The Knight Castles the Queen

Unlikely Champion
--he is not Galahad.
He charges in on no white steed
--nor hastens against
crusading foe;

but rather--
waits.
Undaunted by delay
of years.
He does not flinch
against the appearance
of her nearly faded countenance--
shadow of an innocence long since past.

Undeterred by threat of time,
the steadfast sentinal stands
and measures moments in the memory
of the contentment of her
wildly trembling heart.

--Hakima

Pam's Writing

Thank you so much for intiating this thread, Rachel! My dear grandmother, Dorothy Wells Ennis (?) (?) Huggins, died four years ago this month. I spent the evening and early this morning re-reading her eulogy and editing it with the intention of posting. Then I realized that it was too much at one sitting. I'll share bits and pieces as we go along.

The ?'s are because she was married at least two more times, but I don't remember their names. They don't include the numerous relationships she welcomed into her life and ours.

She was beautiful but never conformed to the demands of culture that told her how to convey that beauty. At sixteen she aspired to the footlights of the burlesque stage where she appeared to audition. My grandfather, who at the time was only one of a myriad of suitors literally pulled her off the stage kicking and screaming, "You can't do this, we're not married. We're not even engaged!" To which he replied, "We are now."

If passion can be inherited, I surely gained the passion of my life from that great woman.

She loved everyone and everything that reminded her of each person. She cried over a simple card and a visit. She wouldn't say s**t if she had a mouthful of it, but she would stand at the pier at the harbor at Long Beach and wait for sailors to disembark for liberty. She took in the really rough ones and found their hearts. They came and left as the winds of March.

I remember sitting on the floor with the rest of my girl cousins in the living room of her tiny house in La Puente, California. We listened with eager ears and upturned faces as her stories of love and romance and we each knew the ways in which we fit into those stories--both as direct products and vehicles to carry on her passion. We marveled and anticipated as we neared our favorite part of the storytelling, when she would bring out her jewelrybox, loaded with rubies, diamonds, gold, silver, and sapphires--some were the real thing, some were not--we didn't know the difference, and we didn't care. We lifted each treasure with reverence and glee, tried the pieces on and preened, giggling and chattering the entire time. And over the din of our childish, girlish prattle, and in my memorie's ear, I can still hear her admonishing voice singing out, "Keep the ring, it's what you get for the trouble"

Dear One,

Thank you for your letter—for the words that have emerged from the innermost place in your heart. They are words which express your deepest feelings of Love and concern for me. No matter how they are spoken or written, I feel your intent and am blessed. They are a precious gift and I cherish them, although perhaps in a way which I cannot make you understand. You will have to go again inside yourself, into the Heart of the Beloved to find the Love of that Understanding. When you find it, there you will also find me.

No, mother of my body and soul-sister, I do not break your heart. You alone, do that based on your own fears and perceptions. Look at me. I am a mirror, a reflection. I am only what you think you see and if you look close enough, you will find all my brothers and sisters and my father and yourself and everyone and have reason upon reason to break your heart. I break my own heart every day. That is what I am here to do—break my heart in order to let the healing Light of God touch me continuously. I rejoice in the Grace that sheds that light and illuminates my soul with the One Love.

It is probably true what you say about my wavering and wandering. I know I appear to be “lost” as you say, but that is not even close to the truth. My whereabouts-my comings and my goings, every awakening I experience, every sorrow, every joy are known in infinite measure by the Knower of All. Even though I may seem to be buried in the depths of the stormiest of seas, I am known and I am found, as we all are. That is the most profound truth of the Faith that is in me now. It is enough.

When I returned home six years ago, the “covenant” I made with God was very personal and it was unconditional. There was never any requirement to pledge allegiance to a doctrine or dogma. I was only told to “come Home.” That is the path that I am taking. I acknowledge your path as well. If Home is a mountain, then I believe there are many paths to the summit. I may take my time, I may skip, I will most certainly fall on the journey, but I will get there. Right now, my hands are full—engaged in a Dance in the Hands of the Glorious One.

The heart of the physical home I inhabit is one of the spirit of the One Being of the Perfection of Love, Harmony and Beauty. I pray that you will bring that spirit with you when you come visit me in April.

I love you, dearly

Pamela

Come, come, whoever you are

Wonderer, worshipper, lover of leaving

It doesn’t matter.

Ours is not a caravan of despair.

Come, even if you have broken your vow

A thousand times

Come, yet again, come, come.

--Rumi

Moab with Dee was a blast and a much needed break! We are now back, refreshed and ready to jump into summer—wahoo!!!

We got up Friday morning and set out just as soon after Dee was able to take care of the renewal of his driver’s license. The DMV got the city wrong on his license (anyone know where Walton, Utah is?) –We noticed it later during the weekend--and he’ll have to call them to take care of that. It’s a pretty drive through the green mountains of northern Utah to the red rocks of southeastern Utah. Stopped in Helper to grab some lunch and arrived in Moab about 1:00.

We “kicked” around Moab for a couple of hours looking in all the quaint little shops before we checked into our campsite. We set up our little tent that served as storage for all our stuff since we decided to sleep on an air mattress in the van (we had pulled all the seats out except the front two). Went to dinner and to celebrate Dee’s 51^st birthday at a local restaurant and microbrewery called “Eddie McStiff’s.” Then we just hung out at the campsite settled in and went to bed. Sleeping in the van was very comfortable but we learned that we had to put more air in the mattress for the next night.

We got up and got ready for the next day at the Moab Arts Festival. Went to a quaint little café’ called “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” for breakfast. The food was unique but average quality. I really liked the fresh squeeze-it-yourself orange juice though. But it kind of went downhill when I went to use the restroom and found a dead cockroach on the floor in the hall on the way. When I got back to our table which was outside, I looked down and noticed a swarm of ants coming from a crack in the cement. Most of you know my experience with ants this summer. So my Breakfast at Tiffany’s experience was pretty creepy. I’d recommend sticking with the movie!

After recovering from the buggy experience described above, we headed to the park where the Moab Arts Festival was held. It was fun but nothing like the Salt Lake or Park City Arts Festivals. We had a good time though looking around, shopping and sitting on the grass rocking out to the featured performers. Did lunch there and toned things down a bit at supper time by eating from the dollar menu at Wendy’s. It started to rain while we were at Wendy’s and we remembered that we had left our towels out on our tent to dry. We panicked at first until I remembered that there was a laundry facility at the campgrounds. No worries and our towels weren’t even wet when we got back to our tent.

Went to bed around 10:00 and woke up at 2 in the morning to the sound of a Harley revving its engine and blasting what resembled music throughout our campground. I was full of a few choice cuss words and it was all Dee could do to restrain me from giving the drunken fool a piece of my mind. The guy was looking for a fight and I wonder what he would have thought of a mad as hell cussing redhead ready to meet his challenge. Oh, well, it was a fun fight in my own mind anyway.

We got up early Sunday morning ready to go rafting on the Colorado. Dee and I both have never done a river raft trip so we were excited but apprehensive. The rain had lifted and the sun shone. It was a beautiful day. According to the guides at Adrift, the river was higher than it’s been since 1997. It promised to be an exciting ride, and it was! The rapids were so much fun! The float down the river between rapids was peaceful with breathtaking scenery on either bank. Our guide pointed out the geologic formations along the way and even stopped the raft at one point to take us to a nearby ancient Anasazi grainery. It was quite a feeling to be at the granary where people had lived and stored their food so long ago. The antiquity of the granary along with the expanse of the Colorado and surrounding formations gave me a feeling of awesome insignificance in the world. So many years, so many people, such an enormous planet. Wow!

Every chapter of awe in my life seems to be followed by comic relief. So now comes my graceful plunge from the rafting company’s bus:

After all the anxiety over whether or not our raft would capsize, the rigor of the rapids and the temperature of the water, I have to take my swan dive off a bus. My apparently still damp water shoes touched the steps that several other wet feet had descended. Touched, but only for a moment. The next thing I knew, I was airborne and landed with a thud on the bottom step of the bus. Having the wind knocked out of me rendered me senseless for a moment or two. I had to beg a minute to catch my breath before answering a chorus of, “Are you ok”’s from several fellow rafters and guides. I took a couple of breaths, realized that nothing was broken and then gingerly lifted my bruised body and spirit off the bottom step of the bus. I think I mumbled, “Graceful,” and while trying desperately to look non-chalant. Now, I’m sure that I’m ok, but I still have a dull ache in the middle right side of my back. Just a bruise I’m sure.

I took a long hot shower that I let pound itself on my back. Then Dee and I found a cute little café along the main street of Moab that served a really nice bowl of fish chowder. Didn’t want to eat too heavily after a wonderful jolting ride on the river and a surprisingly jolting ride down the bus steps.

