What are they trying to tell us?
I enjoy reading articles and essays written by Jack Preston King. I particularly enjoy his essays about dreams; what impels them, what they might mean, and how we might benefit from analysis of our own subconscious escapades.
Jack has researched the subject. My story does not pose as an expert opinion or a treatise written by one who is passionately informed, as Jack is. My story qualifies more as a small piece that might be a cog in a study conducted by Jung or other therapist. It is my experience, and what it has meant to me.
During a time in my life when I was adrift on open waters, rudderless, hungry and frail, I dreamed the same dream repeatedly. The dream never varied, there were no other persons in it, and I could easily recall the entire dream at will — even today. The dream impressed me but the emotions attendant to the imagery exceeded the visual impact. Upon waking I would note that I had once more “dreamed the dream,” and I felt a longing. I felt a desire for something I could not identify. It was seated in my heart, not my mind, and it was as if a cord had been tied around my heart, and was being tugged by some unseen force, to compel me into…….something.
I was puzzled, to say the least.
The dream was simple and brief. I gazed over the open waters of the Pacific Ocean, standing at a spot overlooking a small crescent-shaped cove. I stood on the shoulder of Highway 101, at a spot locally known as Swami’s. It is a well-known spot where surfers gather, and on the bluff to the right of my location sits a lush, manicured garden. The grounds belong to The Self-Realization Fellowship.
In the dream, I stand on the bluff and look toward the west. But in this dream, there is a small, lush tropical island just outside the confines of the crescent-shaped cove, an island that does not exist in reality. As I look upon the island, I get closer to its shores. I can hear the sounds of tree-dwellers, but there are no people on the island, only a sandy shore dotted with banana and palm trees for shade. My every fiber longs to be on that island. I seem to hover over it and I absorb its appeal and its promise of tranquility. There is an unspoken offer: come to my shores and I will grant you peace and serenity.
My body hasn’t moved during this sequence; it feels like an out-of-body experience, which adds another layer of intrigue. This is the entire dream; there is no intricate plot, no conflict or resolution, no story. I believe I was visited with this dream well over 100 times.
In time I was able to gain a measure of clarity about myself, which helped me to find my way clear of the unhealthy entanglements that had dogged me. I re-centered and re-focused myself and settled into a life filled with wonders, miracles, and inner peace. The details are personal, but one lesson emerged from that transition, a clear revelation about the nature of the dream.
At some point, I realized that I hadn’t dreamt the dream for many nights. I thought of it, stroked it, and reflected on the longing that had always accompanied it. I wondered why I had not been visited as I had been for years. At length its meaning became clear.
The dream was an invitation. It was a beautiful reminder, painted by the Master, in vivid colors foreign to this planet, that peace can be found no matter what battle rages in the world. It was a gift from beyond my mortal senses, a tether to the divine, like a note one might find in a shirt pocket, written by a loved one and put there in the hope that a smile might sprout upon its discovery. When I reformed myself and lived in honor of the principles I’d been taught as a child, I had accepted this invitation, and the dream ceased.
I recall the dream fondly and hope someday for its return. I would greet it warmly; I would try to slow the projector, to extend the experience. I would revel in the scope of its love and kindness. I would soak in every aspect of its significance. But most of all, I would give thanks, as I have done for many years, for a life filled with marvels beyond my ken — then offer a commitment to never leave it again.