Listening To a Very Large Snake

 I woke this morning from a dream of a snake. A very large snake.  

In the dream, I am with several people. We are by a body of water. I am not sure if it was a lake or an ocean because in the dream we spent most of our time in a building next to the water. We are indeed discussing snakes. Unfortunately, I do not remember much of those conversations. What I do remember is a very large snake kept appearing and would follow me around. Not in a menacing way, but it worried me mainly because I knew nothing about it. 

A woman who was also part of the group walked in holding a white egg. I do know this woman in my waking life, but our paths have not crossed in years. As I pondered the egg, I wondered if the snake might be hungry. I then had a revelation about the snake: it was following us because it simply liked the companionship of humans. It also seemed to be changing color. At first it looked to be a dullish brown, but as the dream progressed, it took on a beautiful green patina.  

A man then walked into the room. He had a clipboard, and he was assigning people in groups to study various things, including some smaller snakes. He looked at me and said that he would like me to work with another man who was standing slightly apart from the others. We were to study the large snake, and I was happy about that. He looked at me and simply said, "I like the work you have done so far." 

I recently read online that snakes grow their entire lives. This continual growth means that they periodically outgrow their skin, so they shed it and leave it behind. I think this dream speaks of transformation and transition. Perhaps the egg symbolizes that there is food for this part of the journey. 

Yesterday was my 74th birthday. I am definitely in the third stage of my life, and I want to stay aware of that. My work with SpiritCare taught me that we should not underestimate the importance of this stage of our lives. This is a time of growth as we assimilate what we have learned over the years. It is also a time of learning to let go of what no longer has meaning for us, and learning to let go even when letting go is incredibly painful.  

Today is the first day of autumn, and yes, the leaves are starting to turn. Last night's sky filled with clouds that gave the Waxing Gibbous moon a beautiful halo. The view out our small window at the top of the stairs revealed a view of the mystery that autumn always seems to usher in. 

Blessings to you all, whatever season you may be finding yourself. Do take care and listen to your beautiful souls. 

       

image: February 2026 I have no photographs of snakes. I simply like this photograph.

Moving Forward

 In the dream I am running through scruffy brush and prickly plants. I am very uncomfortable and incredibly anxious. I am moving as quickly as I can. I am anxious because I believe I am being chased. I keep looking back, but the light is very poor. I can see little.

Suddenly, I stop running. I stop looking back. I announce in and to the dream, "I am not being chased. This is a dream."  

I wake smiling. I now know some of my personal truth. I am not being chased. Not by a wild animal, an ill-intentioned human, or even by my own feelings and thoughts of personal inadequacy. Today I am not worried about the future nor am I experiencing regrets about the past. I am not afraid of who I am and who I am not. 

I climb on in peace. One step at a time is enough.      

 

Love,

Sue Ann 

    

     

image: Mt. Diablo, June 2026

The Path of Peace

 I found this poem in my draft queue. I do not remember the dream, and I am grateful that it is being revealed now. The image is from November, 2025. It reminds me that at times the path of peace will include tears. 

Last night I dreamt 

that a friend and I 

went together to the funeral 

of someone her father knew. 

I knew neither her father nor his friend.

When we arrived at the chapel 

we found  that in order 

to enter, we needed to pass 

through a garden of 

many paths and levels. 

Any confusion we were feeling

eventually dissolved, and 

we simply walked, 

along one of the many paths leading 

along streams of flowers, shrubs, and trees.

When we arrived at the chapel door 

we found that we each carried 

a perfect blossom.  

We took our seats in the stillness,  

each holding a flower,

as the service began for 

a man who released his hold 

on this life to lead us 

on a journey of peace.     

     

     

Sixth Day of Christmas

 On Sunday I was able to see water returning to the sea. I paused for a moment to witness that beautiful cycle before I stepped over the small stream. This is also the rhythm of Christmas when we return to the stories again and find our place among them. Hopefully, we do not simply step over them without pausing to listen to what new understanding is waiting to be born within us. By returning to the ancient scriptures, we learn again that despite the Herods of the world, we are held in a tender heart - the heart of the universe.   