Sleep was welcome and came easily that night. Our friends on their Harleys had been spoken to by the management of the camp about keeping other campers awake at all hours of the morning and they kept noise down to a low roar—at least they didn’t REV their engines.

We left early Monday morning, grateful for the fun and rest but eager to get back home. There’s nothing like one’s own bed after a little or long vacation. We had a nice drive home in the rain which continued until early in the afternoon when we arrived.

Ok, so this isn’t very literary. More of a travelogue. It was a fun little jaunt. I thought about each one of you while I was away. I wish I could have taken you all along.

Here's my story, for whatever it's worth. It's from a posting a while back on the Daily OM. The discussion was "Do you believe in Spirit Guides" It was my reply.

Spirit guide or angel? I don’t know the difference. I only know that I am grateful for the being who snatched me back from the dark oblivion I was sinking into five years ago to the day last Monday (August 22, 2005)—I count it as another birthday.

I “had it all.” A great job, the house on the hill, two beautiful daughters and a husband of almost 20 years who loved me as well as any man can. Everything was just “perfect” until I realized that it wasn’t true, at least, I wasn’t perfect and no matter what I did I couldn’t make myself perfect. Honestly, I don’t know what came over me, nervous breakdown, midlife crisis, a leave of my senses…when the opportunity came, I ran away.

I allowed myself to be led along by an idea of someone who consciously or otherwise was bent on destroying me-an old high school flame with whom I reconnected via the internet. Five years after we graduated from high school this individual had undergone a sex change-male to female. I had had contact with him prior to our five year reunion and was so shocked that I could not have anything to do with him when I saw him at the reunion. But I could not stop thinking about him and what had led him to make such a drastic change. I wondered if I had contributed to it during our brief fling in high school. The question nagged me for years. When contact with him had been made after fifteen years, I had convinced myself that if I couldn’t repair him physically, then at least I could help heal his wounded soul by nurturing him. I abruptly left my job, my family, my church, my status in the community and joined this person 900 miles from my home. What I found there was darkness and sorrow, loneliness and grief, a “partner” with multiple mental illnesses and a huge drug problem and who was repeatedly physically and verbally abusive in his relationships. After two months, I found myself exhausted, beaten and facing the realization that I was losing the light that had so profoundly filled me my entire life. I was desperate to leave the situation but found myself held essentially as a prisoner there both physically and emotionally.

One morning, after being literally kicked and pummeled awake by this person, I looked in the mirror while getting ready for work and saw what I imagined to be the last glimmer of light in my eyes. I honestly and literally heard a voice. It wasn’t audible and it wasn’t mine. It said simply, “Go home, don’t look back.” Curiously, I wasn’t startled. The voice seemed so familiar, like someone I’d always known. I felt comfort and strength as I quietly gathered a few items that I might need for my journey without appearing too obvious and arousing suspicion.

Then I got in my car, stopping only to call my employer and informing that I wouldn’t be coming in to work that day or ever again. I made my apologies for their inconvenience and then I got back on the road. The next stop was to call my parents and ask them in the most humble way I knew how, if I could come “home” to them. I knew that I couldn’t go back to my family right away. My marriage was over and my children were angry, and rightfully so. My parents opened their hearts and their arms to me. I drove the rest of the journey (16 hours worth) without stopping except to buy gas and to use the restroom.

All the way “home” I felt the presence that had come to me that morning. It never left my side and continued to give me courage and strength. I drove from Medford, Oregon to Salt Lake City detouring through the mountains of Northern California. I kept the sunroof open on my 1995 Honda Prelude and remember the sun beaming down on my head. The long drive gave me a lot of time to think about how I was going to rebuild my life. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy. I had lost so much and some things would never be recovered. I met Dee shortly after my return to my parent’s home in Cedar City, Utah. We were married January 13, 2005. He was and is a gift of gentleness and compassion even when I’m crazy out of my mind. Five years later, I see myself as extremely blessed. My relationship with my ex-husband is amicable, my daughters have returned to my heart and I welcomed my first grandchild into the world—something I would have never been able to do had I stayed in that dark place.

I don’t know if it was a spirit guide or an angel who spoke to me that morning. I don’t really care. I am eternally grateful.

Yesterday, on our commute home from work my daughter and I approached a pretty terrible car accident. A small black pick-up truck had hit a pedestrian and drug her approx. 25 feet. The woman died on impact. The woman's name was Laveigh.
Laveigh was homeless and lived under the viaducts that connect the freeway to the exit that we frequently take on our journey home.

Every day my daughter and I would see her with her sign, asking for money, or specific items, such as water, food, clothing, etc. Sometimes as we drove by the freeway entrance, if we had money to spare, we would roll down our window and give what we could. Often when we had nothing to spare, we would feel the guilt and dismay at passing by without helping. One day last week after driving by and feeling guilty, my daughter decided that she could do something, even if it seemed to be insignificant. She quickly gathered a list of things that she had seen Laveigh request on her signs and some other things that she thought this woman could use. We delivered these things to Laveigh. That's when she told us her name, and she and that she was thirsty. We returned with a water jug, filled with cold water. It was something she could use it again and again...something she said she always wanted. She was so appreciative...and we were honored that she would tell us her name. It felt good to bring some small light into her life.

When we saw the tragic scene with our own eyes and then later saw on the news that her identity was confirmed, we felt the need to do something—something that would let the community see the loss—something that would memorialize this life for us. Once again, we drove to the place where Laveigh had so often stood with her little cardboard signs-- the place where her life so tragically ended. It was dark and quiet on the street now. An occasional car dimmed its lights out of respect as we thoughtfully lit a lone candle. A reporter from the local news station approached us and asked us why we were there. We explained our feelings and how Laveigh had touched our lives. We agreed to be interviewed on film simply with the hope that perhaps others would also remember this lonely life. After the interview, I looked back at the lone light of the candle we had left on the median and considered how bright it was against the darkness. It was a somber moment and I thought how strange it was that I could not yet bring myself to cry.

I walked the streets in my dreams with Laveigh last night. This morning on my way to work the tears welled up as we passed the place we had left our little candle. It was nestled among bouquets of flowers, a few other candles and a sign that read, “They are not just transient, they are human.” Oh, the power of one little light and the lessons that I had so hoped my daughter had learned throughout her childhood and teen years. I let the sobs come and tears flowed freely down my cheeks.

My bus passes by Pioneer Park, home to the homeless in our city. For most, days are reversed, wandering the streets by night and bedding down under the shade of a tree in the park by day after receiving breakfast from the shelter that serves right there in the park under a canopy. As the bus passes, I breathe a prayer, or sing, oblivious to who might hear, “May all beings be well, may all beings be happy, may all beings have peace. Peace, peace, peace.”

Usually the grass is peppered with worn blankets with mounds of single human forms. Today, I saw a couple huddled together on a tarp, sound asleep—he snuggled close to her, spoon style. One of her arms supported her head for a pillow, the other was gently around him, her fingers interwoven in the tousled tendrils of his hair. It was one of the most precious visions I had ever seen. I continued my prayer and added a blessing that the love remains for them which keeps her fingers there.

Poetry

Toward the One

By Hakima Pamela Saunders

Eleven

In dreams a dreary world I trod--
A weary vagabond alone,
Forgetting Home, set out abroad,
Lost on strange paths I was but one.

'Til, lo! a light shone cross my brow.
Its lustre warmed as noonday sun.
I reveled in sweet morning's glow
And took communion with the One.

Awakened by transcendant call,
The fear of lonliness was gone,
Discovered Self in step with All--
A Holy Dance as one with One.

--Hakima

Who You Are

you are the flower that arises from you who are the seed by virtue of your planting you in soft soil who you are too and you tuck you in to you who are the soil and then you who are the rain send moisture who you are unto yourself the seed and you the seed break open with a mighty silent cracking to seek yourself the Sunlight who too you are as nighttime who you are in contrast to you the sunlight wakes unto the morning sipping in the dew drops who you are that sparkle on your blossoms who you are and thank all which you are by spending all your fragrance in gratitude of blossoms who too you are and meet these eyes who too you are that view you as this flower drawn in by the fragrance of your planting and lo you find a teardrop cascading from eye to flower in holy communion of ALL you are

--Hakima

Feminine Essence

Amazed,
I view these unbound breasts
Mounds of flesh and blood
and milk--
food for man--
Marveling
that for all their use and wear
I'd never truly realized
the ecstasy of them
for myself.

In the shower--
even at perimenopausal forty-four,
I have sometimes seen the opaque liquid
they still secrete
in pearl-droplets,
and I've wondered...
but never dared..
until overcome by the hunger
of never having known...tasted...

