Last night I danced with my father and told him I loved
him.
I was at a gathering that included some of the people who are important
to me: my mother and father.
I looked at my father and felt a warm surge of love. Awkward and abstract, he
is also self-disciplined and unfailingly kind. My philosopher-father gifted me with
his own version of abstract thinking. I was an unlikely candidate for his kind of philosophy:
I who was most like my mother in face, form and emotional structure. When
I was in high school my father and I would talk for hours about science,
ideas, and philosophy. Never have I met anyone like him.
My mother admires
but doesn’t really understand him — a feeling that is more
or less mutual. My father isn’t demonstrative, but that doesn’t
make him cold: his upbringing makes it difficult for him to express emotions.
I have always had the impression that raw emotion and spontaneity embarrassed
him: he who only knew self-discipline and restraint.
I don’t know
who made the first move, but suddenly I was in my dad’s arms and
we were dancing, whirling in an impromptu waltz, laughing and breathless.
His eyes sparkled with barely repressed mischief and joy. He didn’t
say a word, but in that moment I knew that we were alike in more ways
than one, so that when I spontaneously told him that I loved him, I was
really confirming his existence in me; love for him was love for myself.
Loving myself is loving him.
As I awoke this morning the feeling of love and discovery has lasted the
entire day. I feel the presence of my father vividly, though he has been
dead now for years.
What puzzles me is
how my feelings for him seem to have a vividness and logic of their own.
Even more intriguing is the realization that my dreams demonstrate an
interior continuity — they seem to maintain a history and reality
of their own.
In my waking world other people have passed away. However, in my dreams these people exist and have
continuity. They play active roles in my somnolent world — I see
them over and over again.
In my dreams, one
or both parents are living. Recently, I had a series of dreams in which
my father had died and my mother had not only adjusted and moved on, but
had changed and evolved in amazing ways. I wonder now if the dream was
showing me alternative realities, and that evolution is possible for someone
even after death.
Regardless of any psychological meanings, it is very interesting to contemplate
the existential implications that come to mind. (Now there is my father’s
kind of thinking!) What if the continuity and cohesion of my dreams indicate
a thread of reality, one interrupted daily by my waking life?
Dreams fascinate me: I endeavor to make my dreams "lucid"; and
in fact, have had some amazing experiences. I have found that the best
way to have a lucid dream at night is to be "lucid" —
or focused — during the day. Better yet, question the "reality"
of "reality" often. Eventually you start doing it in your dreams.
It is possible to practice dreaming deliberately from a conscious state.
Here is a little exercise to facilitate lucidity. The purpose of this
meditation is to remind oneself that any "reality" can also
be a dream; the point is to remember this possibility even when reality
seems self-evident.
Put on an unfamiliar ring or thin object between your fingers.
Squeeze your fingers together to create a constant pressure, breathe calmly,
and enter a deep meditation.
Visualize a room or hallway where there are many doors. Each one is a
gateway to an alternate reality that may be "real" or imagined.
Behind one door is a recent dream you had, behind another is an experience
that you had today, perhaps behind a third is a vivid memory.
Imagine opening each door, one by one, explore the contents of the dream-reality
beyond the door in the minutest detail. Remember the feelings you had,
the thoughts, the emotions as if you are having them right now. If your
experience retrieves strong emotions, make sure that you allow yourself
to feel them fully and then let them go. Strive for clarity and detachment.
Incidentally this exercise really works well for nightmares and "bad"
experiences as well as dreams and visions. Remember to try to see beyond
the "reality" of your fear or anger to a position of neutrality
and detached observation.
Once you are totally immersed, remind yourself that you may be dreaming
and then observe everything with new eyes. You can use the pressure caused
by the ring on your finger as a reminder and a connection between the
two realities. I discovered when I was going over a painful memory that
squeezing the ring between my fingers provided instant relief from my
emotions: it was like waking from a bad dream. I realized at that moment
that it is good to remember that one’s feelings have a reality of
their own, and that we can "wake up" from them into a totally
different mood or reality.
Now take the exercise one step further and wear the ring to bed. Look
for it or feel its pressure as you sleep. If you discover the ring, you
know that you are dreaming; use your time wisely. Look around you, examine
color and detail, talk to people with the realization that they may only
exist in your dream or perhaps they are more than just your mind’s
projections. Maybe they are dreaming you; perhaps these are the people
who meet with you over and over again in your dreams.
I am sure that we dream our lives; we dream ourselves into existence.
It intrigues me to think that in some reality, both my parents are alive
and well, and that I am dancing with my dad.
-- copyright 2003 Aliyah Marr
Sedona Journal, February 2004
Inner Realm Magazine, February 2004
Aliyah Marr is a multimedia artist, interactive designer, published author, teacher, transformative coach, personal trainer, and motivational speaker. She is the author / artist of the
Transformational Tarot.
Radi8.org - artwork
Transformational Coaching
Law of Attraction Club- tools for creative transformation
