Category Archives: Dreams

Sharing our Interconnected Earth

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Olympic National Park

Olympic National Park, photograghed by Paul Symington on October 15, 2005.

We – Earthlings – animals, plants, and more – trillions of us – belonging to millions of species – all contribute to Earth’s incredibly wondrous biosphere. Together we can share and enjoy this planet as our home. As intelligent human beings, we can also share and enjoy the incredible richness of thousands of cultures, religions, philosophies, and spoken languages. Our biological and cultural diversity is an ever-flowing fountain for our humanity.

Yet in the midst of such wonder we are afraid. We find ourselves disconnected, small, caught up in the “rat race,” and when we think deeply, the shortness of our lives weighs upon us. Yet our capabilities are extraordinary. Of course, we easily make mistakes and are in need of continual growth, but the diverse gifts that lie deepest inside of each of us can bring us such joys, life, meaning … In a word, we can LOVE – loving the WHOLE and all individuals.

About five years ago, I had a dream where I ran up to a man who was considered a subversive radical, and I challenged his theories. But he just replied in a friendly manner that “The positive energies of government are far more compelling than the negative.” Realizing that he was not so dangerous, I asked him to be more specific. He replied, “Human cooperation should strive toward being enlightening, empowering, and unifying.”

Perhaps the beauty and resilience of Earth’s diverse, interconnected eco-systems can teach us that it’s time to stop racing – become still – look beyond our perspective – and join hands for the benefit of All.

We’re having a planning meeting for this year’s Dauphin Island Hands Across the Sand. We’ll meet at 5:30, Thursday evening, May 19, at Ryan’s restaurant (4439 Rangeline Rd in Tillman’s Corner). Ryan’s has a meeting room reserved for us. So if you’re interested, please come for our eating meeting (everyone pays for their own meal). Google Map for Ryan’s: http://maps.google.com/maps?hl=en&tab=wl

Umpteen Horizons Dreams

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In the face of adversity, what’s the difference between “try” and “triumph?” Last night I had some interesting sets of dreams. Each time I woke up one word would come to mind right away – then I’d go back to sleep:

  • first dreams – “misunderstood”
  • second dreams – “persecuted”
  • third dreams – “upbeat”

When I woke up the third time, I asked myself, how can I remember these words? MUP, no; PUM, no. UMP or better UMPH, yeah, as in the “umph!” of Umpteen Horizons – and “umph!” as in the difference between “try” and “triumph!”

When I got up in the morning from my bed, other words came to mind right away from “umpteen:” T for “truth” as in conveying and being faithful to the “truth;” E for “eternal” as in living with all time frames in mind and getting beyond our individual interests; E for “energetic” as in working hard; N for focusing on and meeting the “needs” of others “now.” 

There’s a clear story coming out of Wikileaks. The “powers-that-be” regularly lie as just part of way they do business. Why should we believe a government who does not tell us the true scope of an ongoing disaster? Why does it take independent researchers using standard methods only hours to figure out how much oil is spewing from the Deepwater Horizon oil disaster? And why are these independent researchers persecuted (see also Empower News tab above and check Gulf Coast news)? And why should we trust the upcoming better-late-than-never government health study? Why should anybody trust the U.S. government when several U.S. administrations including the present one worked with China to derail international efforts to protect the environment?

Of course, not all is lost, people, like the independent researchers, like us, can make a difference. For example, in the health arena, an important Gulf Coast health study was released yesterday. It was conducted by Tulane University’s Disaster Resilience Leadership Academy (DRLA) and the Louisiana Bucket Brigade, and many volunteers helped to make this study possible. This study documents that large numbers of people in coastal communities believe that they have been exposed to oil and dispersants and have suffered from the affects of oil and dispersants (“48 percent of those surveyed reported an unusual spike of at least one health symptom”).

As Jesus said, “Blest are you who are persecuted, insulted, misunderstood … be glad and upbeat … you are the salt and light of the Earth!” (see Matthew 5). You are needed and together we will make a difference!

So, if you possibly can, come join the volunteers who are helping to build a quarter mile of oyster reef at Helen Wood Park in Mobile, just north of Dog River, on March 19, 8:00 to noon!

Lyrics from “Don’t look back” (video on left):

Don’t look back a new day is breakin

It’s been too long since I felt this way

I don’t mind where I get taken

The road is callin, today is the day …

(for full lyrics go to Zone Lyrics)

The Key Story

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It was 1971 in autumn. I was going to McGill high school. That’s when it happened, the breakthrough that changed my life forever.