I gazed transfixed,
unbound and daring
gently lifting
nervously craving
yearning
stretching forward aslant
beyond my own flesh.
Head bowed in reverential ceremony
and for the first time
tasted the essence
of myself.

--Hakima

Blessing Place, a villanelle

My breath, my blood, my spirit blent with One
Whilst daybreak woke to brilliant beck'ning sun
Still left my Home, the place where blessings live.

With haste my reckless intellect far-gone;
Without a backward glance I took my leave
And turned breath, blood, and spirit from the One,

I scorned the Hand that lifted to revive,
Set my cold heart as if it were a stone
Yet longed for Holy ground where blessings live.

I fin'lly lost each war I thought I'd won
My heart lie broken, weary and bereaved
With breathless pose, blood spent, and spirit gone.

At last I'd fallen ready to receive
That Grace as bright as on the day I'd flown--
And viewed, with hope the place where blessings live.

When mortal men declare this journey done
Consider not that I was deign to give
My breath, my blood, my spirit bent toward One:
Memorial to this place where blessings live.

--Hakima

Heartsong

My heart,

my heart,

my heart bears a wing

to fly away from you.

My heart,

my heart,

my heart wears a wing

to rise with you

into

The Heart of the Beloved.

Let these hearts—

yours and mine--

fly into the fire

of Love.

Let these hearts—

ours—

shine together

through embered

Ash.

Burn, burn

oh, burn our foolish hearts

with parental Love

until we are reborn

as golden beams

streamed forth

from the Light

of the One.

--Hakima

Capacity

After September
Eleventh
Afghan widows
opened their ears
(akasha*)
To the familiar tale
of the broken hearts
of women
in "that village
in New York"
where a bombing had occurred.
akasha.

In one village
burka'd hearts
unreserved
gathered from their hens
and offered up
their very best.
akasha!

Eggs--
sustenance in tiny wombs
(akasha)
Heart offerings
flown
half a world 'round
on
Air-currents
(akasha)
transmuted
into Love-currents.
akasha! akasha!

Listen to the wind--
it whispers the tale
as loudly
as the rhythm
of an open heart.
"Akasha!"

--Hakima

*Today, my bus ride reading was the chapter in "The Heart of Sufism: the Essential Writings of Hazrat Inayat Khan" entitled "Capacity." The word "akasha" was defined in this manner:

"The Hindu name for capacity is akasha. People generally think that akasha means the sky, but in reality it means everything. Everything in its turn is an akasha, just as all substance is a capacity: and according to that capacity it produces what it is meant to produce."

"...We ourselves are also akashas, and in our akasha we get resonance of our rhythm. This resonance is like the feelings we have when we are tired, depressed, joyous, or strengthened. All these different conditions which we feel, it is our akasha that feels them: and what causes this is our rhythm."

"...In the Qur'an it is said, 'Their hands shall speak and their feet shall bear witness of their deeds," which means...that everything is recorded, written down...Nothing of what we say, do, or think is lost: it is recorded somewhere, if we only know how to read it."
(Sufi Message 11: 20-24, Hazrat Inayat Khan)

Sometimes that message is written on the wind...Akasha!

--Hakima

Love for Love

Don't move
Barely breathe your breath
in and out
and only in love
Until nothing else remains
and it saturates
Permeates every cell
Then and only then
Think only for the sake of Love
Breathe only for the sake of Love
Act only for the sake of Love
Speak only for the sake of Love
But let those words be silent.

-Hakima

I would bathe
in That:

Lying in communal stillness.
Breathing the peaceful atmosphere
of our Beloved

Sharing the secret
of That
Holy Silent
Fragrance.

--Hakima

Eleven

In dreams a dreary world I trod--
A weary vagabond alone,
Forgetting Home, set out abroad,
Lost on strange paths I was but one.

'Til, lo! a light shone cross my brow.
Its lustre warmed as noonday sun.
I reveled in sweet morning's glow
And took communion with the One.

Awakened by transcendant call,
The fear of lonliness was gone,
Discovered Self in step with All--
A Holy Dance as one with One.

--Hakima

Breath of Grace

The Light within shines bright and clear
Tho’ darkened worlds may mock and sneer
They’ve not awakened from their fears
Nor seen the Vision shining here

They bend their heads in pious shame
From karmic nightmares look to blame
A fate which burns a fiery flame
Leaves still an embered rage to tame

But listen to Love’s whispered call
The chance to fly comes with each fall
Spread forth thy wings, leap from thy wall
To gain, you must surrender all

The Voice has rested in this place
Where ne’er do time nor fear erase
Like beams of light across this face
Awakened by each breath of Grace

------------Hakima

Who you are

you are the flower that arises from you who are the seed by virtue of your planting you in soft soil who you are too and you tuck you in to you who are the soil and then you who are the rain send moisture who you are unto yourself the seed and you the seed break open with a mighty silent cracking to seek yourself the Sunlight who too you are as nightime who you are in contrast to you the sunlight wakes unto the morning sipping in the dew drops who you are that sparkle on your blossoms who you are and thank all which you are by spending all your fragrance in gratitude of blossoms who too you are and meet these eyes who too you are that view you as this flower drawn in by the fragrance of your planting and lo you find a teardrop cascading from eye to flower in holy communion of ALL you are

--Hakima

Capacity

After September
Eleventh
Afghan widows
opened their ears
(akasha*)
To the familiar tale
of the broken hearts
of women
in "that village
in New York"
where a bombing had occurred.
akasha.

In one village
burka'd hearts
unreserved
gathered from their hens
and offered up
their very best.
akasha!

Eggs--
sustenance in tiny wombs
(akasha)
Heart offerings
flown
half a world 'round
on
Air-currents
(akasha)
transmuted
into Love-currents.
akasha! akasha!

Listen to the wind--
it whispers the tale
as loudly
as the rhythm
of an open heart.
"Akasha!"

--Pamela Dawn

*Today, my bus ride reading was the chapter in "The Heart of Sufism: the Essential Writings of Hazrat Inayat Khan" entitled "Capacity." The word "akasha" was defined in this manner:

"The Hindu name for capacity is akasha. People generally think that akasha means the sky, but in reality it means everything. Everything in its turn is an akasha, just as all substance is a capacity: and according to that capacity it produces what it is meant to produce."

"...We ourselves are also akashas, and in our akasha we get resonance of our rhythm. This resonance is like the feelings we have when we are tired, depressed, joyous, or strengthened. All these different conditions which we feel, it is our akasha that feels them: and what causes this is our rhythm."

"...In the Qur'an it is said, 'Their hands shall speak and their feet shall bear witness of their deeds," which means...that everything is recorded, written down...Nothing of what we say, do, or think is lost: it is recorded somewhere, if we only know how to read it."
(Sufi Message 11: 20-24, Hazrat Inayat Khan)

Sometimes that message is written on the wind...Akasha!

--Hakima

Be moved my heart t’where my Beloved lie,

Tho’ corporeal pound wildly ‘neath my breast.

Bedeck thyself with lusty wings to fly

‘Til passion justify all my unrest.

Be merciful my heart-Fear not thy death

That love reflected there doth swell thy form,

Accept thy Lover’s gift—sweet heav’nly Breath

A poison’d boon

Be still not yet, my heart; beat stead’ly on.

Tho’ consummate requir’th ten thousand years,

And manifest reward be long forgone.

All strivings for thy sake are worth all tears.

Be satiated in thy residence.

Thy Lover’s heart hath known thee ever hence.

--Hakima

Quail not, my heart from love’s emphatic call
tho’ pierced a thousand days and nigh to death.
Quar’l valiantly ‘gainst fear’s flight from that fall—
draw passion’s sword until thy final breath.
Question ev’ry doubt on thy lovers’ lips—
and answer each with life-blood on thine own.
Quake vi’lently thy yen and loose thy grip
on thy propriety which stills love’s moan.
Quell fears of love’s first cut upon twilight
and dance upon love’s sunbeams ray on ray.
Quaere death’s countenance when falls thy night
that passion’s light doth resurrect the day.

Quench only hesitation toward desire:
thy legacy be ash from thy love’s fire.

--Hakima

A Beckoning

Traverse across this desert place again

Dear distant wayfarer

Set your caravan at my tent’s door

Arrive on Sunday

I will be home.

Come sit at my table

(The one I made with my own hands)

Laugh with me

There is a bottle of wine waiting

Please bring bread and a corkscrew.

--Hakima

Herself,

Bright palette

Bold performer on the ancient stage

Blue satin bloused and ribboned unashamed

Eyes beneath the shadow of heavy darkened brow

Two Fridas connected by a vein

Medusa eye

Flashing

Glaring

Daring

Lightening bursting

Cold and hard as steel blades

It speaks:

“I’ll be able to solve my own problems and survive”

Mother eye/Lover eye

Beckoning

Caressing

Absorbing shadows

Collecting tears

“You are in my heart, almost as close as Diego”

A woman with the courage to stand against walls

And demand her satisfaction from a thankless world.