Last night I dreamed that I was in a small and beautiful library made of wood. I am not there to read, however, but to witness the marriage of my brother (In my waking life I have neither brother nor sister.) I am with a woman whom I know as Mother (not the biological mother who birthed me into this life). She is creating a sort of crown for my soon to be sister-in-law: a circular universe based on the position of the eight planets of our solar system. However, where she might have placed a planet, she is attaching a tiny red rose along a thin, transparent plastic thread that will soon be formed into a circle. The roses are made of fiber. The creator of this small universe said that the thread will dissolve, but the roses will stay in their circle and will offer protection to her daughter-in-law whenever she wears it, not just on her wedding day.  

Despite the beauty that I am seeing, in the dream I am anxious. We are in Mexico, and I do not know the language. My mother tells me not to worry; I will understand.

    

As I was writing this, I heard my phone ding letting me know I had received a text. I wondered if it might be my friend letting me know that the birth of her granddaughter had begun. Alas, it was a notice announcing a shoe sale. The baby, as far as I know, is still safe in the sea of her mother's womb. I shall have to pass on the offer of a good deal on a  pair of shoes just now.     

  

"Listen, O drop, give yourself up without regret,

and in exchange gain the ocean.
Listen, O drop, bestow upon yourself this honor,
and in the arms of the Sea be secure.
Who indeed should be so fortunate?
An Ocean wooing a drop!
In God’s name, in God’s name, sell and buy at once!
Give a drop, and take this sea full of pearls."

~ Rumi

First Sip  

     

           

           

  

     

The photograph is one I took in June, 2024. The rose, as you can see, is not red, but I think it reflects the tenderness I experienced in the dream.  

--

Graduating with a Yeti

 This morning I woke up giggling. I  had just had a dream where I am in my grade school auditorium. I am there to help with a graduation. I do not know from what grade these students were graduating from, but the one student I saw was quite young, and was trying to go up the steps to the stage. His mother, or some other responsible adult, told him that  they would not be going on stage, but rather would be on the floor in front of the seats. I replied, "Well, of course he wants to be on the stage."  Someone then decided to open the curtains. Nothing new was revealed at that moment; it was as barren as most auditorium stages are. I then realized that it was almost time to start. I had heard that someone was coming to help us, so I decided to go to the restroom and "freshen up" as women of another time used to say. When in public my mother would ask for "the little girl's room". That phrase always made me uneasy, even when I was one. 

I walked into the very small restroom. In one of the stalls I could see large feet attached to  lower legs that were wide and covered with long white fur. I knew I was looking at a Yeti, obviously one with some sense of decorum. I said no greeting, but quickly washed my hands in preparation for spreading the news about who would be joining us.

I walked back into the auditorium. The curtains on the stage were still open, and some men and women were talking about how the day would go. I announced that I had discovered that a Yeti would be helping us. No one seemed particularly surprised.   

As I wrote this, I did a quick internet search about Yetis - and yes, Yetis is plural, but I think that the plural is seldom used. Most of us will not ever see one Yeti much less two. I capitalized the word because surely a creature so grand and so rare deserves recognition.  When I first started my internet search to investigate how to write the plural of Yeti, all that came up were pricey insulated mugs and coolers with the word "Yeti" inscribed on them. Truthfully, I find that even more disconcerting than the possibility of spotting a Yeti, either in the restroom or in the Himalayas.  

Let us not be reduced to being simply consumers. To that child in my dream and to us all, I say let us keep climbing, and keep digging.  This is the second day of Christmas. To that child who will lead us (Isaiah 11:6), I am grateful.    

Dreams, Doors, and Shadows

There are strangers at the door   

tall, thin, shadowy,

made of nothing, 

but yet of something.

I am in a house that has been 

showing up in my dreams a long time. 

It is a modest house 

in a modest neighborhood. 

It is not my house. 

Sometimes it shows up as the house of my parents, 

but mostly it shows up as a house belonging to an aunt and uncle 

where Tyler and I stop on the journey 

to see my parents.   

Early this morning it belonged to a friend

who did not appreciate 

the shadowy figures that appeared on her doorstep. 

She locks the door made of glass (usually the door is made of wood.)

They do not leave, but they do not try to come in.   

 But I need to leave. 

I open the door as little as possible,

and squeeze through.  

The figures press closer.  

I shut the door behind me

but it will not lock. 

I am feeling stuck. 

I want to let my friend know 

that the door is unlocked.  

I knock. 

She comes to the door 

and shakes her head no.   

I try to tell her that 

I cannot lock the door.  

She does not seem to see or hear me.  

I worry about that.   

The door then locks.

I worry about that.    

