Dreamtime Understanding

Some time ago, I had a dream wherein I was pregnant. This was only the second such dream I've endured to my recollection. I've never truly ever wanted to be pregnant mind you. It's just not something I ever felt compelled or drawn to be. To be pregnant in the dream seemed odd to my lucid dreamer self. I kept asking why the hell this was the topic of my dream. Surely my subconscious had bigger fish to fry in its freed state than this topic that I thought I had reconciled.

That'd be a big, neon sign of NOPE, good sista.

As the dream progressed, people kept doing all those things people do to pregnant women like asking the due date, the gender, the oh you look radiant and glowing kind of comments. I felt hugely uncomfortable. Every. Time. My lucid self wanted to tell them to shut up. I wanted them to stop asking to touch my belly or to suggest names or methods or toys. I wanted them to leave me the fuck alone about it already because I was perfectly able to be their friend or have a conversation before I was pregnant, so why couldn't we talk about those same old things? Why had everything changed and become to baby-centric? In the dreams, I could only think of one thing: stop telling me how grand it will be because I don't want it.

Seriously, how do pregnant women put up with that shit? This was my lucid dream and I wanted to pound the snot out of people.

That's right. I concluded that this whole dream served to help me come to understand that indeed, I would have an abortion should I ever become pregnant. I had always supported a woman's right to choose. Even in middle and high school when my friends were mainly pro-life and my family definitely was, I was not. Although, I did remain open to the fact that I might not be able to ever have an abortion myself. Having never been presented with the actual choice, it's difficult to really put yourself in another's shoes and make a decision.  I've enjoyed the privilege of access to birth control that being raised in America affords me. Apparently my subconscious needed to take control to help me understand that yes, I would exercise my Roe v. Wade right should it ever come to a broken condom or slippery sperm getting through a vasectomy.  I simply was not nor have I ever been interested in being a mommy. It took a dream to help me work through and accept that'd I'd have an abortion to avoid that event.

I'm with ya Lambie.

Once I accepted that, I became solidified in my beliefs. I began receiving more reports in my newsfeed about women's rights and birth control access and abortion around the world. We here in America live in a privilege where we don't remember what our foremothers went through to secure this access. We live in a privilege where we get to choose. We live in a privilege where we get to pretend that protecting the fetus should be the ultimate sacrifice of the mother when really, there's so much more to the story. If you didn't catch this one in my previous blog, you should read it. Here's another one about the women impacted by the Zika virus.

I believe, without doubt, that women need access to abortion. They need to have access to birth control. They need to have access to health care. I urge you to watch this video:

It has so much more to do with just being human than the title may suggest, but it's solidified the journey I began with that dream. I suppose I could sit in front of a mirror and say "Pink" over and over again until I didn't want to retch at the color. I could also repeat "I prayed for you" until I no longer grind my teeth.

I shall Zen my rage.

However, I do feel compelled to seek out ways to listen more intently and without judgment; I'm fairly good in most situations (pink and praying for me not withstanding).

For me, it was a dream. For untold numbers of women it's not a dream. It's their reality and they need support, guidance, and the freedom to control the destiny of their their own bodies. That's all any human needs.

Breathe. Listen. Humanity.

Postscript Follow-up: The Dutch are awesome. Read this article about their efforts to help. Democratic candidates are also committed to help.

Accepting Pink

Do you think it ridiculous to occasionally eat something that you know you don't like just to see if you still don't like it? It seems like a healthy pursuit to engage in the exercise of determining whether or not tastes change over time. You may find out that beets aren't that bad if prepared a certain way. Exploring potential shifts in tastes with food is easy, but what about long-standing dislikes of color? For the next few paragraphs, exploring a disdain for the color pink as it shifts toward possible acceptance shall be the focus.

1. Ice Cream: A lot of pink ice cream tastes good. Fresh strawberry, bubble gum, peppermint--these are all tasty. Bubble gum with the bits of gum in it that you place on a napkin until later sparks memories of childhood. Pink ice cream is totally acceptable.