“I never painted dreams

I painted my own reality.”

--Hakima

I Came Back

I lost myself

Six thousand nine hundred sixty one days

I came back, I came back.

Yes, wounding is the cost of admission

Like malevolent scars in gothic letters

Scrawled boldly on my daughter’s back.

How much of my warm blood was drawn

To make room for poison, I, myself replaced?

--Hakima

In Pioneer Park
the homeless shuffle
in shoes weighted with sorrow so heavy
that the grass gives way
to the furrows they've plowed with their pacing.


On the playground,
One lone pair of bare feet
crumbling years of dirt
and caked-on memories
eagerly take flight
while the swinger's calloused hands
grasp
long forgotten chains soon made familiar by the rhythm of the swing:
"Back and forth" and "Up and down"
Incanting
Memories
breezing over
granting childish freedom
until Jesus at the rescue mission
rings the supper bell.

--Hakima

My Quiet Hero

Years ago

My quiet hero

Quit battles

Of unknown compatriots

To face his own

Upon an unfamiliar shore.

Scars of that enemy

Reflected wounds

he knew

Too well.

An uncorked bottle

Lie wasting

In a bunker

Spilling precious lifeblood--

Poison meant to destroy

But a lone private

Unnoticed

took one last

swallow

for his sorrows

Before capping

The remaining gold.

Demonic invaders

in tattered

Lace

Bruised innocence

With violent kisses

Obscenities beyond defense.

An entire squadron

Wept bitter tears

Mournfully

Abandoning their warrior whores

Moaning empty desires

Upon a hill

A soldier stands

Holding holy icons

Surveying carnage below

Voiceless

There are no more words

For him to say or sing

Loneliness

His most destructive foe

He shakes his head

And walks across

Forbidden demarcation lines

To speak a sermon

Enemies will hear.

My quiet hero loves

His little army well

Enough to know this war

Must be waged alone.

Returns his soldiers

To their native home

Dismisses each

One by one

With a peaceful kiss

And sends them

To eternal rest.

--Hakima

ReLeaf

(A Response to a Soliloquy that was Never Directed to Me)

Of course my love was autumn

Why did you think summer would last forever?

The heat of it

Could melt an entire planet.

Autumn must have her way.

Brightness

From our bodies

Warmth enough

Amidst surrounding crispness

Crimson Leaves

An altar

A bed

A table

My body softly beckoning

You supped

Completed your fleshfest

Consumed all

Satiated

Until you saw

The emptiness you left

And the impending winter storm

Darkness

Frost that leaves

Blackened scars

Your heart

Took flight like swallows

That flee against grey skies

For the promise of a warmer clime

I watched you go

As snows buried me

And knew that you would not return

Winter was eternal

Certain death

Would take me with his icy stare

And almost did

But for the Sun

Returning on a vow

Renewing green fresh

ReLeafing blossoms

Fruit offered freely on request

Nubile like a virgin

Someone else would see

My love is spring.

--Pamela

Letting Go, Smiling

We held on for and eternity it seems

Too long

To the hope of love

To our restless, unsatisfied desires,

To the pain—

You said the pain of love shouldn’t last forever

Or was that some old movie we clung too tight to.

The tumult,

The din-my own making-my busyness

Yearning

for perfection

Drowned out the tenderness

from my own voice

Raucous harshness

Insanity eclipsing all my summer days

And me slipping away

Like the tears escaping

From your questioning eyes

Sent me away and

Alone

Until

Welcoming sunshine

Baptizing me

In pure brightness

Transporting me to my

Self

And you forever gone

I see you now

Bathed in more certain embraces—

I could never write our love song—

Her shadow even

casts warmth on you

His promise to make me laugh

Every day

Never fails

And they evoke from us what we never could for each other

I’m glad you found your smile again.

Daisies for Breakfast

A Knight’s daisies for breakfast

Sweet citrus petal-wheels

Emanating from a heart

Paralysis upon my tongue

Allaying utterance of words

It longs to speak

But my mouth is full

Of Baudelair and Brautigan’s burgers

Food for love

And Tangelos

Hybrid

Stowaways from a far distant land

Spinning in our spiritual carnality

200 foot elation

Dervishes entwined

In ecstatic flight

Held fast by centrifugal force

While the ferriswheelman keeps the bags of gold

We paid him safely at his feet.

--Hakima

Inverted

In the mirror
on Christmas day
We stared at my ass
white and glowing
reflection of the reflector
as we see it.

The children look
and shout

"MOM"

you say

"WOW"

--HP

High Light Ecstasies

Five a.m. or Nine o'one
when day dawn's sun
has left
the Western sky
are still my favorite times
of day.

A phone line's distance
seems so far
to feel you near--
to imagine
the cool closeness
of your skin
satisfying the heat
in the desire
of mine.

And yet--
your voice draws me
closer
than I've ever been
to anyone before--

And I
willingly
invite you in
and around
and beneath
the depths of me.

I hear you in the morning
hour
and I respond
breathily
blissfully
mumbling
unintelligible ecstasies
of dreams of you

Or in the starlit hour
when our passion is recounted
like the seconds
of our
sun-filled days.

--Hakima

Dreams

This is another baby dream. I say “another” because baby dreams have been consistently recurrent throughout my lifetime. It may be of some help for you to know some background on these dreams and then you can sense how the most recent one is different than the others. First, you should know that I understand the symbolic nature of these dreams—that my dreaming about a baby, for instance does not in my mind foretell the anticipation of an actual baby. Rather, I am aware that in every baby dream instance, I was embarking on some new project or entering a transitional phase in my life. There is a consistent pattern in each of these dreams:

-None of the babies come from me. Rather, they are entrusted to my care, a task I consistently fail—at some point in the dream, I am aware that I have neglected to feed the baby, notice the baby or otherwise care for the baby.

-All of the babies are self-sufficient. When I realize my neglect of them, it’s no big deal to them because they are capable of meeting their own needs. However, it IS a big deal to me and upon realizing my neglect, I will typically begin going through the motions of nurturance, which the babies are quite indifferent to.

-All of the babies have been girls and they all have been white.

Ok, so here’s some background on the dream I dreamed this morning:

-Dee and I went to bed extremely tired. We had just spent the day on a hike in which we sort of got lost—we turned a 2 mile hike into a six mile hike because we had lost our trail due to snow covering some of it. I was fairly irritable and highly sensitive and intolerant of Dee’s usual snoring, so I slept in the spare bedroom. I awoke about 4:30 a.m. and returned to bed with Dee. Dee got up at 5a.m. and I awoke long enough to have prayer with him and then I went back to sleep when he went to work at about 5:30. During the forty minutes I was sleeping, I had the dream:

I was working in a kitchen—like a restaurant’s kitchen, but I can’t say that it was a restaurant. I thought someone ordered an item on the menu, but now I think it was just me preparing the delicacy of the establishment, grilled baby, for myself (I told you it was grotesque to tell). I was not disturbed by the request, either by someone else, or for myself—as I have a sense that I had prepared this many times before.

A baby, about six months old was presented to me (the presenter is unknown to me—I have no recollections of images of that “person”). The baby was a girl with light brown skin and almond shaped closed eyes, indicating to me that she was of Asian descent. Remember this is the first non-white baby I’ve dreamed of.

I gently laid the baby face down on the grill and then turned my back to do something else. After a few moments, I returned and turned her over. I was immediately struck by the fact that her eyes were now open, staring expectantly at me and that no part of her body appeared to be burned or in any other way injured because of my barbaric action. I also noticed that on her right ear was a tiny diamond earring. It occurred to me that the earring indicated that she belonged to someone who had placed it there and that she was very precious to that person. So I recognized her as a gift of stewardship, but I was troubled by the mode she was given to me. I turned away in confusion and as I did so, she cried out—not in pain, but in longing for me. I realized that I could not walk away from her.

Even though she was not burned, I seemed to fear that perhaps maybe she was indeed burned. So I took her to a basin of clear water and immersed her face-up into it. She looked at me with trusting eyes and smiled as I drew her out of the water. Although she was not burned, the grilling and water process had produced a strange, webbed pattern on half of her skin, like she had had netting over half her body and the sun had tanned her in the pattern of the netting. The pattern divided her exactly in half, beginning from her head and following straight down. I’m wondering if the approaching Gemini full moon might have some relevance here.

I determined to take her home and I began caring for her, feeding her and dressing her. I named her Keiko. I remember sitting her down and turning to select some clothing for her and when I turned back, she had dressed herself in three layers of clothing and she was attempting to put yellow socks on. The strange thing about the socks is that she had three feet—two visible and the third extending from an invisible leg.

