind long after waking, or felt an unexplainable connection to something beyond ourselves, leaving us to wonder about the deeper mysteries of existence. By venturing into the mystical realm of dreams, spirits, and past lives, we open ourselves to extraordinary possibilities.

Since the dawn of time, dreams have been a source of fascination—stories our minds weave while we sleep, tales that often slip beyond the grasp of waking consciousness. But what are dreams really for? Are they simply cogs in the machine of biological existence, or do they serve a purpose beyond the physical realm? To answer this, it helps to examine dreams through several lenses: neurological, psychological, spiritual, and evolutionary.

Four Lenses on the Dreaming Mind

Neurologically, dreams arise from brain activity during REM sleep. Brain scans show that regions like the amygdala, which processes emotion, remain active during this state. Some neuroscientists argue that dreaming is simply a byproduct of electrical impulses with no inherent purpose; others believe it helps the brain process emotion or encode memory. Research has even linked specific brain activity to dream content—the visual cortex’s activation may explain vivid imagery, while the limbic system’s engagement may correlate with emotional intensity.

Spiritually, many traditions regard dreams as messages from the divine or the deep subconscious, woven with symbolism that offers guidance, warning, or insight. Cultures throughout history have relied on dreams to make decisions and anticipate the future. Despite vast differences in interpretation, a comparative look across cultures reveals broad agreement on their spiritual value—countless personal accounts describe dreams that sparked life-altering realizations.

Evolutionarily, some theorize that dreaming gave our ancestors a “safe space” to simulate danger and rehearse survival responses. As cultures developed, this raw survival function became layered with religious and spiritual meaning.

Perhaps the truest value of dreams isn’t found in any single perspective, but in the interplay of all of them—biological programming, psychological confrontation, and connection to the universe’s deeper mysteries, meeting at once. Dreams sit at the nexus where our biological, psychological, neurological, and spiritual selves converge, offering a rich window into the complexity of human consciousness. With every dream we remember, we glimpse a reflection of our inner workings—and perhaps the essence of what it means to be human.

A Life Steeped in Dreams

We all dream, whether we recall it or not. Many who do remember have no framework for interpretation, and so their dreams are dismissed as noise. But some of us build a lifelong practice of attention around our dream life, treating it as a genuine channel of communication.

My own dreams have long been messages from the many facets of my Self—a window into the subconscious and a channel for healing. They have surfaced hidden emotions, offered guidance, and facilitated real transformation. On more than one occasion, I have felt a deep and inexplicable connection with the spirit of a deceased friend or family member within a dream. I have also had dreams that seemed to reveal fragments of past-life experience—so vivid and emotionally charged that they compelled me to seek their meaning. In these dreams I have stepped into unfamiliar times and places, living through events that felt strangely familiar, as though catching a glimpse of a previous incarnation, or perhaps the life of someone I never knew.

Dreams, spirit connections, and past lives are deeply personal experiences. Every individual’s journey is unique, and what holds profound meaning for one person may not resonate with another. Embracing the mystical realm means approaching it with an open mind and a sense of wonder, rather than certainty.

I am not a religious person, though I stand alongside many theologians who believe dreams are one of the primary ways the Divine—God, the Universe, Spirit, Grandfather Great Spirit, the One, whatever name feels right—gets our attention. In the absolute, there may be little difference between what we experience while dreaming and what we call waking reality; in both states, we respond internally, in real time, as if each carries equal weight. So could Truth be speaking to us while we sleep?

Key Takeaways

• Dreams possess transformative power, offering avenues for personal healing and self-discovery.
• Dreams can provide windows into past lives, offering insight and lessons for our present existence.
• Dreams can channel spirit connections, providing a profound link to the departed and to the wider spiritual realm.
• Personal experience and interpretation of dreams and spirit contact contribute meaningfully to our spiritual growth.

A Taxonomy of Meaningful Dreams

Over decades of attention to my own dream life, I’ve come to recognize several recurring categories of spiritually significant dreams:

1. Visitation Dreams. It’s common to dream of a loved one shortly after their passing. The deceased often appear healthy and luminous, communicating a simple message: “I’m okay,” or “There is nothing to fear about death.” I’ve had several of these over the years, most recently after the death of a close friend.

2. Prophetic Dreams. Our brains carry built-in predictive machinery, so it’s no surprise that we occasionally “prophesy,” whether awake or asleep. Many people have had a dream that came true. I’ve had dreams that predicted events with striking precision—though they remain unreliable as forecasts, since the future keeps shifting with every choice made in the present.

