Posts Tagged ‘dreams’
What Led?
The weeks that have followed the unexpected death of Legacy, our Arabian gray who was the herd leader of three chestnuts, have been made even more difficult by some extreme winter weather, the death of a colleague and friend whom Cyndie worked with during her years as Principal of Eden Prairie High School, and now signs of some laminitis lameness in Hunter.
Among the many contributing factors listed for laminitis, we found that hormonal imbalance caused by stress of moving a horse or the loss of a field companion spoke directly to the situation effecting our remaining three. Sadly, this recent heavy snow accumulation, followed by the dramatic thaw, has added another risk by making the uneven frozen footing in the paddocks hazardous for bruising or mechanical damage to the cellular bond between sensitive laminae and the hoof wall.
On top of these issues, this weekend Cyndie and I were smacked with the reality that her car is in need of cost prohibitive repairs. Logic indicates it is time to shop for a different vehicle for her.
Roll all these issues together and our grieving minds both came to a similar thought: has our dream of making Wintervale Ranch into a functioning business met with defeat?
Life was a heck of a lot less complicated for me when I lived in the suburbs and only had to deal with maintaining the house and our tiny lot. I hate to admit there are aspects of that which look desirable in comparison to our current situation.
Our unpredictable and decidedly inadequate combined incomes do not make shopping for a replacement vehicle as simple as it once was for us. Right now, shopping for a different car seems to be a tipping point for our analysis of this whole crazy move to the country to build a self-sustaining retreat and learning center.
What led us here in the first place?
We found ourselves revisiting the series of inspirational events that sequentially fueled our passion and groomed our decisions. From the magical trip to spend two weeks with Ian Rowcliffe in Portugal, to Cyndie’s apprenticeship in Linda Kohanov’s Eponaquest workshops, to our discovery of this gorgeous property and log home in west-central Wisconsin, the mid-life transition we embarked on seemed supernaturally ordained.
Where is that inspiration now?
Instead of the surprisingly achievable answers and solutions that have blessed us in response to all the incredible challenges that arose throughout the early years of this adventure, we are increasingly noticing a lack of income-generating response to our offerings and an increase in stressful difficulties with our animal partners.
Obviously, the most dramatic stressor being Legacy’s sudden death.
Just like all that has come before, we know there is a lesson for us in this. Even though he is gone, Legacy still has something to teach us.
At the center of it all is, love.
We grieve because we love and experienced a loss, but loving is how we got where we are today.
We believe it is possible to rediscover the love and inspiration that guided us here and we are seeking to re-attune ourselves to more of the surprisingly achievable answers and solutions that have graced our journey thus far.
What led us here is exactly the same as what will lead us to what happens next.
Please keep your seat belts fastened and your arms and hands inside at all times for the remainder of this wild ride.
.
.
Powerful Thoughts
Remembering things that have long ago faded from view is an art to be cherished. It does many things for us, but most significantly, it keeps alive those who are no longer physically here. Our mental processing happens the same for information arriving through our open eyes as it does for conjured memories. When we think about those who are not with us, it turns out that they actually are.
Arriving yesterday afternoon for a funeral service, Cyndie and I could feel the love and the grief before we saw it on the faces and in the hugs. Love and emotion radiates from the intensity of powerful thoughts.
Last night my dreams were as real as ever and traveled to one of my childhood homes, accompanied by faces and personalities of my present day. This morning the aroma of wood smoke from the warm flames in our fireplace reaches deep into my being and magically mixes the present moment with hundreds of equally pleasant fires of my past.
Most powerful of all, I get to choose where I will direct my thoughts to go. Shall I nurture the angst I feel over disturbing news reports and harrowing unethical prospects of late, or will I focus the power of my imagination on virtually hugging the globe and all its inhabitants in an embrace of love and compassion?
Yesterday, while editing an article Cyndie wrote, I was reminded of how much impact our mental energies have on outcomes. She described her journey of transformation in defiance of a particular diagnosis of permanent disability, choosing to purposefully embrace the power of possibility, in lieu of passively accepting untested limitations.
My mind would be far less able and aware if it wasn’t for Cyndie’s influence. I’m embarrassed for the number of years I dragged my less-enlightened self, kicking and screaming in resistance, behind her bold explorations of potential for better possibilities.
“I dwell in possibility,” she would always tell me.