I attempted to take her to church but she kept “falling” off the church pew and crawling out the door. I followed her out and then I woke up.

Upon awakening, I felt detached from the nature of the dream, since I had had baby dreams before, but not to the dream itself. The fact that it was a baby dream clued me in on the idea that I didn’t just come up with this because of indigestion or random thought patterns. I was more curious than anything else—like Alice in Wonderland. I actually felt relief that this baby responded to my nurturance, although she was clearly capable—like the others—of self nurturance.

Well, that’s the dream. Very strange, very vivid. I think I understand the significance of a good portion of it, but I would very much like to get your response to it.

Thank you so much with all love and blessings,

Pamela

To: T

From: Pam Saunders [mailto:pamelady62@hotmail.com] 

Sent: Tuesday, June 13, 2006 8:18 AM

Subject: A Lesson Learned

Last Sunday, Dee and I decided to go hiking after we had spent some time in the One World Cafe's garden.  I'm a fair beginner but I have heart and a lot of stamina.  I guess I'm in better shape than I thought.

We hiked to Lake Solitude--the one in the picture I sent you yesterday.

It's only about a mile, and not too hard.  A nice start for beginners.

We got there ok.  The trails were covered in snow at some points, so we had to hike around them and then get back on the trail.

Coming back--about 5:00pm--we decided to recite evening prayers as we

hiked along.  We were reciting "Rasul" and had just come to the part that says, "I follow in thy footsteps, which leadedth me to the eternal goal..."  when all of a sudden a lone hiker appeared who asked us, "Do you know where you are going?"  Since I had just said "eternal goal" I giggled a little and said, "Yes."  He disappeared down the mountain and we approached a wooded area. Just then, we realized that we had lost the trail.  We hiked on a bit and saw some ski lifts (we had parked at Brighton Ski Resort) that we hadn’t seen before.  Now we knew we didn't know where we were.  We hiked back a bit and returned to the clearing where we had encountered the other hiker. He, of course, was no where to be seen.  I looked down the clearing and saw at the bottom of the mountain, not Brighton Ski resort, but Solitude, another ski resort about two miles down the mountain and out of our intended path.  

Luckily we could also see the road and another set of ski lifts that

lead to the road.  We determined to follow the ski lifts down the mountain.  Unfortunately, while it appears clear, it is not.  The brush was heavy in some areas and set on top of streams caused by the spring/summer run-off.  It was only about half a mile down, but it took us a good forty minutes to get down.  Then it was another two miles UP the mountain to Brighton to get back to our van.  Some easy two mile hike, huh?

Lessons learned:

I'm a lot tougher, even physically than I thought I was--wasn't even

sore yesterday.

When you're saying "Rasul" and one appears asking if you know where

you're going, it's a good idea to consider that maybe, just maybe you don't and ask for help.  God's chuckling deeply on that one.

I'm still musing and amusing over the whole experience.

Hope you're having a good morning!

All Love,

Pamela

Do you see any connection between that experience and your dream? OH, btw... the first thing I noticed in your dream is that your daughter "Keiko" has the same name as the Orca who played "Willie" in the movie "Free Willie" - a magnificent creature lost and then found and freed by the love of a child. In Japanese the word means "adored one." Interesting, eh? Is there something in you needing expression that can't be tamed? Just something to think about.... From: Pam Saunders [mailto:pamelady62@hotmail.com] Sent: Tuesday, June 13, 2006 12:48 PM Subject: Dream I'm getting the sense that the mountain experience and the dream are less about telling me what direction to take in my life, and more affirmation and confirmation of the direction my life is taking. I am also getting a sense of the "sacrifice" it is requiring--not much--just everything.

Sent : Tuesday, June 13, 2006 5:19 PM To : "Pam Saunders" Subject : RE: Dream

So.. in my way of looking at dreams, the waking and sleeping dreams are not different. They extend each other, or more correctly multiply each other, and you can decide which is more "real" if you want. Mountain and kitchen are one. The other thing I believe about dreams is that in some way we ARE each element in the dream. I have found it useful to meditate on the different elements. In this case I think it would bring up some really helpful stuff if you would look at the Mystery Hiker and also Dee to find parts of yourself that, in terms of the "dream", are presented as external. What do you think? Want to try that?

From: Pam Saunders [mailto:pamelady62@hotmail.com] 

Sent: Tuesday, June 13, 2006 1:40 PM

Subject: RE: Dream

I hadn't thought of Dee and the Mystery Hiker as aspects of myself in relation to the dreams (waking or sleeping).  But then I hadn't really thought about the whole mountain experience as part of the dream.  Oh,

yeah, BTW, in Mormon symbology, mountains and temples are one and the same--temples are considered houses of God, but also places of learning through experience.  I'm also thinking that the words to the prayer

(Nabi, not Rasul--I keep getting the names mixed up, but in this case they are both variations on a theme regarding the Messenger of God) I was saying at the time when the Mystery Hiker manifested himself is significant.  It's a pretty detailed message, isn't it?

Sent : Tuesday, June 13, 2006 5:47 PM To : "Pam Saunders" Subject : RE: Dream

Hm...and mountains are also rocks (a rock in the weariness of life...my rock, etc) and comfort for the broken hearted.

From: Pam Saunders [mailto:pamelady62@hotmail.com] 

Sent: Tuesday, June 13, 2006 1:55 PM

Subject: RE: Dream

Oh, Man!  Now I'm getting the sense that my cave experiences from two weekends in a row previous to last week are also part of the dream--and

I think I'm still dreaming--wide awake!

Sent : Tuesday, June 13, 2006 5:55 PM To : "Pam Saunders" Subject : RE: Dream

Great!! Go with it!!

From: Pam Saunders [mailto:pamelady62@hotmail.com] 

Sent: Tuesday, June 13, 2006 1:47 PM

Subject: More

There is a correlation between the Mystery Hiker and the Unknown

Presenter of Baby Keiko.  It's interesting that the unembodied presenter is also an element even though he/she is not technically in my dream.

Sent : Tuesday, June 13, 2006 5:49 PM To : "Pam Saunders" Subject : RE: More

Yes, even what is merely implied is an element, as God is when we are awake, or our loved ones who have passed on. They still give to us, don't they? So they are very much part of our lives.

To: "Pam Saunders" <pamelady62@hotmail.com>

Subject: RE: More

Date: Tue, 13 Jun 2006 13:53:38 -0400

As long as I'm at it, I wonder if you're aware of anything that was "presented to me" 6 months ago... something "precious" ... especially something that seems "of Asian descent."  Not necessarily concrete, understand?  An idea, even a feeling....

From: Pam Saunders [mailto:pamelady62@hotmail.com]

Sent: Tuesday, June 13, 2006 3:24 PM

Subject: RE: More

Oh, yeah!  That one's not too hard.  Jan 13 (which is five months fulfillment, but starting today begins the sixth month) we started talking about Dances which led to my attunement to Pir o Murshid's words who is and which are of Asian descent--not necessarily Japanese, but I don't think my dream's making exact distinctions.  Interestingly, in three days we will be at 410 Precita in San Francisco.  Guess who we're staying with?  Mike(from OM) who IS of Japanese descent.  He is willing/even enthusiastic to the idea of taking us to the Khanka and then dancing with us later that evening.

To: "Pam Saunders" <pamelady62@hotmail.com>

Subject: RE: More

Date: Tue, 13 Jun 2006 15:58:10 -0400

OK, then... jan 13 is also the birthday of my ex-wife, but that

probably means nothing in this context...lol.... and yes India is considered Asia by most.  Curious, though, I feel a connection to Mike OM... I may be getting drawn into your dream!!!!!

From: Pam Saunders [mailto:pamelady62@hotmail.com] 

Sent: Tuesday, June 13, 2006 4:01 PM

Subject: RE: More

Oh, yeah baby!  You're there.  Although your ex-wife can stay right out, k?  Except that you mentioned her and now she is.  Gee, thanks, 

...ROFLMAO!!!  Jan 13 is Dee and my wedding anniversary.

Sent : Tuesday, June 13, 2006 8:03 PM To : "Pam Saunders" Subject : RE: More

YIPE!!! Well, if I get a call from her I'll let you know what she says. But I'm not counting on it. Haven't seen her in 31 years... JEEZ I'm NOT that old!!!!

From: Pam Saunders [mailto:pamelady62@hotmail.com] 

Sent: Tuesday, June 13, 2006 3:33 PM

Subject: RE: Dream

Saturday, I had this bright idea to check out which books Wahiduddin had on his recent reading link were also at the SLC Library.  I had several placed on hold for me and decided to take the train downtown at lunch to pick them up.  I started reading one of them immediately while waiting for the train to come back to work, "Warrior of Light," by Paulo Coelho.  I got back late because I started reading while I was walking from the train stop to my office and I kept getting stopped in my tracks.  Here's one place:

"A Warrior of the Light has the qualities of a rock."