        

  

             

image: When I began to look for an image, I had little hope of finding something that might fit.  However, I think this older photograph does nicely.  If we are fortunate, we all have doors. We certainly all have dreams and shadows, even when we forget.                                                                                   

 

A Dream and a 15th Century Advent Poem

Last night I dreamt that I was traveling through a city that I have dreamt about before. In the dream I am downtown and as always in my dreams, it is dark. There are others with me. I do not know who is driving - it could even be me. However, I do know we are on our way to a class and we are moving through a very hilly downtown. We decide to get out and walk. I do not know why we choose to do that, but now we are walking on a sidewalk that is actually a narrow, crumbling path on a fairly low cliff just above the ocean. The sun reflects off the rippling water and everything is bathed in beautiful light. We cautiously walk in a single file; there is no room to do otherwise, and it would be very easy to get distracted by the beauty and tumble into the sea. The day is clear and the colors are vibrant. The bright light bounces off the brilliantly blue water and sparkles like stars. Gently cresting waves are topped with pristine foamy white on our right, and to the left are small bungalows, each with its own for sale sign. Each dwelling has a small patch of well trimmed emerald green grass for a lawn, and they each are painted a different pastel color from the ones on either side. I marvel that these coastside properties have not been taken up by the wealthy for mansions, and I say out loud that here it seems almost anyone can live by the ocean.

We continue our single file walking, and we begin to discuss where we are going. We are on our way to study with a teacher. I have not met him, but I seem to know what he looks like. I believe him to be East Indian, and he helps people to learn about death. I am told that he will want to touch me on my left shoulder. This is not a somber walk. We do not journey in fearful silence, but neither are we boisterous. We simply seem to be enjoying ourselves and the beauty that surrounds us. I think there are less than ten of us. The teacher's name is never spoken. I believe that this is the first time I have ever been with these fellow students.

At the end of the dream the crumbling path begins to take a fairly gentle downward slope. A paved road is just ahead of us, and despite the fact that we are walking along a cliff, the road seems to cross our path, not just intersect. I do not know which way we should go, and I am grateful there are others ahead of me who are walking confidently.

I then wake.

+++

Today is the second day of Advent. I love this season when we hear again the ancient stories, hymns, and poems inspired by the birth of Jesus. I never tire of hearing about the dreams, the angelic encounters, the excitable shepherds, the sojourning mystics, and all of those who said yes to being a part of the story. It is encouraging to hear the ancient words of the prophet Isaiah reminding us once more to trust God; the way will be made plain, and that we, too, even though we sit in darkness, will see a great light. Yesterday I reminded my congregation that I believe all these wondrous stories, and I believe the retelling of them is so vital, particularly in these jaded times. We all need to learn to dream again. Perhaps in my dream we were on our way to meet Christ. If that is true, then Christ was with us in every wobbly step.

I leave you with the following poem that I found in a publication many years ago. Alas, that publication,"Thin Places", is no longer in existence, but this beautiful poem lives on. As far as I know, the author and the original source continue to be unknown. The photograph is mine.

I also leave you with the encouragement to pay attention to your dreams. You may be surprised to learn who may be tapping you on the shoulder.

Thou shalt know him when he comes

Not by any din of drums

Nor the vantages of airs

Nor by anything he wears

For his presence known shall be

By the holy harmony

That his coming makes in thee.

A Change of View

I woke yesterday morning from a dream where I was driving through a small desert town. I am glancing at my map, and it tells me I need to be on West Winn. I am on East Winn and there  is no West Winn in sight. I turn around and stop at a local, kind of run down bar. I am stopping there not to get a drink (In my waking life I no longer drink and it seems I no longer drink even in my dreams!) but to ask for directions. Everyone in the bar was watching a soccer game, and the first half was just coming to a close. Suddenly, the bar patrons began to change seats. I looked at the screen, and everyone on the screen was changing not only seats but were actually walking across the field and finding new seats on the other side of the small stadium.   

I spoke to a woman who also was just walking in. She introduced herself as the owner and, in contrast to the patrons and myself,she was professionally dressed in a red suit and matching heels. She said her name was Anna Baek, which she pronounced "Beck" (not sure when I learned the spelling). I mentioned how surprised I was to witness the seat changes, and asked if this happens in the big stadiums. She replied not so much anymore, but definitely in the smaller ones.