Nine years earlier, my family had moved from Texas to Mobile on Providence Street where both my parents had grown up. We lived a garage apartment with a converted downstairs living area. I had a younger sister, Irene, and two younger brothers, Bill and Joe. Cathy and Tom, our youngest sister and brother, were born a few years later at Providence Hospital just down the street. Three of my grandparents, Grandmommy, Papa, and DarDar; an aunt, Mary Acker; and two great great aunts, Aunt WeWe and Aunt Mame also lived on Providence Street.

Our neighborhood was filled with adventures on bikes, on roofs, and in trees. There was fun at Lyons Park, the CYO Hall, and the Dauphin Way Methodist Church. The neighbors, including the nuns, priests, and religious brothers, tried to keep an eye on us. My Aunt Mame had a large, gorgeous sweet heart rose bush. Each day she would pick roses, bring them to St. Mary’s church, and pray.

Though I rarely talked about it, as a young child, I was inspired by stories of saints, like Francis of Assisi who saw all of nature as his brothers and sisters, and Bible stories, like the one of Jesus’ compassion for the woman caught in adultery. Some of the words and actions at church also inspired me, like the words the people said before receiving Communion: “Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word and I shall be healed.” Also after my Aunt Mame died, I would pray for her when there was a moment of silence to pray for all who had died.

Across the street from my house was St. Mary’s where I went to grade school. In my first years there, I learned a great deal. But in fourth grade, I stopped reading books and stopped applying myself well at school, and about two years later I was becoming much less consistent about going to church.

Still, there were important developments in my life prior to high school. I received the sacrament of Confirmation in a spirit of seeking courage for myself. Then, during the summer after seventh grade, I firmly decided to be true to myself regardless of what others might think. This determination enabled me to stop smoking and stop cussing. Many little things happened too, like my parents bringing home a cardboard box of Aunt Mame’s throw away items. They told my brothers, sisters, and I that we could pick out anything from the box. I picked out one small thing, a key, and placed it in my top drawer where I kept special things.

Down the street from my house were the boys’ and girls’ Catholic high schools, McGill Institute and Toolen High. These schools drew students from all over the Mobile Bay area. On my first day at McGill, I was anxious – so many new faces and such high expectations. I had made a low entrance test score, but, because I had scored high on an IQ test years earlier at St. Mary’s, I was placed in the lower level of McGill’s top academic tract. My family was poor at the time, and during each of my four years at McGill, I was told that an anonymous person had paid for my tuition because I was a “poor smart student.” Yet I had become a slow reader and was hardly able to keep up with class work. So I cut corners in my classes, like for book reports, I’d make up the book’s title, author, and story. At this time too, my parents had serious problems, and our relationship had became strained. My lunch was normally a 15 cent ice cream bar – that’s what I could afford. But new friends at McGill helped me with many subjects, and I could sometimes return the favor by helping them with math. Somehow, in the final quarter of the year, I made honor roll. I was completely surprised, and when I told my new friends they just thought I was kidding around.

As a sophomore, without any warning, I was moved to the upper level of McGill’s top tract. This was a huge change for me. The students in my new classes were incredibly skilled at seemingly all subjects. Additionally, my home situation had gotten worse. In my new classes, I felt a heavy loss at being separated from so many grade school friends and from the friends I had made in the previous year. In my new classes, I didn’t see myself fitting in – I felt like I had nothing to offer – and the course expectations seemed not just challenging but unattainable.

Walking to McGill, on that autumn morning in 1971, I was just coming to grips with the reality that I was flunking my classes. I had three major papers due on the following day, and I had not written the first word on any of them. I went to my locker and opened it. My hopes rose when I saw some library books that I had checked out earlier for the papers. I had forgotten all about them. Feeling relieved, I decided to just relax a bit before coming back to my locker. 

But just minutes later, when I returned, I discovered that I had lost the key to the lock.

I had always quietly pitied the students who had to get their locks cut off. This was a humiliating experience often accompanied by a lot of humor at the expense of the unfortunate student. My pride would have prevented me from getting my lock cut off in front of so many students, but I knew I had to do it right away, if I had any chance of writing those papers. Students, who had their lock cut off, generally carried all their books throughout the day to keep their books from being stolen. But I was so discouraged that I just left the books in my locker without a lock. In PE class, though, I had second thoughts and asked a student if he had a spare lock that I could borrow. Surprisingly, he took out a lock from his PE bag, and he warned me saying, “This is the only key I have to this lock so don’t lose it.” Again my hopes rose. I thanked him and assured him that there was no way that I would lose his key.

After PE, I went to my locker, saw that all the books were still there, and secured the locker with the lock.

Later that afternoon, I went to get some books from my locker and made a grim discovery. Somehow, again, despite my firm promise, I had lost the key.

I could not bear the thought of getting a second lock cut off during the same day. I felt like I had no friends, and my chances of new friendships seemed like they had just gone down the drain. Classes were still going on, but I was so distraught that I just walked out and went home.