"When he is on flat terrain, everything around him is in harmony and he remains stable.  People can build their houses upon him, and the storm will not destroy them."

"When, however, he is places on a slope, and the things around him show neither balance nor respect, then he reveals his strength: he rolls toward the enemy that is threatening his peace.  At such moments, the Warrior is a devastating force, and no one can stop him."

"A Warrior of the Light thinks about both war and peace and knows how to act in accordance with the circumstances."

Seriously,  I stopped for a long time with that one.  I'm still stopping.

Sent : Tuesday, June 13, 2006 7:55 PM To : "Pam Saunders" Subject : RE: Dream

Hm.. yes... potential for slippery slopes there.. lol.... but the warrior rock is not being willful, is she? I believe she is following her nature, which is in accordance with the "gravity" of the situation. When at rest, she is held there by gravity. When rolling toward "the enemy" she is pulled along by the natural force, and will not discriminate between friend and foe. The wise will treat her well and stay out of her way when she's "on a roll"...

Sent : Monday, June 19, 2006 5:14 PM To : "Pam Saunders" Subject : your dream... continued....

Pamela, I know you were taking a break from processing your baby dream, and don’t know if you’re ready for more, but I also cast a chart for the moment you sent me a request for help with it. I do that sometimes for confirmation of things, but this also gave some real insight into what was unfolding in the dream work you were doing, so I’m sending it to you for your perusal: This is a pretty amazing chart… the indication at first glance is that it is TOTALLY about your relationship with the Mother…your own, yourself as mother, and the divine Mother. The picture is of one who is within, but moving quickly away from an experience of transformation of one’s perception of “mother” in all its senses. There is a sense of woundedness crying out to be healed, one involving the changes and transformations of this time. Usually this picture (Moon/Saturn) involves healing one’s early childhood wounds, often involving the need for space and solitude in whatever doses are needed. You may have been “burned” in some way (contact with firey Pluto/Sag and Moon’s ruler Saturn/Leo)…and of course I’m saying “burned” because of the “grilling” you were giving the baby. (hmm.. grilling…lol) This can also be a chart of extreme good fortune in matters of Children (take that as inner and outer children). But with the Venus/Jupiter opposition (Venus rules the 5th house and children) I’m wondering if this dream is about helping you overcome a tendency to be so sweet and childlike that it can seem “overdone”. (cooked to overperfection? I don’t know…ask Dee!!) So in effect you have to be ready to cook and eat the most precious part of you (SHADES OF ABRAHAM AND ISAAC!!!) to fully digest, and assimilate, the child within. It is, after all, very independent (contrary to what reason would tell us). You just haven’t trusted it yet. Still I’m speaking in terms of the dream. I wrote this the other day before you went on break, and it’s the only thing so far we haven’t talked about that I came up with from the dream…. I hope it will come at a good time for you, because I don’t exactly know why I feel called to send it now. Peace and love to you out in Khankaland!!! Give Dee a big hug as well, and we’ll talk more about Denver (if your wheels will still make it) when you get back.

From: Pam Saunders [mailto:pamelady62@hotmail.com] 

Sent: Monday, June 26, 2006 10:56 AM

Subject: More Dream

Good morning!

Dee and I (and Sherry and Rachel) got back last night from a weekend 

DUP/camping Solstice celebration--beautiful location on a HUGE reservoir in American Falls, Idaho.  The owner of the property where we camped walks a Native American path of spirituality and spent some time with us in various capacities, including a small sweat lodge.  Dee and I were blessed to be able to participate in that (Rachel couldn't because she is sensitive to heat and Sherry slept in).

In the sweat lodge ceremony I got more perspective on my dream.  I was

also able to offer more concentrated and significant prayers in ceremony regarding Jody's health.  I will continue to keep her in focus in my daily prayers as well.  Also, your poem last week fit so well with the whole weekend, but most especially with the sweat lodge and images of the Divine Mother.  It was like I re-entered a womb and just cooked for a while.  A lot of the perspective I'm getting is about patiently enduring well the gestation/cooking process even if it seems long and uncomfortable.  Actually, I learned a lot about moving through discomfort to a space of bliss in the lodge.  I don't know if I'm making any sense.

One thing about a spiritual ordeal of the nature of a sweat lodge or

it's like is that it takes a lot out of a person.  That's good because it makes way for more abundant blessing.  But I need a rest and am not likely to start getting one until after tomorrow night when Rachel and Sherry leave.  It's been great having them here, but I need some alone time now.

Our van is still not fixed and I'm thinking a trip as far as Colorado

this weekend (although I could push myself to do it) would not be wise.  So I’m sad because I won't get to see you and Jody this weekend but like you said, it will happen when the time is right.

I picked up Saadi's (Neil Douglas-Klotz's book, "The Sufi Book of Life:

99 Pathways of the Heart for the Modern Dervish."  Each chapter takes one of the 99 Beautiful Names of God and offers insight and meditation for each.  Yesterday I read at random (just opening to a page) and this is what I read--also relative to my dream:

"Rumi...compares [our lives] to chickpeas cooking in a pot.  They keep 

trying to jump out and the cook keeps batting them back with his spoon.

Life is cooking us, and we resist because we don't know our purpose in

life, the "meal" that is being prepared.  The cook says to the chickpeas, 'You were once drinking fresh dew in the garden.  That was so you could be a nice meal for the Guest. Don't dwell on the self you think you are.  Let yourself be transformed into something even better--a meal for the Beloved.'  In Rumi's view, the whole universe is involved in transformation, in eating and being eaten for the sake of an evolution driven by love."

Hope you're having a good day!

All Love,

Always!

Pamela

aka Keiko, the chickpea :)

Sent : Monday, June 26, 2006 4:21 PM To : "Pam Saunders" Subject : RE: More Dream

What WONDERFUL growth of the dream into your world. I couldn't have prepared a better set of learnings for you myself.... Of course I'm sad, too, to be missing you sweet folks this weekend in CO, but you're right...when the time comes, it'll be the best time for it. Keep cookin' on, my little chicky-pea!! Oh, and would you mind writing me what your address is? I keep forgetting to do that when I get a package, and I want to send you guys the things I got for you (nothing home made, but that's for another time). Love to you both!!

From: Pam Saunders [mailto:pamelady62@hotmail.com] 

Sent: Wednesday, July 19, 2006 11:01 AM

Subject: A Breakthrough on an Aspect of "the Dream"

Beloved Brother,

Oh, WOW!  Oh, WOW!  Oh, WOW!!!  Ya Fattah!  When things open up, they

open up, don't they?

The latest "installment" on the Tao thread, plus my "re-entry into 'the cave'", plus reading a section of a book by a woman who left the Mormon church to join the Quakers (Grace Notes by Heidi Hart), which led me to 

Shakespeare's sonnet 91, plus discovering an empty eggshell and a whole buckeye seed on my walk from the bus stop, plus watching the children

who gather for day camp in front of my office building all bring be back full circle to an important an puzzling (until now) aspect of my dream.

Lately, I've been asking myself if my seeking spirit/Spirit is really an attempt to disengage from my body--a sort of running away.  Have I erroneously defined "heaven" as the ultimate disembodiment and is

entering "the cave" my soul's attempt to deconstruct that definition.   It seems to be a distilment of complete connection between my spiritual and sensual self.  Pretty scary stuff because then I ask myself, "If I succeed in making that connection, will I then want to stay there forever?"  Again, "Grace Notes"--Heidi Hart asks a similar question with regard to pouring herself completely into her music.  It seems all so foreign to me, and yet there are emerging childhood memories of such corporeal communion that exhilarate me.  Those glimpses literally raise goose bumps and oh, my God! this is where that aspect of my dream comes in--those goose bumps are the "pattern" which formed on the body of my baby after I drew her out of the water.  They represent the ultimate spirit/body connection.  I am in tears over the revelation of it.

"Claim your self, Pamela!  Your WHOLE self--spirit AND body."  With my recent discovery of Sufism and the breath/body work connected to that Path, I have wondered what such physical aspects have to do with the spiritual since they will be gone upon leaving this earthly plane.  The answer is, "EVERYTHING!"  There are really no words to describe this kind of knowing, are there?  It can only be experienced. The Path or the Way to the Soul (that oneness with the One)--heaven, if you will, is via the body.

Suddenly, I am experiencing a realization of why I have been lead here--to the Sufi Path and to the direction I seem to be drawn to with regard to my returning to school.  A wider picture of the Whole is being revealed to me and I am deeply awed, even "sore afraid" at the thought that I even have a small part in it.  Wow! Wow! Wow! (that's my prayer today:  "WOW!")