After people settled in once more, I asked for directions. I was assured by several people, including Anna Baek, that if I continued on East Winn I would eventually come to West Winn. I spoke aloud that I was a little skeptical. I then laughed and said okay, I would try again. There was something about the town, the simple, slightly run-down bar, and the people who also looked to be slightly run-down that I liked. I felt an inherent goodness all around me. I was tempted to stay overnight, maybe even longer. I woke before I made my decision, but I did wake with a smile on my face.    

This dream of changing sides reminds me of a wonderful story that I recently discovered in a sweet and generous book of essays entitled One Long River of Song written by Brian Doyle. In his essay entitled "The Hawk", he tells the story of a man who one summer took up residence on his former small town football field. Doyle wrote that the man, called Hawk, had been a terrific player in high school, showing an ability to wait, yes, like a hawk, until the perfect moment to strike. The name took hold. Hawk went on to play in college and then on to a career Doyle describes as being located in "the nether reaches of the professional ranks, where a man might get paid a hundred bucks a game plus bonuses for touchdowns and sacks". Hawk's career dwindled even more, and one summer he returned to his home field to stay awhile. The town actually let him do so. In turn he kept the field and surrounding area picked up and clean. People would drop by with cookies and sandwiches to see how he was doing. One woman left him coffee every morning. He told Doyle that sometimes he would sit on the visitor's bench, something he had never done before. One day a reporter came to get Hawk's opinion on what she called the "collapse of the social contract". He told her about the cookies and sandwiches. He then told her of the time when a woman stopped by with two infants. She let him hold one "that weighed about half of nothing". He and the young mother talked about football. He then asked the reporter the question, "What could be better than standing on a football field, holding a brand-new human being the size of a coffee cup? You know what I mean? Everything else is sort of a footnote."  

In a nation so polarized, I find comfort in the idea of periodically changing our viewpoints to get at least a glimpse of what the other side is seeing. Sometimes people cross mountains to do that. Sometimes, we simply get up from our comfortable seat to offer help to someone who is having trouble reading the map.

 

One Key, Many Doors

 In the dream Tyler and I are at a lovely hotel in San Diego. He is scheduled to attend a conference; I am along as the spouse. While the dream does not reveal what kind of conference Tyler is to attend, we know he has a friend George, who is attending a real estate conference in the same hotel. We have learned that George is perturbed. His complaint is that he bought a very expensive suit and tie, and rented a luxurious limousine for this event. Upon arrival, he realized such items are not needed. 

George visits our room and tells me that his wife, Joy, is not happy, and has decided to stay in their room all day and watch tv. I think to myself that surely they have come too far to such a beautiful place just to watch tv. Even though I do not know her, I suggest that she and I go to the hotel gym, which is reported to be very extensive.  He replies that he thought that was a great idea and that he would go talk to her. I decide to visit the restroom in the meantime. Despite our luxurious surroundings, the bathroom is the very small bathroom in the first house where my parents and I lived on the ranch. I find that odd, but not particularly concerning.

When I return to the main living area, I am surprised to see George and Joy standing there. We all hug. Tyler, who apparently had stepped out for a few minutes, joins us. There is much laughter.  I then realize that I actually had not met George and Joy until now, but the laughter and hugs makes me feel like I have known them for a long time.

 I also realized that George was able to access our room without us letting him in. I commented on that, and he casually responded, "All our keys open all doors." 

I woke this morning with a smile and a sense of expansiveness. I hear "In my Father's house are many dwelling places (John 14:2)."  

We have the key to go where we need to be. Regardless of our destination, we will always be in the vastness of God that can be found in our very own hearts.  

    

  

      

      

   

"I will lead you along fresh trails of adventure,

 revealing to you things you did not know."     

Jesus Calling, Sarah Young    

 

image:  an older photograph, mine. 

Fields

 This morning I woke from a dream where I am standing and watching two tall and lean young men playing what I am tempted to call volleyball. They are playing in a field of knee-high yellow grass. The ball is red. There is not a hint of competition between them. As they gently lob the ball back and forth, their movements are soft, even elegant. There is no rush, no leaps or spikes, no lunging after a missed ball. There are no missed balls. There is no extraneous movement whatsoever, only a gentle back and forth arcing movement. It is calming to watch the rise and fall of the red ball. I do not remember how the two young men are dressed, but the combination of the red of the ball and the yellow of the grass is  beautiful. I hear no conversation or laughter, but the scene feels very real and alive.   

