Ee showed up in my dream early Saturday morning. He was at the door of some shop, to replace a sign on the door that was somehow objectionable. I suggested keeping the sign and just improving the quality of the writing of whatever it said. I had to get back home which was upstairs but there weren’t stairs or any way to physically get up there.
Then a woodpecker showed up at my feeder that morning, who I’ve never seen before. A big Northern Flicker. Flickering is the on-off rhythm of life, and I’ve been having glimmers or flickers of that reality of forms that permeates everything.
(And I had an ocular migraine aura on Friday that looked like a shimmering, flickering image of a C, moving out to the periphery and disappearing. It’s actually beautiful to see.)
Then Ee’s talk proceeded to illuminate the dream.. I realized that the paper on the door of the shop was the finite face of the sign, and maybe what was objectionable was to take that as the reality of the sign. So we had to render a translation into the concrete reality of it which is an infinite conversation.
This also reminds me of my dream a few months ago where he rearranged (edited) my notebook. Now it’s rewriting the sign.
Then I couldn’t go straight home like my idealized image of a bird escaping upward, but there had to be a conversation that embodies the rhythm of life. The bird drinks then puts its beak in the air.
Most of the time I experience being excruciatingly exhausted but agitated at the same time and not able to sleep or rest. I can’t seem to go one way or the other, like time is collapsed in the wrong way and things are happening simultaneously that shouldn’t be! When reality is reduced down to finite things, they contradict and clash with each other. The sign has to be rewritten to let the concrete reality of things speak, and then everything can speak from a native voice in time, and it’s harmonious. Then things happen in proper rhythm, sleeping and waking, the flickering of life.
I’ve started to keep a record of the names of birds that I see at the feeder every morning. Not that the names matter, but for me it’s a way of bearing witness to the concrete reality of it, entering into bodily participation with that rhythm. I feel the value in that gesture alone. Maybe that’s the value of ritual. I’m just exploring that.
I guess I might just as well keep a record of which clothes I wear every day or which color towel I use, if that was all that showed up, but the birds give me a special entrance into other worlds. With the gesture, I’m being accepted into the day, without having to interpret any meaning or purpose. Just the bird saying “Here I am” is enough, and I reciprocate. It’s beautiful.
Maybe I’m not so important.. or maybe it’s just the tendency to drown out the other voices with my own and see the other through my personal filter. But who I really am comes into being as inclusive, as I become transparent, empty, open, present. Then there is nothing left but honoring of things as they are. That intimacy is love, so maybe I can love a line. By engaging with the living reality of a thing as it is, I become as I am.
This morning I awoke to the sound of birds pecking at the feeder, which I couldn’t see with the curtain still closed, but I knew they were there. I got up smiling for a change. The curtain both concealed and revealed – there is joy behind the density of suffering. That can be a direct experience, and already is. I wake up in pain to such beauty. The world keeps giving me these experiences of “hidden” realities in plain sight.