Mmm, nomnomnom.

2. Kitty paws and noses: As a kid, drawing pictures of kitties involved making the ears and nose pink. The paw pads, too, were pink. An all white kitty with a pink nose just begs for cuddles. Truly, pink in the context of a kitty or other furry co-habitant just invokes the urge to snuggle.

Cuddle me now!

3. Pink Elephants on Parade: Does this need further explanation? It's a classic song in a Disney classic about being yourself and being accepted. True, this song is a little trippy and was probably drug-induced, but it's a favorite scene in the movie.

Sure you didn't bounce along and sing to the clip. I believe you.

4. Mr. Pink: C'mon, give it up for Steve Buscemi as Mr. Pink in Quentin Tarantino's Reservoir Dogs. He complains about being Mr. Pink for all the reasons that people may not appreciate pink. In doing so, he winds up proving why it's the name for him.

Don't mess with Pink:

 Mr. Pink: [rolling over and pulling out a gun] You wanna fuck with me? I'll show ya who you're fuckin' with! 

5. Rare steak: Face it, if a steak is not pink inside, you've ruined it. Medium rare is as done as a rib eye, tenderloin, or prime rib ever need be. Pink steak is drool-worthy.

Life needs more of this.

6. Blushing: Some people may be self-conscious about blushing, but it's one of the things that makes humans interesting. That moment in the hallway when the person you've been crushing on finally acknowledges your existence and you blush is a rite of passage to be celebrated.

Makes you all gooey and melty, doesn't it?

7. Thor: This may seem strange on the one hand, but Thor, who is known for his strength, apparently approves of pink. Thor, the Norse god of thunder and wielder of Mjolnir riding a pink Vespa is about the funniest thing ever. Juxtaposition points for this figurine's creator.

Well, if it has friction drive, it has everything.

8.  This photo: The contrast of her leaping in her pink against the mountain of grey crucifixes and rubble is astounding. The color captures the innocence of childhood bursting forth from among the detritus. It speaks to the resilience of spirit so necessary at times.

Just makes you want to cheer her on. See more from the photographer at this site.

9.  Sunsets: That moment as the sun sinks low to the horizon and casts a soft, pink hue across the sky. It relaxes the mind. It calms the mood. It captures attention until the sun draws that last bit of color down and away for the night.

Nature does pink right.

10. Under the Pink:  As far as sophomore albums go, this is one of the best. It's got a little of everything on it combined with Tori Amos' signature voice and lyrics. Track 2 offers sublime perceptions on the divine. Who isn't a Cornflake Girl? The jauntiness of The Wrong Band gives a bit of insight on universal awkwardness. Here's the whole album care of Youtube. 

It's just damn good music.

There you have it. Ten reasons why pink isn't just for little girls. Ten associations to help an adult who loathes the shade, grow to accept rather than revile. I suppose that just as this list endeavors to make pink more palatable, the formula for finding associations to overcome our prejudices and dislikes could also hold true. Next time you think of something that you detest, push yourself to find reasons it's not so bad. 

Unless it's Donald Trump. Always detest Donald Trump.

Personal Vexations

I must admit something: it annoys me to see posts about how great God is. It further annoys me to have someone say, "We're praying for you" as if that does any good. I find no solace or comfort in the fact that someone has prayed for me. Comments about praise this and that and God's glory just vex me.

 

Seriously, this is me when that happens. It is one of the most challenging comments to endure. I actually find it easier to deal with polarizing political comments than to deal with "Praise Jesus" comments in my newsfeed.

Whew! I feel better getting that off my chest.

To be clear, I believe in being kind and empathetic. I believe in graciously accepting another person's honest expression of support. I understand that when someone says, "We're praying for you" that they have absolutely no other way to help or support you, so they say that. There's no other comfort they can provide, and since they find comfort in the prayers, they don't see why I shouldn't also take comfort.