3. Warning Dreams. Sometimes the body—or something beyond it—speaks through dreams to warn of danger, especially concerning health. A 2015 study of women diagnosed with breast cancer found that 83 percent had unusually vivid dreams before diagnosis, and 44 percent recalled specific words like “breast cancer” or “tumor.”

4. Healing Dreams. These carry us from a state of imbalance into harmony, often through a mystical encounter. One of my most memorable healing dreams involved my late grandfather Henry—an experience that still inspires and puzzles me.

5. Heavenly Dreams. A 1989 study found that more than half of healthy young adults who dreamed of death spent significant time in a heavenly setting, often traveling through a tunnel and reuniting with deceased loved ones. I’ve had dreams filled with what felt like the songs of angels, carrying a beauty beyond my ability to describe.

6. Mutual Dreams. Two people, often in separate places, dream the same thing at the same time. A 2017 study found these shared dreams to be about 80 percent identical on average, most common between close friends or relatives—though 4 percent occur between strangers. Such dreams suggest a startling truth: the collective mind of humanity dreams through the individual, just as the individual dreams through the collective. We are, in some sense, one.

7. Projection or Remote Viewing Dreams. In early occult and spiritualist literature, this experience was called telesthesia or traveling clairvoyance—described by Rosemary Guiley as “seeing remote or hidden objects clairvoyantly with the inner eye, or in alleged out-of-body travel.” In 1987, one such dream showed me that my sense of self must expand to include the collective self we all share as conscious members of the human race.

8. Radical Empathy Dreams. Empathy plays a crucial role in dreaming, offering a window into subconscious emotion and social connection. These are among the most mysterious dreams—ones in which the dreamer seems to witness another person’s life through their own eyes, raising unsettling questions about the porousness of identity itself.

9. Dreams of Personal Growth and Teaching. Teaching in a dream often signals a desire to share knowledge, or a sense of responsibility to pass on what has been learned. Such dreams can reveal leadership qualities, unspoken aspirations to guide others, or a struggle with communication and self-assertion in waking life. Waking from one of these dreams still shaking, having lived a very real but alien experience, marks a crossing into a higher understanding of the self. Wisdom flows through our dream channels regardless of belief—the atheist and the saint have equal access. We are far closer than we think; it’s our beliefs that keep us apart.

A Personal Dream Chronicle

My life has been a river flowing with dreams, from the nightmares of childhood to the profound visions that followed my recovery from addiction. After 1987, my dream world took on a quality I could no longer ignore, becoming a steady source of insight, healing, and prophecy. What follows is a chronicle of the dreams that shaped me most.

The Priest and the Evil One (1964) — Projection and Teaching

At eight years old, I dreamed I was a priest in a pre-technological village, instructing my people to cast their sacred idols into a lake. Alone in my home, I summoned the darkness that had long terrorized the community. As I exhausted myself fighting this unseen force, a face began to materialize in the fog—my own.

Meaning: This childhood dream was a lesson in psychological projection decades before I had the language for it. The “evil” we perceive in the world is so often a reflection of our own inner shadow. The gods and defenses we build to protect ourselves are born of ignorance about our own nature. We are all wounded by this process, and until we recognize our role in creating our own demons, we remain trapped by them. We heal together, or we perish alone.

A Message from Bob Fero (1978) — Visitation

Bob Fero was a close family friend from childhood—someone I camped with, golfed with, and grew to love and respect. Bob had a temper, and in 1972 it caught up with him: driving home from Reno in a rage, he passed cars recklessly and collided head-on with an oncoming vehicle, killing himself and critically injuring his wife, Dorothy. My father, too averse to funerals to attend, carried his grief alone; I went in his place. Two nights later, Bob came to me in a dream. He told me not to fear death—that where he was, was beautiful and peaceful, and that death was not the enemy. My father was never consoled by that message, since it wasn’t his to receive.

Meaning: This visitation offered a profound sense of comfort, suggesting that consciousness continues beyond physical death.

The Reincarnation of Bobby Clements (1987) — Remote Viewing

A month into sobriety, I had a sequence of three dreams across three consecutive nights. In them, I was a young man named Bobby Clements—enlisting in WWII alongside my friends, then piloting a bomber that was shot down, certain we would all die. Decades later, my sister’s research uncovered the real story of Robert “Bobby” Kelly Clements, a bomber pilot from Nova Scotia whose life matched my dreams with uncanny accuracy; he had even hand-picked his five crewmates, just as I’d dreamed.

