For our Mother

When I say the Rosary, I feel I am immersed in the Ocean of God’s
love,
with Mary, the Star of the Sea, watching over me and all my loved ones.
My fingers walking the paths of the beads, heart and soul I am
transported
into the presence of the person I am praying for. I have no power to
comfort
but the Mother of God does and, by some miracle, I feel I really see them,
am there in spirit, a witness to Mary’s open and lovingly protective arms
as the very space they exist in. The stars fall to earth, the sky is her
garment.
There is no space-time as my brain conceives of them when I am
immersed
in prayer, and the universe Itself enfolds the soul I petition for like a
cloak.
There is no distance and separation – everything has its being in Divine
Love.
The “Big Bang” is a barbaric label for this infinitely tender unfolding of
joy
in Creation, a gift revealing how much God treasures us, seeds of His
heart.
The Rosary waters, soothes, invigorates my soul as exercise does my
flesh.
Yet a dead part of me resists spending time doing what appears to be
nothing.
In Truth, the Rosary is a lifeline. When I take it in my hands and hold it
gently
it pulls me up out of this world’s materialistic misery and I float
somewhere
between heaven and earth in my hope and in my longing for God
inseparable
from my love for Jesus Christ. I am discovering, have begun to
comprehend,
this is my deepest self. More profound than emotions, feelings and
thoughts
is this one pure need that has always been there inside me: to know
God exists.
Mary is the one who comforts us when we feel alone and hopeless as
we suffer
the trials of this fallen realm for she knows, in the end, our souls will
triumph
if we love and follow her Son, our Lord and God, who gives us the Holy
Spirit.

Amen.

At Christ’s Crucifixion

Dream of January 22, 2017

I find myself semi-lucid in a moderately spacious room filled with chairs in which people are sitting. The chairs are in pairs, and I am to the right of Mami, near the front row. I try to hush Mami when she protests loudly about something. She doesn’t seem to believe me, or understand, what I told her—that we are actually witnessing a part of Christ’s crucifixion. It’s like a dream, but it isn’t, and it’s not a scene from a movie re-playing in 3-D either, because we are actually there, seeing and experiencing it as it happened and is happening, as if we are viewing it through a portal in time.

As I explain this to Mami again quickly, she settles down even as I realize I don’t care what anyone thinks about Mami and I talking openly and passionately, instead of timidly blending in; it doesn’t matter what anyone thinks, the only important, and amazing, thing is what is happening, and that we have been brought to this uniquely special experience…

I see Jesus, a young, dark-haired man whose cleanly handsome and utterly kind, patient face is imprinted on my memory even though I only glimpse him for a few seconds. He is busy helping the slaves who have been employed to help the soldiers crucify him. The slaves are moving toward the audience, and the front rows, where they rummage through a series of glimmering gold, green and red boxes like oversized square Christmas ornaments. These boxes, I see clearly from my position, contain black nails of varying sizes, and other metal objects needed for the gruesome task at hand. Jesus is actually helping them procure the right nails.

I watch the scene, dismayed, and marveling at the same time. It hits me how long this process is taking as I experience, firsthand, the unwavering strength and fortitude Jesus displayed—is displaying—throughout the entire ordeal, which is taking much longer than I realized it had. I’m astonished with what equanimity he can endure having so much time to despair and to dread. Instead, He is helping those who are helping to crucify him! And I can sense the slaves are also beginning to feel a bit guilty about this, beginning to question why they are helping to kill this man. But they have no choice; they are only slaves.

I remember seeing Christ for just a few seconds, yet I am aware of His presence the entire time, and His face is imprinted on my heart—so sweet, so loving, so patient, his expression coolly reserved but at the same time also infinitely warm. I can’t understand why special nails are required, and can hardly believe how many different kinds of nails—along with a few special bolts and screws—are contained in these paradoxically lovely Christmas-present-type boxes, which are not merely in front of the audience, but mixed in with the front rows of spectators.

Dream Notes:

Regarding the Christmas ornament like boxes filled with black nails scattered among the feet of the audience – Each one of us crucifies Christ inside us in different ways. We each contribute nails to His crucifixion—our own particular weaknesses which prevent Him from fully resurrecting and living in our souls. And His patience with us is endless, unwavering, as he helps us pinpoint which nails are the ones we need to find in the gift of our salvation and bring to Him, so we can end the painful process of dying to our sinful, and helplessly weak nature, so He might rise and live forever inside us. It is really the death of our own self we prolong as Christ gently helps us discover what causes us the most pain, what weaknesses penetrate our being like nails, as He helps us pinpoint them, confront them, suffer them consciously, and be reborn.

