you are your own dream-leader
I was lying in a bed with four other people – two men and two women. Jon (a Weatherford, Texas lawyer whom I first met in 1981 when we began law school together) was one of the men. As I lay there, I noticed the wallpaper peeling off the walls. It looked as if ten different layers of different wallpaper might be on the walls. One layer was brown with flower designs. In fact it looked as if almost every layer displayed a flower design. Obviously all the old wallpaper needed to be scrapped off and replaced with new wallpaper. In some places there were even holes in the wall through which I could see outside. I didn't think that I myself I wanted to undertake the task of replacing the wallpaper, but someone needed to do it.
As soon as I finally stood up from the bed, the people in the bed moved around. Jon took my place so there was no room left for me in the bed. I thought about jumping in between the two women, but I finally decided to simply go to the next room.
I walked into the next room, which was a living room, and sat down on the couch. I slowly realized I was in Waverly, Ohio. However the living room resembled the living room of the Dallas Zen Center, and I realized I was indeed at a Zen Center, which I thought was in Waverly. I had come there for a visit, and I thought other members of the Zen Center were also going to show up today. Even though this was a special day, not many people were expected to show up.
As I sat on the couch, the room began to gradually fill with people until probably twenty people were in the room. I noticed a black man who had walked in. Three oriental men then walked in. Everyone sat around the perimeter of the room and talked. Peter Lamborghini (a fellow from the Dallas Zen Center) was there as well as Mark Linnimon (another fellow from the Dallas Zen Center). Will Johnson (the artist at the Dallas Zen Center) was also there. Lamborghini was sitting next to me on my left. I noticed I was the only one sitting whose legs were actually crossed. My feet were tucked under my butt. I was sitting straight, almost in a meditation position, although no one there was meditating.
I began to realize just how disorganized the whole place had become. There was no leader and no organization whatsoever, but I decided I wasn't going to say anything about the situation. When I had been there before, everyone had become resentful when I had criticized the organization.
I did, however, pull out a piece of paper to make a list of the people who were there. I didn't write down their names. I just made marks on the paper. About twenty people were present. I thought that was more than used to come when I used to belong to the Dallas Zen Center. It appeared there was obviously some interest in getting the Zen Center going. I thought that would be interesting. In fact I thought I was again going to be living in this house, even though it was in Waverly.
Lamborgini was sitting to my left. I noticed that he would get so close to me that his face would touch mine and it even felt as if he were kissing me on the cheek. I then noticed that the fellow on my right had put his hand on my penis, and I had to knock him away.
I asked Lamborgini where he lived and he told me he lived there in Waverly. I thought that was strange that he would live in such a small town as Waverly where only about 10,000-15,000 resided. Since I intended to stay in Waverly and we would both be living in the same town, I thought we might get to know each other.
Finally people began dispersing until I was the only one left in the room. I stood and began walking in a circle the way I used to do after meditating at the Dallas Zen Center. I felt like crying because the place seemed so disorganized. I thought they needed some kind of leader. They needed someone who knew something about meditation to teach them how to meditate. I thought when I finished walking I would probably sit and try to meditate. But we really needed someone to show us how to do it. It seemed obvious that no one here really knew.
As I walked, I tried to imagine what someone who knew how to meditate would look like. I envisioned someone wearing a long ivory robe and standing there in the room, but I couldn't clearly see the person.
Dream Commentary of June 26, 2015
The Dream Journal reminds me of a zendo in many ways. Each of us is concentrated on our own selves, even as we are all meditating together in the same place. The Dream Journal, however, allows us to look into each other's lives in a way which is unavailable in a zendo.
What a joy it is to meditate on the dreams of another person! To sit quietly with legs crossed and concentrate on that person as known through his or her dreams.
The Dream Journal has no leader. It drifts leaderless through time.
Just as in a zendo, criticism on the Dream Journal can bread resentment, a pestilent emotion.
Understanding other people also seems more possible on the Dream Journal than in a zendo, although I am not quite sure of that. All I know is that I seem to have a keener impression of the people whose dreams I read than I would if I were simply sitting quietly in a room with someone.
The Dream Journal - for me at least - is superior to two of it's progenitors in my personal dream symbolism: the church and the zendo. To reap its benefits, however, requires concentration.
Dream Commentary of May 24, 2015
The difference between a meditation hall and a church is similar to the difference between the Dream Journal and a church.
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