I woke thinking of my yoga class, maybe because my mat is yellow. Before class begins, there is conversation and laughter as each of us position and unroll our mats, and settle in. I find comfort on my mat, and I think most of the class does on theirs. Our various mats remind me of rafts that carry us individually, but also collectively. Silence settles in and class begins. Our journeys are not identical, but for a while we travel together. I believe healing is real.       

     

Enlightenment is like the moon reflected on the water. 
The moon does not get wet, nor is the water broken. 
Although its light is wide and great, 
The moon is reflected even in a puddle an inch wide. 
The whole moon and the entire sky 
Are reflected in one dewdrop on the grass. 

~ Excerpt from "Original Face" by Dogen     

Standing on the Promises

 I have not told too many people about the dream that led me to decide to not retire from active ministry in January. I feel nudged to tell it now. 

In the dream there is a baby girl. She is not my child; I am tending to her for a friend. I am enjoying her presence. We laugh and talk together. She is a baby, so she is engaged with exploring all sorts of sounds. Her whole being is alive with communication.  I am speaking to her, not of grand thoughts, but those words and sounds that help me to encourage her to know her own love and her own shining brilliance. In the dream I am even changing her diaper, and since in this waking life I am an only child who never had children, I have never changed a diaper in my life. I continue to laugh and speak with her. 

When finished with the changing, I pick her up once more and we walk outside. We continue to laugh and "talk" with one another. We come to a road, but we do not cross. Then on the horizon to my left, I see thick dark clouds billowing. These are the darkest clouds I have ever seen. I simply stand with this smiling child in my arms. Neither one of us is afraid. Then from these boiling clouds I see a legion of heavily armored warriors thundering towards us, each astride a war horse that is also heavily armored. Darkness and thick dust threaten to envelope us but a light surrounds us. We do not run. The dust does not fall on us, but it is all around. The beautiful child does not cry, nor do I. In fact, we are still smiling, content in the moment of simply being with one another. I hold her lightly, but I know I will not drop her. I am holding her from my very core.  

I woke from the dream with a sense of certainty that now was not the time to retire from my community. I am grateful for that decision. I have learned to dig deep. I also try to talk to just about every child I meet. I think many of them are being born for a purpose that I may never know, but I want to be an encouraging presence now, even if it is only for  a few moments as we ponder strawberries in the produce aisle. 

I think of this dream this morning because I have just read a page from Steven Charleston's Ladder To the Light. Charleston is an elder of the Choctaw Nation. In addition to this role he has served as the Episcopal bishop of Alaska, as well as president of the Episcopal Divinity School. He is a steady unifying voice of courage on Facebook. I am deeply grateful for his presence and his writings. The following is from Chapter 3, "The Rung of Hope", page 57. 

 

Don't let the dark clouds fool you. They may pretend to own the heavens, stretching from horizon to horizon, ominous and commanding; a permanent shadow over our lives. But I know their secret: there is a world of sunlight behind them. One day, when the wind of change pushes them apart, that light will return to bathe the earth, to restore the vision of every person, to set right what has been broken. Stand firm in what you know and believe. Look up and do not be afraid, for when you feel the first breeze of hope, the clouds will soon be chased from the sky.   

 Yes, we are in serious times, but they will not have the last word. Blessed be.  And yes, on Sunday we will be singing "Standing on the Promises". It is a wonderful old hymn. Join us from wherever you are. The door is open and we sing to the wind. 

         

        

   

image:  East Bay Regional Park, Late Spring 2025

        

  

Succumb to Joy

 Last night I dreamt again of a laughing baby, 

this one the child of a sister who was preparing for her wedding day. 

My grandmother, still clinging on to the idea that babies 

should come after the wedding and not before, 

 was a bit cranky about the order of events, 

but the baby seemed quite happy 

with the chance to take part in a celebration. 

Eventually even my grandmother succumbed to joy. 

In a dream a few weeks ago

I changed the diaper of a tiny girl 

just before we were about to step out in darkness 

as armored men on thundering war horses

were fast approaching.

 Best to start out clean for that sort of thing.  

We smiled and giggled, and

Despite the darkness and the menacing noise

 she was not afraid, nor was I.  

  

I think we need to pay attention 

to the laughing babies around us,

and to the crying ones as well.  

They are here for a reason, 

and that reason is love. 

And so are we.      

     

 

  

image:  "Among the Nasturiums" San Leandro, February 2025

Locating

 In the dream I am looking for a new place to live.

 I have packed a few things;

I am ready to go.