Meaning: The parallels between my childhood aspirations—to be a pilot, and later an electrician, just like Bobby—and his actual life are too significant to dismiss as coincidence. It suggests our souls may carry echoes of past experience that shape the present journey.

The Cup and the Map (1987) — Spiritual Teaching

After a Friday evening seminar on mysticism with Matthew Fox, I fell into a deep sleep and had a dream in which I was fully, strangely awake. I opened a door into a well-lit, unfamiliar room, where a man greeted me and offered a cup. I understood that drinking from it would “intoxicate” me in a way still consistent with my sobriety. He led me to a table holding a topographic map divided into two regions: on the right, a single solid line ran from bottom to top; on the left, several dotted lines wove and intersected without ever crossing the solid line, none with a clear beginning or end. When I later shared the dream with Matthew Fox, he refused to interpret it, telling me instead to let it reveal its own meaning. On the drive home, as I retold it to my wife Sharon, the meaning arrived in a wave of chills: those who stay on the solid, well-worn path will never understand what the dotted lines represent—a life lived in the unknown, where uncertainty is a constant companion and far more “scenery” is covered by those willing to wander outside the ruts of convention. This is the path of conscious evolution, where curiosity and creativity forge new consciousness rather than conform to the expectations of church, family, and society. As Tolkien wrote: not all who wander are lost.

A Dream of Healing and Self-Love (1988) — Healing and Visitation

I first met Diane “Di Di” McLoud in 1982, and by 1984 we had become lovers, though I sensed our relationship couldn’t survive our shared flaws. She died in 1988, struck by a drunk driver. Shortly after, she appeared in a dream: I was confronted by an aggressive, abusive man and pleaded with a policeman to arrest him. Di Di then took the policeman’s place and told me plainly that for love to reappear fully in my life, I first had to “arrest” those same negative qualities within myself and rehabilitate my own passions.

Meaning: This was a direct message from my subconscious—and perhaps from Di Di’s spirit—that love begins with self-rehabilitation. I had written her a poem before her death that, in hindsight, foreshadowed the same truth: “Love reawakens to sing its special song… Two become one, though still a pair.”

The Prophecy of the Eight-Jeweled Ring (1988) — Prophetic

I dreamed of searching for a lost ring set with eight jewels, but could only find seven; a thought arrived that the eighth would be found mounted to the ring itself. At the time, I was engaged to Laurie H., whom I sensed—correctly, it turned out—was not “the final jewel.” We separated months later. Sixteen years after the dream, in 2004, my wife Sharon showed me the ring she’d bought, unprompted and without my involvement, for our second wedding in Las Vegas: seven small stones surrounding one larger, distinguishing eighth stone. Sharon had never seen my journal entry, and I had never mentioned it to her.

Meaning: A stunning confirmation of life’s mysterious synchronicities—the future casting light into the present, with the answer waiting patiently to be found at the right moment. Sharon was the eighth jewel.

A Farewell to Randy Olson (1988) — Visitation and Prophecy

In a dream, the sky seemed to open and “heaven” sang a beautiful song about Boston, Massachusetts. I found myself flying, without a plane, over what might have been the Atlantic, and received a message that I would be leaving my lifelong friend Randy Olson behind for this phase of my life. Soon after, I traveled to Boston to visit the Mother Church of Christian Science, where an aide unexpectedly granted me access to Mary Baker Eddy’s private study—a privilege reserved for few. Meanwhile, my friendship with Randy, who continued drinking heavily after I got sober in 1987, grew steadily more distant. We spoke only a handful of times over the following decades. The last time I saw him, he was loading a twelve-pack into his car, sick and bloated, avoiding my eyes. He died alone of a heart attack, his funeral nearly unattended despite being, in life, one of the most well-liked people I’d ever known.

Meaning: This dream foretold a painful but necessary divergence of paths. I couldn’t take Randy where I needed to go; that willingness was something no one can give another person. You are still loved, my friend.

