Facing my shadow

February 18, 2019

The sun is shining, and it’s a beautiful clear day. After days of rain, we’re in for a week of good weather. It’s wintertime, and the livin’ is easy. Except when it ain’t.

In spite of all the things I have to be grateful for – excellent health, good family, lots of friends, enough money, pretty surroundings – for the last few days I’ve been experiencing a winter of discontent. And I’m not sure why. Oh, I had a mostly good day yesterday, hiking with some friends and dinner with others. And today is off to a good start. But something is troubling me on one level or another, and I’d like to figure out what it is so that I can heal the pain and move on. Maybe I’ll figure it out, and maybe I won’t. But at least I need to try.

I’ve managed to keep up a cheerful front, so I don’t think that anyone else has noticed my anger, irritability, impatience, or cynicism. I’ve kept it to myself as much as possible, as I usually do. That’s one of the advantages of living alone – no one has to hear my private rants. But last night I confessed to myself the frustrations that I’ve been feeling, and asked my higher power for help. I awakened this morning with the following dreams: 

Inside a very large community tipi, I saw many young Lakota people preparing for a stage reenactment of the Wounded Knee massacre. I was intrigued to note that Indian boys were dressed as cavalry soldiers, and was curious to watch and listen as they portrayed the killers of their own people. But there was noise from other conversations in the tipi, so I moved closer to hear the kids better as they rehearsed their lines…Walking with a young woman, I offered her encouragement for which she was very grateful. I asked her to pay it forward to someone else…As I awakened, I heard the words and tune to a song: “Oh, the flowers that I know best, are the flowers in my own chest.” I saw yellow daffodils in full bloom sprouting from my chest.

As a sometime student of dreams, I know that all the people in the dreams, from the Lakota kids to the young woman, are aspects of myself. And as someone who has visited the South Dakota site of the Wounded Knee massacre, I know the sad history of that 1890 event. I suspect that the soldiers represent my own killer or shadow side, the anger within me. But I’m gratified to note that the dreams ended on a positive note, with something lovely emerging from my heart. The flower image is reminiscent of the Buddhist symbol of the lotus flower which blooms from the mud at the bottom of a swamp. My shadow may be the mud, but the daffodils are a sign of hope that my ugly nature may produce something good after all.

Wishful thinking? Possibly. I’m reminded of my friend Julie, who once joked that her spiritual practice was “Maintenance Buddhism: it keeps you feeling good, while everything around you crumbles.” It could be that these dreams are a form of whistling past the graveyard, keeping up my spirits in the face of fears of a darker reality. But even if that’s the case, so what? Maybe my higher self answered my prayers, and maybe it didn’t. All I know is that I feel better today than I have for the last few days.

I think I’ll take my shadow out for a walk in the sunshine. It’s a beautiful day.