I read a post by a famous writer. He mentions an apartment by a peaceful river.   

I think, "Yes, that is where I would like to go."  

I then realize that I do not know where this place is. 

 I send the famous person a note asking him for the location.  

What I received was a clear plastic gift bag, 

something like what one would receive at a conference. 

Like most conference gift bags, it held nothing of value (at least to me).  

 I set it aside and then walk through a large square building

 that is painted a sort of tan. 

Everything is a varying shade of brown or tan: outside, inside, 

even the carpet.

Not very interesting but certainly functional. 

I have dreamt of this building several times. Sometimes Tyler is with me;

Sometimes not. In this dream, he is not. 

Instead, I am walking with a young woman who with some authority, 

seems to be showing me around.

I spot an open space 

at the end of the hall by the stairs on the second floor of this multi-floor building. 

In these dreams I am always on the second floor. 

There I find a large desk. In fact, that is all this space holds.  

I sit at the desk and say, "This is perfect."

The young woman expresses concern:

"There is nothing here but a desk. Not even a door or a wall."   

Not looking at her but rather at the desk,

 I respond, "This is all I need."   

 

I then remember I have lived in this building all along.    

     

 

image:  Taken in Santa Cruz in October 2024. I think I may call it, "Vision While Pondering a Desk".

A Dream of Light

 In the dream I am walking on a path. The light reminds me of late twilight.  A man, tall and lean, crosses the path before me. He does not look at me. I see that he is carrying a small light. At first I think it is only a burning match, but I then see that he carries, not a match, but a small light encased in glass.  I also remember a small, still body of water by the path.  He would have walked over it to cross my path. 

I have dreamt of this man before, but it has been quite awhile since he has appeared (The last time he appeared he was in the form of fire. I believe I met him on this same path. The light was much the same.) Yesterday I told a friend about this recent dream. She suggested that I ask him where he wants me to go. Before I went to sleep last night I posed that question.    

I dreamed that I met the mother of a friend. In the dream she smiles and hands me a beautiful wooden flute. She also has one, and we play together.  She laughs so easily that I, too, can laugh.  In the dream I am happy. 

Yet, this morning I think of my own mother with sadness, and I feel the emptiness that I think has been with me for a long time. Perhaps it is to that emptiness where I am being led, to that part of me that my mother was simply not able to fill. I must remember that space is sacred. I must not rush to fill it because it is a space to inhabit. It is a place where love lives. I do not want  to crowd that out.   

   

"May I be content to wait in peace, 

until You stir the waters within to act;

may I be patient with myself

and with others. 

O that I may have the light of wisdom, 

the steadfastness of faith....

Guide me now, O Blessed One, 

along the path of peace."   

  

from Psalm 105 from Psalms for Praying by Nan C. Merrill  

For this meditation I changed Merrill's  plural pronouns to singular. 

Photograph was taken in my backyard, March 2023    

  

  

Just a Note

 In the dream I am waking only to realize that I had slept through a math class. I then deduce that the math class will never be completed. I move to a courtyard and there a woman asks me, "Have you graduated yet?" I tell her that I think I have a degree, but I am not sure. I decide to go see the registrar. 

I then go into an office and I explain why I am there. She looks at her computer and replies, "Well, you need to take a day class of Tai Chi and learn the Funky Chicken." I ask rather incredulously, "The one where you flap your arms around?"  She assured me my understanding was correct. She then adds, "And one more thing..." Alas, then I woke up. This is at least the second time I have received this open ended message, but I have yet to hear what that one more thing is. Maybe one more thing is ongoing?

In a few hours Tyler and I will leave for what I am calling, "a short jaunt up the coast". I love the word jaunt. Thank you for helping me remember the dream. Actually, I think one of the great gifts of friendships is that we help each other remember who we really are.   

 Now I am wondering if you do the Funky Chicken but no one sees you, does it still count?  I start physical therapy on Monday. Maybe I should wait until then to begin my training. For now, I think I probably need to simply tend to my travel preparations. 

     

   

image is from a walk this week. This is part of a very large plant. The branches are so large and heavy that they are falling over onto the sidewalk.  This is quite a spring. Even some of my own irises are blooming!

Viewing

 Early this morning I had a dream that took place in a church building. In the dream I am the pastor, and while in the dream we were not in our current location, I see people from the congregation I serve today. There were also several new people coming through the front door. I could hear the choir rehearsing, and in my waking life I do sing with the choir. In the dream I am thinking that while I should be rehearsing, I felt it was my responsibility to greet the visitors. I talked to each one. There was a young man and woman who were married, and several men who arrived separately. 