Grandfather, Great Spirit (1992) — Healing and Transcendence

While living in the Rock Creek area with Sharon, I dreamed I was back in my childhood bedroom at my grandfather’s house. A fierce, fiery orb of pure light and love hovered above me—formless, yet unmistakably my late grandfather. In shamanic terms, I now recognize this as an encounter with my eighth chakra, the doorway between the immortal soul and the earthbound self. I understood that joining fully with this light would destroy my body, too weak yet to hold such wisdom—and I didn’t care; I rose to meet it anyway. In the physical world, my convulsing and crying woke Sharon, who feared I was having a nightmare. Waking felt like being torn from the most remarkable experience of my life. But the dream left behind a clear directive: to host these higher vibrations, my body and mind needed to be dramatically strengthened. That conviction helped carry me, by age 46, to a level of near-elite athletic fitness.

A Message from June Thomas (2016) — Mutual Dream

My wife Sharon has known June Thomas since the 1970s; I’ve known and loved her since 1990. One May evening, I woke from a disturbing dream in which I had fallen and become trapped between a toilet and a wall in an unfamiliar bathroom. The next morning, June—then visiting her ailing brother Dale in Medford—called to say that Dale had fallen in the night and become trapped in exactly that position.

Meaning: Coincidence, or evidence that our awareness extends beyond the five senses? I know my own answer; yours may differ.

The Electrician’s Dream for Marty Crouch (2018)

I woke at 2:45 a.m. with a profound sense of presence, as though all of us were gathered together, and fell into a dream of a noisy industrial plant where an electrical system needed reconditioning. I was told that a safety lock had to be removed from the panel I was working on before the system could be re-energized. I wore soundproof headsets against the noise, and noticed others discarding the remnants of their own completed work nearby.

Meaning: Letting go of control and trusting the process—handing our work over to something greater—is difficult amid the noise of daily life and the threat of illness. I shared this with Marty directly: healing required him to remove the self-protective controls layered over his consciousness, since the same patterns that allowed his melanoma to take hold remained embedded in his mind and heart. Medication alone could not undo that. My higher power held complete confidence in his innocence and his potential, even without guarantees. Marty, a man of extraordinary intellect and integrity, maintained his health for only a few more weeks. My hope had been to help him experience his own divine nature before the end.

The Foundation Dream at 1440 Multiversity (2018)

During a workshop with Alberto Villoldo, I dreamed of groups of people assembling the foundation of a great new building while Alberto silently observed. Sharon and I struggled with our part but eventually saw it come together. Afterward, gathered as a full assembly, a male voice delivered a monologue on the nature of the “magnetic self.” I countered it with a message of my own, precise and articulate—until I turned to Sharon within the dream and asked, “Do I sound like an idiot?” Then I woke.

Meaning: Even in my most confident dream-state moments, self-doubt finds a way in. Making peace with that wayward inner voice—the one that keeps me silent for fear of being misunderstood—remains one of my life’s ongoing challenges.

The Return of Grandfather, Great Spirit (2022)

In 1987, during a transcendent meditation, the Sacred Silence showed me two mysterious “tricksters” embedded in my life energy field. I carried that unresolved image for twenty-nine years, sensing they weren’t there for my good but lacking any narrative to explain them—until, with the encouragement of Sharon, my late friend Marty Crouch, and the writing of Sheila Hamilton, I began to understand them as the embedded wounds of trauma.

On October 25, 2022, I woke at midnight in acute anxiety after another dream of my grandfather Henry. This time, we were together in a car with two dark, threatening figures. I knew I had to confront and remove them, even at the cost of my own life, to protect him.

Meaning: I was willing to sacrifice myself to preserve the presence of “Grandfather”—my symbol for the higher vibrations of love and wisdom. By confronting and subduing those dark forces, the liberation of Grandfather, Great Spirit, became inevitable. Trauma’s dark forces—intergenerational and personal alike—touch all of us, whether we recognize them or not, and the adaptations we make to survive them often come to define us rather than free us. I am those tricksters when I remain unconscious of them. I am Grandfather, Great Spirit, when I face them for what they are and refuse the dark paths they point toward. I grow sick when I stop looking, and I heal—along with anyone inspired by the telling—each time I choose to see.

Closing Reflection

As we navigate this beautifully complex realm of dreams, spirits, and past lives, we would do well to embrace the mysteries as they unfold rather than demand they resolve into certainty. Each dream, each spirit encounter, each moment of realization is a building block in a larger spiritual journey—one that rewards those willing to explore, question, and grow. The wisdom is already there, waiting in the dotted lines of the map, for anyone willing to wander off the well-worn path.