But I don't.

In fact it rankles me to no end! I see messages like this in my newsfeed and I audibly express my annoyance by forcing out air in a short burst not unlike a scoff or snort.

No. In fact I haven't. God's not the one who's been keeping me alive. Me. I did that. I'm quite adept at it actually.

More recently, I received a card after my neck surgery from a devout relative for the first time since I got married, I think. In it, he said they had all been praying for me and wished me well. Another time, a young man from a family that we've grown to be friends with said they'd been praying for me every night during my recovery. I'm sure they have and I graciously nodded and said, "Thank you." However, in my head thought, "Why? What's the point?" 

I really don't want to be snarky because I know they mean well, but damn! I struggle with the caustic voice in my head that thinks like this meme.

I know prayer works a lot like meditation does. People in deep prayer often experience shifts in time or consciousness, therefore it has a calming and sometimes even healing effect in so far as they experience the ability to better cope with pain and stress; they interpret the shift in consciousness as evidence of divinity. Brain research says otherwise, but it's not for me to drag the faithful into my understanding. 

For the faithful, prayer makes someone feel like they're actively participating in a situation to make it better...not unlike spell work in paganism, which is probably why I don't get into spells so much. Again, it seems like a "What's the point?" kind of situation. This information from Andrew Newberg, a neuroscientist, has some interesting thoughts on the brain and the divine.

I seem to have gone off point for a bit there. Back on target. Negative reaction to people's penchant for prayer or their drawing attention to how wonderful their faith is over real action is one area I truly do struggle with. I don't know why it feels like lemon juice on a papercut, but it does. It feels like, well if that's all you've got, fine for you, but I wish you'd volunteer at a nursing home, donate to a research foundation, or write a thank you note to my medical team instead. Those all have way more purpose and function than prayer or faith to me. Of course, how one expresses one's faith is not mine to dictate. 

I prefer to go barefoot anyway.

Sometimes I think my repulsion has to do with all the many strings that are attached to having faith. I've never been able to parse out my faith from the larger knotted entity of religion. Tug gently at one of those strings and the whole thing falls apart. Rights for women? Tug and it unravels to show you patriarchy alive and well. LGBTQ rights? Tug and you get a pile of nothing but useless string for a cat to play with while a host of many humans continue to be condemned in the abominable concept of 'love the sinners, hate the sin". Helping the homeless? Tug and you essentially have a situation where the homeless can have food and shelter at the expense of listening to prosthelytizing hooey. Care for victims of persecution around the world? Sure, but if you got pregnant by those 5 rapists who attacked your refuge camp, you gotta have that baby in your womb. 

I mean it. Fuck religion if it means I or anyone else has to trade dignity and rights for the possibility of salvation in another life. Fuck. Off.

I guess, for me I'd rather people just not pray for me, or if they do, don't tell me about it. I'm fairly good and putting on the mask: smiling and nodding gratefully to accept their offering amicably. I believe that for some, prayer is the most powerful thing they can offer to comfort another person. For that reason, I will continue to manage my frustration by all the means at my disposal. For now, all I can do is take a little advice from Mrs. Dashwood:

Fuck off doesn't qualify as appropriate, right? 

What Dreams May Come

I love my dreams. I hated taking muscle relaxers because they interfered with enjoyment of my dreamscape. In particular, the medications fucked with my lucidity in the dream world. I've gotten quite good at the whole lucid dreaming thing over the years. More often than not, I can halt things and recognize it's all a dream as well as make changes and choices in the dream domain. I haven't really tried to develop this skill mind you; there are books and articles devoted to lucid dreaming and how to do it if you're inclined  I explored this in part because I used to have terrible nightmares. When I heard that people could actually change the course of their dreams, I just did it the next time I had an awful dream.
No really. I was an adult before I heard about this. I had night terrors as a kid. This lucid dreaming thing would've been super helpful.

