" Vision is commonly used to mean an act of perception. Thus we can say that we see the speaker addressing a public event. In this sense, 'vision' is a descriptive report of an object, of an event. But 'vision' is also used in another sense, as when one talks about the aesthetic vision or a religious vision. In this second meaning, it its the imaginative, not the descriptive, element that is uppermost."-Sheldon Wolin
During the night I felt the presence of something fearful. I woke up and reflected upon the fear and did a Vajrayana practice for about half an hour and returned to sleep. The fear returned with a strong male predatory sexual energy emanating from an unseen presence. I asked the entity, "What is you name?"
The entity gave me the name of a famous cultural icon. I felt the presence of a Trickster character. I said,"I want to see you."
The dark turned into light and he was a disfigured man. I notice he is ill and crazy and he has had leprosy for he is missing fingers and toes. I felt a great compassion for this person and hold out my dream hands towards him and feel a current of kindness between us. He leaves and I notice a house full of activity.
I know this to be my mother's house, not to be confused with my earthly, biological mother. This mother is from another plane of reality. She and I have a conversation with another woman. I introduce her to my mother. We discuss things in another kind of language, not English, and I cant translate.. There is a lot of creative activity and I feel that I'm in an intermittent zone, where beings work out their activities on earth and elsewhere.
I leave this place and notice what appears to be a space within a space. It is like a thin transparent film with a square in it. I can enter the square and I would be in another space, a field, an area of influence. It's kind of like bubble wrap, folded up. The knowledge of different kinds of spaces with boundaries between them is understood intuitively. There is no one there to give instruction. I sense the wholeness and the part and the interplay of countless events,
I hear music, of an orchestra, and I become the music, a centerless center of complex never heard before music and then it changes to piano music, once again, no performers, no visuals and I am the music, intimate, dark, serious, brooding, deep, deep is the soul, it feels like a late romantic work by Brahms or Liszt with a dash of Bartok and I feel that I'm floating in this luxurious sense of sound/becoming and just happening simultaneously from the middle of nowhere.
I then return to a field of light and become fascinated by my dream hands which look just as they do in earth life. My hands are palm to palm in a gesture of prayer, just tlike the famous Durer engraving, the wrinkled hands, a gesture, a sign, differentiating signal from cosmic noise and the background radiation. I'm filled with devotion for everyone everywhere in the world of form and sense the power of the symbolic gesture I make and aware of al worlds and all levels at once.
I start to flow in an oceanic bliss boundaryless bliss and use speech to stabilize an intention and to tune into the field beyond all fields. " The mind of Christ," I say as I float downward, through what looks like endless debris of many civilizations, from earth and elsewhere,." the mind of the Buddha...I wish to rest in nirvana..." floating, downwards, gently, no boundaries and no time and no beginning and no end...and a deep satisfaction...as a shimmering blackness dissolves all separations.. Nowhere? Everywhere? Affective-cognitive functions in balance. A perfect symmetry. The rest is silence.
And so the human body wakes up feeling pretty good, the relative side of my nature is trying to make sense of this field of all possibilities and the finite games I am forced to play in this odd human event that is unfolding in an odd human place. Manhattan, Planet Earth. This is my umwelt. It's not a bad deal, it could be improved, it certainly could be worse. I have to sing for my supper along with lots of other humans and non humans.
Keats asks at the end of the famous ode to the Nightingale, one of the great visionary poems, of the English language-.
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music:—Do I wake or sleep?