Hildegard’s Cosmic Tree

Today I began reading a novel based on the life of Hildegard von Bingen, and after just a few pages, a description of Hildegard’s vision of a golden sphere containing a living breathing tree made me think of a powerful lucid dream I had not long ago. And as I kept reading, I simply had to go find this dream in my journal. I then did a web search for “Hildegard Circle of Fire” and came upon this illustration by the Saint entitled “Cultivating the Cosmic Tree.”  I was blown away. I have never read anything written by Hildegard von Bingen, or seen any of her illustrations. Pretty much all I knew about her until today was that she composed music. Of course, I cannot prove I was completely unaware of the images she had made of her mystical experiences, but I know it’s true that I wasn’t, and I feel blessed that I had a dream vision which can be so perfectly expressed by this illustration of the Saint’s writings.

Dream of April 10, 2015—Circle of Light

I find myself lucid, as if in mist, surrounded by trees, although I can only see the smooth and sinuous gray trunks of a single tree directly in front of me. I want to go up above the trees so that I can study them, but I feel rooted to the spot. I close my eyes, and will myself to be high up in the sky. I’m feeling frustrated, because there’s no reason I should have to literally fly up there since this is a dream; I should be able to will myself into the sky. Then I feel a shift, and when I open my eyes again, all I see is very pale, almost white sky around me, and feel like I’ve made it very high up. But I’m still somewhat tethered to gravity as, very slowly, I spin around, making a full rotation. Then, as I drift gently along, I notice that I’m not as high up as I thought when I see, close by, the branches of a tree, with fresh bright green leaves. The tree must be miles high, and there are a few other exceptionally tall trees nearby.

Wondering why I felt the need to come up this high, I remember that I wanted to study the trees as a living field of some kind. There is some mysterious information up here—all the branches of the trees are like a communication field. Before long, I realize I’m surrounded by a circular field of some sort. It’s pretty big, but not so big that I can’t spin into the center of it, and see it all very closely. The encircling ring is in the shape of a zigzag pattern composed of a golden-orange light, a beautiful light made up of small—approximately as high as my waist—“pyramids” ^^^^^ all connected and flowing into each other. A Ring of Fire, and yet also of water, because ^^^^^ was the hieroglyph for water in ancient Egypt, so whenever I see it, I think of water.

I know I should study this ring of fiery light, so I continue spinning slowly in place. As I do so, I discern in the light what appear to be trees, and at first they all look like pine trees; like Christmas trees. These trees are contained in the glowing light, and I make out other species of trees within this vivid, molten, living light. And as I continue studying the light, I notice something else embedded in it, but rising a little above it—clear rectangles or squares reminiscent of glass fish tanks, but much more pristine, like crystals.

I then become aware of no longer being in the sky. A room has taken shape around this living circle of light, but the walls are all either in shadow, or are simply black. I curiously study one of these “crystal containers” inside of which float crystalline spheres. I don’t see any fish, instead I perceive whole scenes inside the spheres. Modern fish tanks are often adorned with little models of treasure chests, sunken ships, seaweed, etc., and what I see is something similar, but much more complex, subtle and detailed, and the scenes all feel related to humanity.

I wonder—Is this what’s holding me back, in the sense of confining me? Then I think—No, it’s not necessarily a limitation… my Father wants me to play. It doesn’t feel like a negative thing to have different pieces of the world contained in these crystal spheres, set into the living ring of golden-orange fiery light surrounding me like a great crown.

I now become fully aware of the room I’m standing in, which is empty except for this mysterious luminous ring. When again I think—My Father wants me to play—I suddenly find myself facing large double doors that extend from floor to ceiling. The doors are a dark-red color, and I immediately walk toward them. The ring of light around me does not confine me; I do not have to break through it to get to the doors. The doors open for me, and I enter another dream.

O Nobilissima Viriditas… “O most noble greenness, you whose roots are in the sun and who shine in bright serenity in a wheel that no earthly eminence can comprehend.” Hildegard von Bingen