Dammit! Why didn't someone tell me this shit?

My awful dreams were those paralyzing can't run, being chased, monster lurking to get me, or teeth falling out type dreams. I recall one where I was in my parent's house (I was still a teen then) and it was black outside, but I knew something was stalking me from out there. I never saw it, just felt it and it's insidious menace waiting to get me. I couldn't leave and I couldn't call out; I was trapped. It was going to get me. I woke up in a panic.

Another awful one involved a shape shifting black thingy that often plagued me. It shook my bed, and I saw it's black, billowing appendages coming up over the bed to get me. Cue the panic again.

Sleep paralysis and nightmares produce some wicked artwork.

Then my husband casually suggested the next time I had a dream like that, I should change it. I was perplexed. Who could control their dreams? I certainly never felt all that in control.
The first time I tried to take control in a dream, it was one of the being chased dreams. Luckily, I could run in this one. When I felt like I was trapped and couldn't escape the faceless entity that was chasing me, I remembered that hey! This was a dream and I could invent an escape hatch. Consequently, a sewer appeared. I lifted the cover off and disappeared down into the sewers where I found other "survivors" who showed me the way home. I woke from that one feeling quite proud of myself.

Another time I lucid dreamt, I was in a zombie apocalypse scenario with only a shovel. At some point I recall thinking, this is my dream. I need more than a shovel to take out these undead armies that are swarming me. Just then, I found a baseball bat, then an axe, then a sword, but never a cricket bat.

I totally kicked zombie butt with that sword.

Another lucid dream that did not involve mortal danger was set way back before the Industrial Age and I was outside in a courtyard under the moon. I felt myself starting to rise up as if I was about to take flight. When I realized this, I decided that in my dreams I could jump up higher and fly. So I did. It took a few bounding attempts, but I got there. I awoke triumphant. I wish I had more flying dreams. I can't describe just how fantastic they are.

I can fly! Just not at will or when I'm awake.

Most of my dreams are fairly strange as dreams tend to be. I love waking up and trying to puzzle through what the hell my subconscious was trying to work through in the night. I love reading research on dreaming and how it helps us to recall information and solidify learning. I think of the mind at night as some kind of warehouse where bits of the day's ruminations are being transported, evaluated, discarded, or processed for future access.

I'm fairly certain mine is not this orderly.

But holy crap! Sometimes the things my mind turns out in a  night are fairly fucked up. Take last week for instance. I had a dream that's stuck with me for days now.

I was in a car with my parents and sister. I was in the back with my sister like it was a family trip when we were kids. We were somewhere that wasn't exactly clear to me, but my dad popped the car into reverse. I became aware that we were in a tunnel of some kind. It was getting blacker the further we went in reverse. Then I heard my mom tell dad to stop moving, and that's when it happened. There was no more ground under us. Our car tipped backward off some cliff and plunged downward. My sister said nothing. I heard my mom scream. I heard dad say something about "No dear God!" or the like. I just remained calm and silent. I thought, "Huh. This is how it happens then? I won't get to see my husband. I wish I could say good-bye." 

I recall not feeling like there wasn't any rush in the free fall, and I recall being perfectly at ease with the thought that I was going to die; no praying or reverting to my family's faith was going to change that. I thought to myself that dying was dying and there was nothing waiting but blackness. 

I remember thinking to myself that I would just wait for the impact since there was nothing else to be done. I was completely rational about hurtling toward oblivion.

Like this only less light.

Eventually I got the sensation of floating upward, and I gently woke up. I wasn't panicky or worked up in anyway; oddly calm for someone who was perilously close to answering the question about what happens if you die in your dream. I actually thought to myself right before waking about what would happen if I actually went squish at the bottom of whatever pit we were plummeting down. I was a wee bit disappointed I wouldn't be finding out. 