“Yeah, it’s possible this could all go wrong,” would be my natural reaction.
Proof lies in the pudding, and I’ve seen enough results now to recognize the beauty of her powerful thinking.
I’m going to send my love today to those who just lost a precious relation, while also renewing the lives of members of my own family by fondly remembering them in the same way my mind did when they were here.
An amazing power, thought.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Inspiration Fades
It happens. Inspiration will wax and wane. My enthusiasm for this adventure we embarked on at Wintervale is ebbing away.
It has been a tough week for me. Where we once seemed to be enjoying a charmed life here, with progress advancing in surprisingly magical ways and solutions flowing with unexplainable ease, our situation of late has become a lot less mystical.
Have we gone off track somewhere? I don’t know. It’s life. Sometimes there are more problems than solutions for a while.
I’m sure there are a lot of reasons for businesses to fail. Ours is simply failing to get started.
Full disclosure, I am writing from a state of overworked exhaustion. Why? Hay. Again. And the thought of facing today’s task of manure management, again.
I threw 100 bales, 200 times yesterday, loading the borrowed trailer and unloading it. Carrying bales up and up to stack them in our shed. It is an endurance exercise where the climb gets higher as the fatigue grows ever more debilitating. At first, the bales seem light, but at the end, they feel a lot heavier.
Today, I need to move the compost piles to make room for more. Since I returned to the day-job, I haven’t been tending the piles in the daily manner I did when I was home all day. Once, every other weekend, is not cutting it.
It’s a buzz-kill.
Meanwhile, there are dangerous trees that broke off and are hung up in surrounding branches over our trail that I need to get after. And siding that needs to be scraped and stained before winter. On Monday, it will be August. Projects that should happen before winter arrives are beginning to loom large.
And we have yet to get our hay-field cut even one time this summer. It has become a field of weeds that are gleefully sowing their seeds for further domination. That is probably the biggest discouragement. It is why we have needed to trailer in more hay than before and it is the exact opposite direction from growing desirable hay ourselves.
It will go a long way to improving my outlook when that field finally gets cut and the weedy debris removed. We have decided to take a full year from hay production and plan to cut it continuously to stop the cycle of weeds growing to their seeding phase. We may also add some recommended soil enhancers and then plant a custom mix of grass seeds in hopes of achieving our goal of getting good quality hay to grow right at home.
That gives me a year of something to look forward to. More mowing. You know how much I love mowing.
Oh, by the way, our lawn tractor is not holding up to the abuse I put it through. I need to shop for something else. Maybe if I do it right, I’ll end up with a machine that I like so much it will change how I feel about cutting grass.
That’s what it is all about here: grass hay and lawn grass. Who knew I would find myself so fixated on a task to which I held such disdain in my previous years?
No wonder my inspiration has a tendency to fade every so often.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
This Happens
In the morning, our wake up call comes from Delilah. She sleeps in a crate beneath the spiral stairs in the main room. During my work week, when I leave the house in the early morning darkness, she regularly ignores me and stays quiet until around 7 or 7:30, if Cyndie is lucky.
It’s not exactly uncommon for Delilah to start getting vocal more than an hour earlier than desired. When it is way too early, I discovered that if one of us moves to the couch behind her crate and lays down to sleep, she will usually go back to sleep, too.
This morning was one of the occasions where it wasn’t so extremely early that it was still dark outside, but it was earlier than either of us wanted to wake up, after having stayed up a bit late last night because it was, after all, a Saturday. Cyndie, being less inclined toward sleeping on the couch for the dog, got up and let Delilah out of her crate. Then Cyndie came back to bed, hoping to get a few more minutes of shuteye before getting up for real.
That practice is based on the willingness of Delilah to calm down again after having just stretched out in expectation of starting her day. She puts her feet on the bed to check on me, she paces a bit and pants loudly. If we are lucky, she recognizes the situation and walks in a tight circle about 6 times and lays down to give us a little added slumber.
Then this happens… I realize that I have to pee.
Go figure. I am desperately trying to stay in my sleep mode, and the dog has just indicated she is willing to gift us with precious added time. I don’t have to go to work, I can sleep as long as possible, but my bladder is asking for relief.
Since I am tired, it is possible to override the body signals long enough to regain unconsciousness. It could be blissful, except for one thing. The body has its own intelligence, and it doesn’t give up without additional effort.