At home, with everything I needed still locked away, I did nothing on my papers.

The next morning, I told my parents that I was sick and would not be going to school. When everyone had left the house, I began to ask myself questions. Why should I work so hard to learn and live well? Why should I put up with all the meaninglessness around me? Why not just do nothing? No one loves me! Why? Why life? What is the purpose? Where is the meaning?

I searched for answers throughout the day and into the late night. I gave it my best, but around 11 that night, I still had no answers. Then seemingly without deliberation, I did something that I had not done in a long time. From the depths of who I was, I looked up and I prayed, “God, help me!” With those simple words, I lay down and fell asleep.

I know nothing of what happened while I slept, but when I awoke, I was bursting with energy! I felt like I could conquer the world! Caught up in whatever had happened while I was asleep, I hardly knew what I was doing. After getting dressed, I opened my top drawer and got Aunt Mame’s key.

Then, I was off, walking to school. It was too early for the school doors to be open, but this morning the doors were open. Still hardly knowing what I was doing, I walked up the empty stairway and down the empty hall to my locker. Without thinking, I placed my aunt’s key into the lock and turned it.

Instantly, the lock snapped open, and with shocking clarity and with all my heart, I understood what had happened, and like the lock, I had opened too.

In the same moment, immeasurable oceans of energy and light began flowing all around me, pouring onto me, touching me, and flooding through me. The oceans were wild, infinite, endlessly flowing, and incredibly alive. There was a rhythmic beating too, like a heart, beyond words and beyond my hearing and yet so clear – “I love you, I love you, I love you, even if no one else loves you, I love you!” Beating over and over again! Endless! “I love you, I love you, I love you, even if no one else loves you, I love you!”

In some ways, it seemed to last forever … deeply touching … embracing … powerful … stimulating … challenging … all-loving …

But, with all this still reverberating within me, I gathered the library books, started writing, and finished the papers before class time. My teachers accepted the day late papers without question.

The following week, my friend received his lock and the miraculous key. I asked if he noticed anything different about the key. He was puzzled by the question and said no.

From that breakthrough moment, day by day and with ups and downs, I became friends with my new classmates, started reading books again, started going regularly to church again, and became a good student.

Looking back over those years, I see how my friends from St. Mary’s, McGill, and Toolen saved my life on many occasions and in many ways. My family, teachers, and several adult mentors helped save my life as well.

Looking back and looking forward, with so many things to do and so many ways to grow, I see God’s Infinite Love for us – always seeking to enliven us – to breakthrough to us with incredible energy – to be the key that unlocks us so that we too will wildly embrace and love one another! Endlessly beating …

I love you,

I love you,

I love you,

even if no one else loves you,

I love you!

…

…

…

Key

The Crash

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Korea on fire from today's bombing

Korea on fire from today’s bombing – photograph from CNN.com

This morning, while dreaming of some intense situations, I received a message of sorts without words from the heart-friend who dreams inside of me: “Time is generous but time is short.” Somewhat startled, I woke up, it had my attention.

Inspired to be focused and hard-working, I did my chores, wished my daughter, Mignon, a happy birthday, and checked the news. The fighting between North Korea and South Korea inspired me to draw upon the You-Are-Who-Are prayer which brought many more things into focus for me. It was also the anniversary of an important experience in my life (the Tuesday before Thanksgiving).

On that Tuesday and I was quite young, attending the Pontifical College Josephinum, a college seminary, located in Worthington, Ohio. The Thanksgiving break was just beginning and most students were going to their homes or visiting friends away from the college. The dorm hall was filled with the thrills of newfound freedom and adventure. There were, however, a few students, like myself who were staying at the college. By the time 5 o’clock rolled around, it was much quieter, and I was looking forward to some quiet time. As the noises began to cease with the last of the holiday-bound students, I began to connect, ponder, pray, …

A thought struck me hard: here at my college I knew people who not only spoke of unselfish love theoretically but who in their daily lives loved others unselfishly. I knew of course that there were many other people in my life who also loved unselfishly, but until coming to this college I had simply failed to see it. I thought of the difference that love makes and was overcome with a sense of awe and gratitude toward God, our All in All. An aspiration welled up in me, “Lord, I am so grateful for this, that I am willing to suffer for you.” Right away, I began to sense that God was coming. I was somewhat scared not knowing what to expect. “Knock, knock, knock.” Someone was knocking at my door. What terrible timing, I was very disappointed that my experience with God was being interrupted. Reluctantly I went to the door.

Two great friends of mine were at the door. They wanted to go bowling. I told them that I didn’t want to go, but they continued to cajole me. Because the college’s bowling alley was manually operated, it took at least three to bowl. Two or more would play while another managed the pins in the back. I named four other students who were staying, but my two friends replied that they had already asked them. I had my doubts about that, but I knew too that those others were not much into sports and were unlikely to go bowling regardless. So grudgingly I agreed to go bowl with my friends for a short while.

