For the second Monday morning in a row, vivid dreams linger upon awakening.
The quality of prayer behind these Monday dreams is of such depth that their meaning is not easily deciphered by succinct aphorisms to capture the evolution of consciousness that is called for.
This morning’s dream started with a friend and neighbor, an uncle-like figure who has been a mentor in my life arriving to invite me on a road trip in his truck. I jump in the truck, so excited by the prospect.
We arrive almost instantly on the west coast, northern California. I’ve included the closest approximation of video I could find of what I experienced in the dream:
The differences between this video and what I experienced included time of day and the height of surf:
In my dream the morning sun was glowing so amazingly golden on the horizon that the rocks all looked golden with rich shadows of brown. The surf was pumping in with 10 foot swells eclipsing and churning around all the exposed boulders like a giant bowl of white foamy soup. When the surf finally reached shore, it barely had time to bounce off what was left of the sand then ricochet off the cliff walls of the little bay. The ocean seemed to be diligently and hungrily pounding out more space, punishing the boulders, sand, cliffs and whatever else was unfortunate enough to get in the way.
For a brief moment I imagined what it would be like to be stuck in that water. The futility of trying to escape was overwhelming, so I just relaxed and lay still as I was pulverized on boulder after boulder, swirled underwater and slammed onto shore, ricocheting off of cliffs, then sucked back by foaming tentacles into her soupy bowels to do it all over again and again.
My identity was sufficiently smashed on the tenth or so round that when the 15 foot face of the wave slammed onto sand, my being dispersed under the sand between all the granules, and I experienced myself being drawn back into the ocean even from underneath the sand, eroding the foundations of whatever was left.
I was suddenly celebrating with great shouts of joy! I was the pacific ocean, my life streaming down from Alaskan glaciers. At this bay on the sonoma coastline I was greedy. I was powerful. I was hungry. I was destructive, relishing the smashing sensation that I reeked havoc with on all that stood in my way.
A glorious moment, the milestone of victory that I looked forward to was when the last granule of protective sand was removed from the coastline. When the craggy underbedding was exposed, I was like a dog burying my bone, which was simply the desire for more territory. My huge smoldering waves felt cramped like a tall man laying on a short bed with the blankets tucked under the edges, forcing all my appendages into their most contracted position. The only obstacle between stretching my legs in true comfort was this set of cliffs and my destiny was to break every single one down. I would never stop, never quit in my war against the boulders before me because it was their prayer as well.
An instinctive part of me, as the ocean, knew that the greatest thirsting desire of every boulder was to fly. Flying boulders? Yes.
Now my identity shifted once again. No longer a man, no longer the ocean, I was the rocks.
As the cliffs themselves, I knew that erosion is the mechanism fulfilling their prayer, and when the stones get small enough to be pushed by water, they feel free for the first time – and the heaviest stones bid an envious good bye to the moderate and small stones who float farther and longer. The granules of sand are the highest evolved in their world – those boulders sufficiently smashed that they have reached mineral nirvana – complete immersion, motions and freedom with the ocean of life.
As the last granule of sand left shore, glistening against the morning sun, I managed to pull my identity away and come back full circle. Finally I was watching from the perspective at the top of the cliff once again just an outside observer. My friend and mentor was still next to me. I wondered if he had experienced what I did, and had no idea how to communicate any of it to him nor how to ask what his experience of the bay was. I was satisfied to see that he was full of joy – at least as much as, if not more so than I was.
The morning sun was warming golden on my face – on both of our faces – filling our smiling windswept depths with loving energy within, just like the rocks and the surface of the water.
Then I shifted identities for the last time of this dream: I was the warmth of the sunshine! Gradually my warmth would re-emerge from the rocks enough to warm the lizards. Gradually the warmth of the sun would warm the ocean surface enough to quell its passion for destruction and welcome her pods of cetacean children back from their shelter in her depths, rising up for the air and the light once again. Then I rose from sleep to greet the day.