You know the drill. I was dreaming that it was time to leave and people were waiting for me, but before I could leave with them, I needed to use the bathroom. Actually, I think there were several bathrooms involved in this morning’s dream. Of course, a toilet couldn’t be found in any of them.
I dreamed I was peeing into something where I had mistakenly placed a kitchen utensil I had just used. Then I was peeing into a tub that had been placed where a toilet was supposed to be, but it turned out to be filled with plastic building block toys. In that case, the door was not latched and my niece’s young son wandered in, with her right behind. Soon she was commenting on my choice of receptacle.
It’s like being stuck in a labyrinth that has no end.
After Delilah decided we had enough extra time, she woke us again, interrupting my troubled sleep and freeing me from my self-inflicted imaginary dramas.
That was a relief for my mind which then, finally, allowed relief for my body.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Dream On
I recently had one of those dreams where I awoke with the feeling that it had actually happened. When you dream about someone you know, do you find yourself inclined to tell them about it?
“You were in my dream!”
I struggle with that urge. I usually want to tell the person. It was so real!
But they weren’t involved. It was my mind conjuring a depiction of them. I could just as well imagine a scene with another person while I am wide awake, and then go tell them the details. Seems rather creepy when considered like that.
At the same time, we are all connected. When we think of others, we can strengthen connections with them. Spending time with someone in our dreams creates a strong feeling of connection, but I figure it probably is a lopsided one.
When I experience a dream connection with someone, it ends up commanding my attention for a long time. When I am able to recall the details of a dream that involved a perception of a person I know, it will seem no different to me from memories I have acquired about experiences while awake.
It is not surprising to hear someone questioning themselves over whether they are remembering an actual event or something they dreamed. People have even come up with the generally accepted and universally understood phenomenon of pinching, to establish whether an experience is a dream, or not.
At this point in my life, I don’t usually want to know.
Why spoil the unlimited possibilities of a dream state by checking for reality?
Dream on, I say.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Versions
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Walking
.
.
walking past
time and again
vast
breathtaking
occasionally not there
figments
fog reality
earth tones
vibrate
resonate
landscapes
differentiate
vistas
barely separate
dreams
fading fast
slip away
simultaneously filling
yet creating
.
an abyss
.
that is nothing
a feeling
fleeting
delicate
hesitating
anticipating
heavy
hammering down
brute force impact
flailing
for purchase
a foothold
lackadaisically looking
for some step
that destiny dictates
should come
next
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Dream Lesson
I believe that our minds do productive work while our bodies sleep. Often, the dream we recall when we wake up is so bizarre that whatever meaning it might hold for us is disguised beyond recognition. Yesterday morning, I awoke to a very rare occasion of having had the same situation appear in two different dreams, one right after the other. I’ve not thoroughly deciphered all the possible messages for me in these dreams, but I’ve been given a pretty clear pair of situations from which to ponder a meaning.
In both dreams I was playing soccer. For some reason, I have better recall of the first dream, where I was out wide to the left of the goal, and my teammates repeatedly moved the ball out to me for a shot. The ball kept coming to my left foot. Three different times it happened. Each time I was hoping for it to arrive for a big shot with my dominant right foot. I found myself off balance to react well with my left, because I was looking for it to be on my right. I finally made a weak attempt with my left foot and the ball slowly rolled toward a crowd of players and then, to my surprise, somehow it squeaked into the very corner edge of the net for a goal.
I woke up just enough to realize my dream, then turned over and went back to sleep. Then it happened again. All I remember of this dream was that the ball came to my left foot when I wanted it on my right. I begrudgingly kicked a weak shot with my left anyway. It went IN!
When my alarm went off, the thought that was on my mind was the remarkable fact that I had two different dreams about the same thing.
I could easily interpret this lesson literally and practice being more prepared to use my left foot, and just take the shot whether it’s strong or not. It could also be symbolic of many other things for me.
I don’t usually put a lot of analytical effort into interpreting my dreams. I tend to let them influence me subconsciously. It seems the most congruent match for the oblique, bizarre image-stories that are broadcast in my noggin at night. That might explain some of the slow evolutionary progress I am able to demonstrate thus far in my life.
The message of these dreams appears much less complicated. I am inspired to take a LOT of shots with my left foot at my next morning futsal games on Friday. If I score a lot of unexpected goals, you can expect to hear more from me on this subject.
Relative Something 