At the alley, we decided that my friends would bowl the first game, and I would go to the back. Some frames into the game, I consoled myself with the thought that everything was going fine, and that I would be able to return to my dorm room soon. Once again the ball came crashing through the pins and I jumped down into the pit and placed the bowling ball on the return ramp above me and bent down to pick up the fallen pins. Without warning the bowling ball struck me in the head. It had fallen off the ramp. Though I passed out, I was still standing with my head bowed down close to floor when I began dizzily regaining some consciousness. I knew where I was and what had happened, but my sight was not focused and I was in intense pain. I knew that I had a fairly serious head injury and that I needed to go back to my room.

Without saying a word to my friends, I walked out of the alley. My friends tried to speak to me as I passed by but my mind was swimming and their words sounded completely garbled. I knew I had a concussion; one worse than the one I had when I was 12 years old. The dorm was close and I walked to it without problems. Once in the dorm, I began to climb the steps to my room and I think I may have fell down the steps but I am not sure. When I reached my room, I was trying to settle myself but there were new knocks at my door. I could hardly think at this moment but I opened the door. It was my friends who had no idea what had happened, much less how much I was hurt or how much pain I was in. They really wanted me to go back to the alley, and I was doing a poor job of explaining that that was impossible. At one point, I said something like I just want to pray, and one of my friends complained that I was trying to be “a saint or something.” Not realizing the seriousness of the situation and joking around he slapped me in the face. It was gentle I’m certain but the pain that I felt was nearly unbearable, tears exploded from eyes, and every curse word I had ever said wanted to unleash itself on them but I remained silent. Right away they understood something of the situation, backed up, and left my room.

Immediately, I went to my bed, took a deep breath, and for the first time since being struck by the bowling ball remembered that I had just prayed, “Lord, I am so grateful for this [seeing that human beings can love unselfishly], that I am willing to suffer for you.” I was floored. God had indeed come and answered my prayer. I just had not recognized God’s knock and presence. I realized then that I really should be praying. I knew that my suffering had meaning and let myself enter it.

Not having any idea how to begin, I began to pray the rosary (a traditional Catholic Christian prayer of meditation). It was Tuesday, which meant meditating on the sorrowful mysteries: the agony in the garden, the whipping at the pillar, the crowing of thorns, the carrying of the cross, and the crucifixion. Being in such pain, it was not difficult to identify with Jesus. While considering the mysteries silently, I was praying the rote prayers aloud, and at some point early on, I began to notice that as I was saying the words to the prayers, I was hearing myself utter a lot of non-sensible syllables. As the strange sounds continued, I began to notice some bits of meaning and even some phrases here and there: suffering … survivors … darkness … fires … a mountain … As the hours went by, I began to see visions too: people suffering and crying out in pain, fires across a very dark mountainside, large and small pieces of wreckage, … I began to realize that I was joining and witnessing the aftermath of a plane that had crashed into a mountain. Words and images continued to confirm this interpretation. In a very striking image, I saw a suffering yet peace-filled woman with hands out-stretched in praise and in prayer to God. I felt one with the people in the crash and I knew that God wanted me to join my suffering with them, be with them, and pray for them. Eventually, after several hours, I went to sleep.

Early the next morning, I was anxious to hear more about the crash, but when I checked the news, there was no news of a plane crash. I found that very strange; the experience had been so real, surely such an event would have made the news. My head was hurting, but I was able to do things slowly and carefully, so I went to breakfast. There were only a couple of people in the cafeteria, I asked, but no one had heard of the plane crash. I continued to check the news each hour throughout the day. At 2:00 P.M. there was still no news, but at 3:00 P.M. on the radio, I heard something like the following:

There was a plane crash last night in Virginia. The plane had departed from Ohio and was en route to Washington, D.C. The plane was flying in dense fog and the pilot did not see the mountain in front of it. So the plane crashed into the mountain without warning. The reason this was not announced earlier is because the crash occurred at a site of a secret White House used in the event of a nuclear war.

Upon hearing this news on the radio, I was satisfied knowing that I had prayed for these people in the crash when few others knew of their suffering.

After several months my head healed up.

After a few years, I had told a dozen or so people about the experience. Each time I related the story, the people responded to the effect, “Oh yeah, I remember that.”

In later years deeper dimensions of this experience have emerged – realizations that have floored and dumbfounded me – realizations about suffering, revolutions of the heart, hope, unselfish love, healing, blessings, victory, and thanksgiving.

Please stay tuned. Thanks …

“Time is generous but time is short.”