I've been chewing on the meaning of this dream for a while now. As far as I can tell, it signals some big spiritual awakening and change in my life. I'm going through some kind of transformation again and it's major. It also isn't well-known, but I feel guilt or shame about something that needs to be let go. The actual falling and weird calm I felt speaks to me being able to overcome challenges easily.  I also know that my husband and I had a fairly in depth conversation about death and grief before bed that night. I also was feeling a lack of direction heading into a new year as well as demands of both personal and professional nature. Throw in the strengthening conviction that I have no belief in the divine afterlife which is a strongly held belief in my family, and viola! You get this. 

Odd thing about this whole dream is, it was the calm that I found most unsettling as I reflected. Why on earth was I so calm when most people would be freaking out? I can only conclude that my awareness of it being a dream brought me the peace to ride out whatever storyline twist was going to happen. Guess I'll just keep pulling away at layers of my subconscious to find out what's underneath.

Social Media

I enjoy Facebook, but with some fairly heavy exceptions. As with all social media, it has limitations. Those limitations are probably why I Facebook only. No tweets for me.
I get most of my news from the FB pages I like. When a page I like or trust betrays my trust, I give them the benefit of the doubt one time. If they violate that trust again, I unlike them. They clearly are not trustworthy.
I keep up on the lives of my friends as well. I read a share like anyone else. However, I didn't wish anyone a happy birthday on their wall last year. I did send the occasional message, but that was it. The wishing of happy birthdays gets tiresome to me and if people can't recall a birthday without FB reminding them, so be it. I figure if the birthday greeting is the only communication we have thanks to the notifications, then clearly we're not that close. I have other things on which to occupy my time. I've done the personalized messages and whimsical pictures as greetings in years past, but it's time consuming. It's not that I don't have good wishes for my buds, but last year, I had a larger focus.
Last year I took time away from the blog here to focus on making FB a little bit better. You see, FB gets awful sometimes. People post a joke, but it pisses someone off. Someone posts an article, which causes a tangential acquaintance to erupt in what seems to be a tirade because either it is a tirade or the person hasn't figured out how to choose their words wisely. Not only that, but people get plain mean on FB. Even people I used to think of as fairly rational come across as trolls. I even had a woman thank me for not ripping into her because of her opinion on a video that showed a man throwing leaves toward a bunny rabbit. A fucking bunny rabbit! She thanked me for not getting upset. How sad is it that two people who don't know each other can't discuss viewpoints on a bunny rabbit?

My mission last year was to make what I posted something that would make people smile. Perhaps they'd be mindlessly scrolling and chance upon my daily post and it would somehow please them. This required a lot of attention as well as self-discipline from me. Sometimes a topical article would come up that I just had to share because it was too important. Sometimes, I'd share articles related to my job or to my personal areas of interest. It was only until the very end of the year that I posted an article even remotely connected to politics. It wasn't really even about politics if you read it; it was more about the culture of meanness online as well as in real life and the treatment of individuals based on genders. However, because it was about Hillary Clinton, it drew some ire, which I promptly deleted. The ire, not the article. I stand by the article.
Anyway, I set out to share Mooseday pictures where I'd find a picture of a moose to share. Like this fella for instance.

On Tuesday, I would endeavor to send out compliments to people. I felt that people need an uplifting message directed at them in their newsfeed.

Wednesdays continued to be about whales. Some time ago, the phrase humpday became associated with camels (thanks to a commercial I think), but I chose humpback whales and it went from there.

 

Thursdays became Friday Eve Funny Bones where I'd post amusing short videos to make people laugh. Here's an example of something I might post.

Fridays were grand. I'd find a silly or unusually picture of an animal that fit how my week went. I often found this the most challenging item to locate as looking at pictures of animals being silly is not only fun, but sometimes checking in with myself to find just the right picture was difficult to pinpoint. It was also challenging to nail down exactly how I felt, honestly.