I'm still in the cave, but not hurting quite so much now that I have

begun speaking with the pain and making myself more acquainted with it.  And deeply grateful for the opportunity

Thank you, dear Brother for "listening," for helping me face the dark

and dense parts of my self and assuring me that it is a healthy part of the process.  Your love and your honesty for and with me is invaluable

beyond words.  I love you dearly!

All Love,

Always!

Sister Pamela

Sonnet 91 Some glory in their birth, some in their skill

Some glory in their birth, some in their skill,

Some in their wealth, some in their bodies' force,

Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill,

Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse;

And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure,

Wherein it finds a joy above the rest:

But these particulars are not my measure;

All these I better in one general best.

Thy love is better than high birth to me,

Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' cost,

Of more delight than hawks or horses be;

And having thee, of all men's pride I boast:

Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take

All this away and me most wretched make.

12

The oneness of the five colors blind the eyes.
The oneness of the five tones deafens the ears.
The oneness of the five flavors dull the tongue.

Racing ahead of change
and pursuing the illusion of reality
promotes confusion.

Therefore, the sage is in harmony with what she is
and does not distinguish what she sees.

She chooses oneness and distinguishes nothing.

Sent : Wednesday, July 19, 2006 4:39 PM To : "Pam Saunders" Subject : RE: A Breakthrough on an Aspect of "the Dream"

WOW indeed!! You're really letting this dream live through you in the waking world, and that's where it really accomplishes its purpose. OK, then, "piloerection" (a medical term I learned for goose bumps, or goose pimples as we used to call them too.) As a response to cold it’s a protective measure: Back when we REALLY had hair (pilium, I think is the Latin) the hairs would stand up when we were cold, to trap heat, apparently. Now that we're pretty much naked, as mammals go, you can still see the hair follicles erecting, but not much hair is raised. I had seen this initially as another sign of the child being able to protect itself, but now I see I was mistaken. Because piloerection is a vestigial function of a more ancient form of ourselves, it suggests the spirit/body connection in a couple of ways. First, it connects us directly with our ancestors, and second it is something we have no consciousness of doing, no ability to control, and which serves no purpose now other than as a sign. Breathing is a sign, too, but it serves a current purpose. I think it's like the difference between rain and the rainbow. Rain serves a purpose, the rainbow none, but it is asign that feels so much like a gift we make up stories about it. I'm glad to hear that life in the cave is going as well as can be expected. Big WOWs for you!!

From: Pam Saunders [mailto:pamelady62@hotmail.com] 

Sent: Wednesday, July 19, 2006 4:03 PM

Subject: RE: A Breakthrough on an Aspect of "the Dream"

Your reference to ancestors sincerely intrigues me.  Maybe that's

because of my Mormon background and the emphasis on genealogical research.  Is it possible we carry memory in our DNA or somehow transmit memory from past lives onto our bodies.

Lately, I've wondered about past lives and reincarnation (I'm not

convinced of the idea of reincarnation's existence or non-existence), but it concerns me only in the same way the idea of possible repressed childhood memory does.  I'm still on the same page with you where that is concerned--no need to try to dig up old memories if they are repressed or simply not there. I know of enough people who are trying to uncover memories from a past life in order to deal with their issues now.  Maybe the vision of those memories is not important or even useful, especially when referenced in another life, or another time in a person's life.  What matters, perhaps is the acknowledgement of those memories, experiencing them in whatever form they manifest themselves (goose bumps),  letting them recede or dissipate, and then moving on.  And THAT, my dear friend is enough to help me through the wounded childhood thing you mentioned on my chart.  At least it relieves much anxiety over the subject.

All Love,

Always!

Pamela

Sent : Wednesday, July 19, 2006 8:10 PM To : "Pam Saunders" Subject : RE: A Breakthrough on an Aspect of "the Dream"

…As for childhood or past life memories (and aren't childhood memories just that?) you know there's this whole therapeutic approach now...EMDR and its variations, that suggests you don't have to have this big cathartic memory experience. You may just need to pass things thru in other symbolic ways without the big emotions. I think it's great stuff, as I've always been a LITTLE suspicious that catharsis only breeds more catharsis, then you have a heart attack and die...lol....

I'm back to the baby dream! Wow! I've just re-read this email, and I hope that you can see through the babbling to what I'm trying to convey here. Tonight was pretty intense and yet, I'm sensing, only a tip of the proverbial iceberg--

I was reading more in the Hidden Gospel book and just leaned my head back for a minute to absorb what I had just read (actually, re-read)--the section on Prayer in the Closet--creating sacred space through the veiled, protection, etc. Saadi's reference is Matthew 6:6:

But thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet and when thou has shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is in secret; and thy Father which seeth thee in secret, shall reward the openly.

An Aramaic expansion of that passage reads:

When you want to lay yourself open for the divine,

like a snare that is hollowed out to its depth,

like a canopy that projects a shadow

from the divine heat and light

into your soul,

then go into your inner place,

to that story or symbol that reminds you of the sacred.

Close the doors of your awareness to

the public person you think yourself to be.

Pray to the parent of creation with your inner sense,

the outer senses turned within.

Veiling yourself, the mystery may be unveiled through you.

By opening yourself to the flow of the sacred,

somewhere, resounding in some inner form,

the swell of the divine ocean can move through you.

The breathing life of all reveals itself

in the way you live your life.

So, this is what I'm absorbing in my resting my eyes that turned into a deep dream meditation.

I re-dreamed the dream, only in a more conscious meditative state than the first time. Only this time I allowed myself to move from myself in the dream and to view the dream through Keiko's "eyes." We didn't get all the way through the dream--only to the point of the cooking/grilling face down.

I really don't know how to describe this, but I WAS/AM the baby, with all the conceptual awareness of a baby in the situation of being handed over to someone (me) who is burdened by past ideas, concepts, dogma, etc, who has failed before and is fearful of future failures, who feels incompetent. Can you imagine what a baby must feel like being handed over to someone like that? I can through this experience, and yet I've only scratched the surface of that kind of empathy through the dream.

It's not what one might think. The baby senses all those things in me, but resides in a state of happiness and bliss. That state continues even as the baby is placed on the grill face down. Now there is sensation--heat, burning, but it is felt in a different context than what I (the dream I) conceptualize as an adult or even as a human.

Face-down, I (the baby-I) see only the blackness of the grill, but there is no fear of the unknown because that is all I (the baby-) have ever experienced--one moment after another into the unknown--complete and total trust.

The heat and the burning are only aspects or elements of the same unknown and without the human or adult preconceptions that create fear, the sensation of that burning or searing are different. I can't explain this part--the sensations--they feel like "long ago" sensations. I think it's ok at this point that I can't describe them--neither can Keiko--she just feels them and continues to live in her blissful state.

The accidental exercise is fascinating on many different levels--

1. The process itself completely captures me--that I can re-dream a dream in another consciousness (ie, dream meditation) tells me that I can connect with aspects of myself in a way that I didn't even imagine. Looking back at myself through those various aspects tells me a lot more about who I am, why I do what I do, and allows me to envision myself in a different context.

2. Although part of the process is surrendering to a certain aspect of the dream, I am not "lost" within that aspect--I can move in and out of it---it's kind of like having a non-verbal conversation with that aspect of my dream-self. For some reason, this informs me about my connection to the One, the Universe, God...

3. The lessons, the knowledge, the revelations gained via the re-dreaming were missed by dreaming with myself (the dream I) as the subject. Allowing myself to be an object and allowing Keiko to become the subject created that new learning space. I also got a sense that object and subject are interchangeable and equal in validating the experience of the dream.

4. If I can see/dream through various aspects in a dream in a semi-conscious state (dream meditation), then maybe I can do that in a fully consious state--total empathy, but even beyond that--experiencing myself through another medium, whether it be another person, a community or perhaps even God (I'm not even close to that one, I'm certain, but just imagining it to be possible blows my mind). And then beyond that--experiencing another person through their own eyes, others' eyes and perhaps God's.

Anyway, WOW!!! Double WOW!!! Infinity-WOW!!! I'm still interested in the other dream, but this one just won't let go, or I won't. I just don't feel finished with it yet. I've had recurring dreams, but this is something entirely different.

Thanks for continuing to work with me on this.

ALA!

Pamela

Pamela, 

You know, of course, there are some dreams that stay with you forever.

I still am dreaming, at some level, the defining dream of my life at the

Khankah SAM, which, in short, involved going up a hill to this enormous

white cross.  I have enough references and cross-references and

cross-cross references to it over the last 25 or so years that I really

could fill a book. 