The young woman mentioned that she had never been baptized. Baptism to her meant that there were all sorts of rules to follow. I wanted to talk to her more about that, but just then I looked up and I could see a full moon through an overhead window. The moon appeared large and very close. I then realized that the moon was tilted on its axis, so I was viewing the "bottom" of the moon - a view we never see. For a few moments I was captivated by this tilted moon that seemed to be just outside the window. There were sparkles emanating from it, and the moon itself was a beautiful navy blue color with some other colors swirling around it, somewhat like Jupiter, but with colors that were darker and richer. I could see craters. Sparkles were flying everywhere, but did not seem to land on earth.  

I gasped and asked the young couple if they had seen the moon. They, rather matter of factly, replied that they saw it on the way to church that morning.  I then realized that while yes, it was Sunday morning, the sky I was looking at was a nighttime sky with a very large, tilted and energetic moon.   

This morning I woke up thinking of the dream, and also thinking of Lent. Even now, it  is easy to get caught up in the idea that Lent is just one long slog.  Yet, it can be a time of freedom. We can let go of a habit that holds us down, or we can explore something new. We can give away possessions that we really don't need, but someone else might. Just as there is no rule about how one should live into their baptism, there is no rule (I guess my Protestant roots are showing) on how we approach and move through Lent. 

May we all find a way to give us a new view of who we are in relationship to ourselves, one another, and the universe that surrounds us. That universe, which I understand to be God, is also within us. Lent gives us time to do some excavation and tidying up, so we can give God a little more room to move. I sense there are many surprises in store.  

            

     

    

image: I do not have an image that comes anywhere close to what I saw in the dream. A photograph of what looks to be a silver ocean will just have to do.  Light is a wonderful thing. Santa Cruz, 2019    

Not Lost

 I am a woman in search of a poem. Yes, that thought got me out of bed at 4:30 this morning.  I had just awakened from a happy dream. In my waking life, I take yoga at our local community center. It is an austere environment. However, the teacher of Iyengar yoga is methodical and caring, and some of my fellow students and I enjoy taking classes together. Across the street from the center is a busy park where students play baseball and other sports. Dog walking is also practiced there. In the dream, I cross the street, and walk through the park. In a back corner I discover a Japanese garden in need of attention.  

In the dream I am standing in front of a chain link fence with tall plants growing alongside it.  However, the plants had not been pruned well or regularly, and I could see a tennis court through the plants. I thought it was sad that the plants did not fully cover the fence. 

As I continued to stand there, a male employee walked up to me. We talked about how the garden needed attention. In just moments, I was given a green button down short-sleeved shirt, a badge declaring me a volunteer for the garden, and a key - to what I do not know. What I did know was that I was happy. I drove home in our truck and delightedly showed Tyler what I had been given.  

When I woke, I thought of a poem that had sustained me in my early days of seminary. I could remember only the first line: "Cut brambles long enough". I was concerned that I might have lost the poem. Fortunately, I could sort of remember part of the poet's name. That was enough, and I found the poem in a book, The Flowering of the Soul, edited by Lucinda Vardey. The book is a collection of poems and prayers written by women through the ages. This particular poem has no title, but it was written by Sun Bu-er, a female Taoist sage who was born in 1124. The date of her passing is not known. My New Testament professor, who also had a fondness for poetry, told me that there are those who believe that she did not actually die, but rather ascended. 

I am grateful for the reminder to return to the practice of tending to brambles. That is what writing does for me. It seems that is where my happiness resides. Perhaps that is both the key and the door.  

    

"Cut brambles long enough, 

Sprout after sprout, 

And the lotus will bloom 

Of its own accord:

Already waiting in the clearing, 

The single image of light. 

The day you see this, 

That day you will become it."   

 

Sun Bu-er  

    

When I pulled the book off the bookshelf, I was transported to the bookstore on the SFTS campus, where I purchased it. Both that bookstore and the one on the GTU campus were closed decades ago. I am grateful I was able to peruse both bookstores many times. Among their shelves I often found solace and inspiration to continue my studies all those years ago. This morning I sip oolong tea in celebration of it all. 

 

The image was taken a few years ago on a happy day with friends at Butchart Gardens in Victoria B.C.  

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