I took weekends off. That's when I did a lot of article reading in my saved file.
A few things happened as a result of this. I discovered that people actually looked forward to my weekday posts. Some people started sending me pictures of moose or stories about whales. I loved it. Some people, even those I didn't know well, sent me messages asking where my post was if I was delayed in some way. They looked on certain days for my posts because it amused them. The last thing I noticed? That thoseTimehop or FB memory posts that upset some people were mostly about moose, whales, or animals being odd. My year in review contained not a single actual photo of me or another person for that matter. After the emotional drain of last year, I was so glad that I didn't post anything about my mother in law dying or my husband's struggle through her difficult illness and eventual yet lengthy and painful death. I was relieved that when my friends unexpectedly died, that I hadn't posted because it wouldn't come back to haunt me months or years after. Who the hell needs FB increasing their misery anyway? Fuck that. That's BS.

In late fall though, my husband posted to the social media site that I had come through surgery successfully. It was a fusion of 3 vertebrae in my neck that scared the shit out of me in the time leading up to it. Still, I didn't post on FB. I emailed no one. Not because I didn't trust them or need support, but because the posts I did see told me that the friends I wanted were perhaps occupied. Other friends would of course lend the FB support that illness or ailments posts always garner if I made a status update. I didn't want those though. I didn't want some platitude or "Praying for you" or some such thing. I wanted voice or human contact. I needed someone to just sit and hold my hand. My own fear though had me frozen. Every time I thought about it, I got jumpy, my breathing got faster, I got splotchy patches on my skin (thanks vascular spasm disorder), and I just didn't want to spend more energy or thought on it than necessary.
I spent a lot of time talking to my cats.

Good news is I'm fine now, but a lot of people were stunned by his revelation. Personally, I was annoyed. I didn't share because I didn't want all of FB land to know about my personal story. It went against my goals for my FB presence.
It revealed my weakness.
Tomorrow is the first Monday of the new year and I have no plans for a Mooseday picture. We'll see how that goes over. I've learned the importance of not posting emotional turmoil on FB. I've learned that people thought of my posts as bright spots. I had over 3000 pages views (60 in December 2015 alone) when I totally neglected my blog. For now though, it's dinner time and then Downton Abbey premieres.

And Now for Something Completely Different: 2016!

That's right. It's a new year. This means new hopes, dreams, goals, and pursuits. I've felt rather fragmented to think about my coming year. 2015 was hard. Hard for many of my friends. Hard for my family. Hard for me personally and professionally.

But now the year begins again with a freshness and promise of something entirely different.

I just performed a Yule/New Year ritual. I've been awfully lax with the ritual aspect of things. I think it's safe to say that I've really thought a lot about the role ritual will play in my future. I don't believe in god--capitalized or otherwise. I don't believe in goddesses. I don't believe showing devotion to any entity really. Although I do believe in awe-inspiring power of nature. I do believe in the beauty of the world around me. Consequently, if an atheist can be a pagan, that's me.

The ritual today helped me get a little grounded and focused for the coming year. It helped me identify what builds gratitude, what would best be released into the fire, and what needs to be nurtured to grow within me. While I could have just made the lists and left it at that, the formalizing nature of a brief ritual gives it a bit more chutzpah.

I burnt the ick to be released in the cauldron. I placed the gratitude under the cauldron to remind me of the goodness in my life. I wrapped the things to nurture in green ribbon as a gift to myself and left it on my altar.

I'm not sure where 2016 will take me, but I'm up for the ride. I have some avenues I want to explore, and I'll share a little along the way. This past year was just not inspiring me to write. At all. Ever. It all seemed too trivial, too indulgent, or too pointless. Every time I thought about writing it came up like so many throat turds.

Now though, I think my muse is talking again. And by muse I speak figuratively, not literally like there's some feminine spirit being whispering in my ear. 

Really, it's creepy if you think about it. Anyway, time to sign off. Time to focus on some rehab for my human existence. I'll be in touch.