I am hesitant to say much of anything at this point about the Keiko

dream. You are cruising along with it so beautifully I almost think

anything I say would throw a monkey wrench in the works.  But reading

your conscious dreaming I had this very strong image of bowing and

touching my forehead, "face down" into the heat of surrender.

That's all I think I want to say now.  I would be most honored if you

keep me posted on developments in the ongoing dreaming of Keiko and

company.

Love always, thom

PS. I have no idea if your sombrero idea has anything to do with poor

Keiko, but perhaps you have found her father???  ...lol... I so

appreciate your humor.

I heard this saying by Al Gazali (sp?) today and had some thoughts on this in relationship to my dream:

"Verily, there are servants among my servants who love me, and I love them. And they long for me and I long for them. And they look at me and I look at them. And their signs are that they preserve the shade at daytime as compassionately as a herdsman preserves his sheep. And they long for sunset as the bird longs for his nest at dusk. And when the night comes, and the shadows become mixed, and the beds are spread out, and the bedsteds are put up, and every lover is alone with his Beloved, then they will stand on their feet and put their faces on the ground and will call me with my Word and will flatter me with my Graces, half crying and half weeping, half bewildered and half complaining, sometimes standing, sometimes sitting, sometimes kneeling, sometimes prostrating and I see what they bear for my sake, and I hear what they complain for my love."

So here is what I was thinking in light of this and my dream:

There is a conception that God does not experience pain. Perhaps that is a misconception. Perhaps God is the most tortured Being in the Universe. Indeed, if God is the Only Being, then knowing the entire suffering of the Universe, God IS the most tortured. And conversely knows the burning joy as well. Loving detachment with both is that Divine quality that makes God remain God. And so, we, as we unite with all the Illuminated Souls, experience both the searing pain and the burning joy as the infantile goddess of my dream.

Beloved Brother,

Oh, WOW! Oh, WOW! Oh, WOW!!! Ya Fattah! When things open up, they open up, don't they?

The latest "installment" on the Tao thread, plus my "re-entry into 'the cave'", plus reading a section of a book by a woman who left the Mormon church to join the Quakers (Grace Notes by Heidi Hart), which led me to Shakespeare's sonnet 91, plus discovering an empty eggshell and a whole buckeye seed on my walk from the bus stop, plus watching the children who gather for daycamp in front of my office building all bring be back full circle to an important an puzzling (until now) aspect of my dream.

Lately, I've been asking myself if my seeking spirit/Spirit is really an attempt to disengage from my body--a sort of running away. Have I erroneously defined "heaven" as the ultimate disembodiment and is entering "the cave" my soul's attempt to deconstruct that definition. It seems to be a distillment of complete connection between my spiritual and sensual self. Pretty scary stuff because then I ask myself, "If I succeed in making that connection, will I then want to stay there forever?" Again, "Grace Notes"--Heidi Hart asks a similar question with regard to pouring herself completely into her music. It seems all so foreign to me, and yet there are emerging childhood memories of such corporeal communion that exhilerate me. Those glimpses literally raise goosebumps and oh, my God! this is where that aspect of my dream comes in--those goosebumps are the "pattern" which formed on the body of my baby after I drew her out of the water. They represent the ultimate spirit/body connection. I am in tears over the revelation of it.

"Claim your self, Pamela! Your WHOLE self--spirit AND body." With my recent discovery of Sufism and especially the Ruhaniat and the breath/body work connected to that order, I have wondered what such physical aspects have to do with the spiritual since they will be gone upon leaving this earthly plane. The answer is, "EVERYTHING!" There are really no words to describe this kind of knowing, are there? It can only be experienced. The Path or the Way to the Soul (that oneness with the One)--heaven, if you will, is via the body.

Suddenly, I am experiencing a realization of why I have been lead here--to the Sufi Path and to the direction I seem to be drawn to with regard to my returning to school. A wider picture of the Whole is being revealed to me and I am deeply awed, even "sore afraid" at the thought that I even have a small part in it. Wow! Wow! Wow! (that's my prayer today: "WOW!")

I'm still in the cave, but not hurting quite so much now that I have begun speaking with the pain and making myself more acquainted with it. And deeply grateful for the opportunity

Thank you, dear Brother for "listening," for helping me face the dark and dense parts of my self and assuring me that it is a healthy part of the process. Your love and your honesty for and with me is invaluable beyond words. I love you dearly!

All Love,

Always!

Sister Pamela

Sonnet 91 Some glory in their birth, some in their skill

Some glory in their birth, some in their skill,

Some in their wealth, some in their bodies' force,

Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill,

Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse;

And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure,

Wherein it finds a joy above the rest:

But these particulars are not my measure;

All these I better in one general best.

Thy love is better than high birth to me,

Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' cost,

Of more delight than hawks or horses be;

And having thee, of all men's pride I boast:

Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take

All this away and me most wretched make.

Dream 7-27-2006 between 5:33 a.m. and 6:03 a.m.

I am walking my mother to her work. It is her first day on the job at a warehouse store (like Costco or Sam’s Club). We pass by a man in a motorized wheelchair. There is a little time to talk, so I begin telling her about my Keiko dream. I start the telling in the middle of the dream and then I realize that it won’t do. I have to relate it from the beginning. Suddenly, we are at her work and there is no time. She cannot listen any longer. She must report for work. I tell her it’s ok, there will be another time to share my dream with her. I attempt to kiss her goodbye, but another employee, a man carrying a flat of plants comes between us. I kiss one of the plants instead. We all laugh. I turn to leave and someone hands me a hot fudge sundae. I eat it as I walk across the parking lot. When I get to the end of the parking lot, I approach an intersection where I had seen the man in the wheelchair. I lean over to take another spoonful of the sundae. Suddenly, I hear a noise and a shout. The wheelchair is in pieces all over the road and the man has disappeared. I put the sundae down on a table. A woman appears—the man’s wife. She is on her knees in the gutter looking down into an opening in an underground sewer system. She tells me she must get down there. She tells me that she and her husband have lost their jobs that day. I think he must be trying to commit suicide. I pick up my cell phone and dial 911, then I realize that I have dialed the wrong number. I dial again. I begin to talk to the dispatcher. He asks me my address. I begin to tell him my address and then I stop. I ask him if he would rather me tell him the address of my current location. Yes. He wants my current location. I look at the intersecting street signs. One of the signs says 1010 Henry David Thoreau St. There is a translating east/west coordinate for the street name as is the case for all SLC streets. I read the coordinate, but I can’t seem to communicate that to the dispatcher. He tells me never mind, he will get the coordinate. I look at the gutter. People have gathered around—a small crowd. Someone retrieves the man from the sewer. He is clean. He runs to his wife and they embrace. I am still on the phone with the dispatcher. I ask them if they want medical assistance anyway. They say yes. The man tells me he lost his job. He says that the commonality with everyon who loses their jobs is that each person tells the story of it to everyone they meet. They loose friends. He begins to tell me his story. I hear his words but I do not understand them. I am disinterested. I walk away.

I wake up.

The waking dream:

My parents have been in town, staying with me while they look for a house. They will be moving to SLC. I’m a bit apprehensive about them moving so close to me. Where they live now is a comfortable distance—we can visit, but it’s far enough away to be a trip (four hour drive). They are going to make an offer on a house today.

Before I fell asleep last night I was meditating with wazifa, focusing on al-Wasi, the All Embracing, the All Pervading. I was reading Saadi’s commentary from “The Sufi Book of Life” on al-Wasi:

“Perhaps life is asking you to stretch to include aspects of your inner being that you have not encountered previously—even your own doubts—or to simply hold another being in the light of the One. We do not need to do anything for them, but rather need to be there as a presence, reminding them of the divine embrace. Holding with the capacity of Wasi does not mean carrying someone: This is being, not doing.”

Some familiar aspects of the dream:

In the past, I have had issues with my mom listening to only half of what I say. I think it stems from being the oldest child in such a large family. She seemed to be there for me at first and then was required to tend to other children or situations at hand.

Hot fudge sundaes—when I was in high school I worked at a burger joint that had hot fudge sundaes which are a favorite treat for both me and my mother. If I happened to be working late, before returning home, I would call my mom to see if she was up and then I would bring home hot fudge sundaes for both of us. We used to have the best talks while eating our sundaes late into the night/early into the next morning.

Wheelchair—my dad uses a motorized wheelchair sometimes due to his Parkinson’s disease.

Henry David Thoreau St.—HDT is my dad’s favorite essayist.

I’m interested in the connection between my mother’s inability to let me finish telling her my dream and my disinterest in the man’s story about losing his job.

Ok, well, there it is. As you can see, I’m already working on this one. Any insight you can offer whenever you have time, is gratefully welcome.

All Love,

Always!

Pamela