Dream Visitor

When I hung up my worldly footwear for a pair of pathfinder boots, I began a journey that would lead me through the deepest recess of my mind, body and soul. These early years of my search for enlightenment were exciting times of untold wonders.

Inspiring teachers, fellowship with other journey persons, and the discovering of ideas and ancient practices boggled the mind and charged the soul. Each new experience led me to desire another and another. I began to open a mind that was previously formed by the concepts and demands created in a world composed of appointed rulers, and those who structured the ethics of morality. It was like opening myself to a realm of colors, and sounds that I was never aware existed.

So, when I tell you that looking forward to a good night sleep meant more to me than just eight hours of needed rest, I kid you not. Believe me, sleep was like a free round trip ticket to paradise. It wasn't what I could touch or taste that made this unconscious journey so real, it was real because it was often filled with truth.

If you would like to join me, I would like to share with you a little transcendental journey of intangible accomplishment. A corner stone experience per se, that formed the personal character of who I have become.

The dream opens like an old 1940's detective movie.

Darkness gives way to dim light. A solitary figure sits, absorbed in his work behind a worn brown desk. With nothing more than a small stack of stationery before him and a dulling no.2 pencil in hand, this young man in his early thirties focuses on the few scribbled words before him. A single light with a 25-watt bulb casts a glow from one of those cheap hanging, cone shaped ceiling fixtures. You know the kind, a low priced white milk glass lamp shade with an emerald green colored outer covering that defuses what little illumination a 25-watt bulb can spare.

Directly below this light, surrounded by a sea of darkness, the head of this solitary figure slouched forward, motionless. His only movement, is the occasional tap of the pencil upon his stationery. The stationery bears an indistinguishable logo with the two capital initials, C.W.

With no introduction what so ever, a man appears out of nowhere. Middle age, wearing a powder blue shirt and dark slacks. He stands without speaking before the worn desk. He was clean shaven, his eyes were brown, his short brown hair was beginning to recede.

C.W. looks up toward the unannounced figure and says, "What can I do for you?"

The stranger answers, "I know of a house I think you should buy."

C.W. replies, "I'm not in the market to buy a house right now, as a matter of fact, I'm in no position to buy any house at this time."

Stranger, "Price isn't an issue."

C.W., "I'm sorry, but at any price, I'm in no position to buy."

Stranger, "The party I'm representing has a strong need, I think you can help him."

C.W., "Again, I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do to help you right now."

Stranger, "Don't concern yourself with cost, money is not the issue."
C.W., "I don't know what to tell you."

Stranger, "The person I represent only asks that you take responsibility."

C.W., "I'm still not sure I can help you."

Stranger, "Please, I only ask that you talk to him."

A long pause takes controls of the air space between these two now. With a slight, near inaudible voice, C.W. attempts to speak, his reply, "O.K.......it doesn't cost anything to talk."

At this point, the stranger suddenly vanishes into the darkened void from which he came. C.W. leans back in his swivel chair and begins to think. Before he knew it, C.W. finds himself transported to an unfamiliar location along the western bank of a river.

It appears to be evening, the sun is closing in on the horizon casting amber colored rays of light. As they shone through the branches of the many trees, these amber rays of light appeared to be dancing upon the ground, being prompted by the music of the rustling leaves in the wind. Looking down on the flowing river, C.W. is reminded of the Native American's belief that the spirit of life flows through these eternal water-ways, bringing life to the land and its people. In the distance, to the south he sees an ancient tribal mound, now covered with trees and high grass. This mammoth structure symbolized a culture that once inhabited this great land with a highly civilized culture composed of permanent housing, self-government and agriculture resources. There, lives prospered for generations, from the land and river trade routes that converged on this tranquil setting.

C.W.'s eyes now brought him back to the river's bank and his immediate surroundings. To his right, he found a wooden structure with several vehicles parked randomly about its front yard. He begins to make his way over to the deck of what's obviously a wooden house. It is one story, with eight sides forming a complete octagon. In C.W.'s understanding, the octagon, like the circle, is a continuum. The eight sides of this structure seem to add a significance to this particular continuum. When you turn the number 8 on its side, it becomes the symbol for infinity, or eternal.

Letting himself into the front door, C.W. finds that he's entered a large hallway. This hallway runs both from his right and his left, fading into the distance as each passage turns its perspective corner. The hallways have a hollow echoing sound, giving the assumption that the both hallways complete an unbroken circle within the interior of the house.

Directly in front of him, down three wide steps, is a living room space. This sparsely furnished room and its cathedral ceiling gives enormous presence to the room's size. There are eight walls within this room with a door on the far left and right rear walls. A long hallway on the back wall extends to what he presumes is the kitchen, at the back of the house.

As C.W. steps down into the living room, a man rises from an easy chair. Extending his hand, the man approaches C.W. with a big smile. He is an elderly man, wearing wire rimmed glasses. His hair is light in color and graying, cropped short, in a flat top style. His barrel sized belly was accented by bright red suspenders, that held up a pair of loose fitting jeans, new hiking boots upon his feet.

This gentleman greeted C.W. with a most sincere "hello." C.W. extended his hand into the man's firm grip, and complimented him on the design of his house.

"I didn't really understand why I was there or what I should say next," C.W. says to himself. Before he could come up with an another line of conversation, this gentlemen, who didn't give C.W. his name said, "I would like for you to meet my son, he's been very ill, but he's looking forward to meeting you."

Without another word C.W. quickly follows the man into an adjoining room, which just so happened to be three more steps down. Once in the room, C.W. sees a young man in his mid-twenties. The young man was lying on a twin size bed with a blanket pulled up to his chest. He was thin and looked very weak. In his eyes you could see he was attempting to smile, but his body lacked the strength.

C.W. placed a wooden chair next to the young man's bed and sat down. Their eyes locked, the head of the young man never left his pillow, his face was long and narrow with high cheek bones. His eyes were large, their white outer edges shone bright against his surprisingly dark skin and raven black hair. His features and skin color were that of a Native American, although his father's features seemed that of Anglo-decent. C.W. didn't see the young man's mother, but assumed she must have been Native American as well.

The first words spoken were those of C.W.'s, as he foolishly asked, "How are you doing."

The young man slightly shrugged his shoulders, as his brown eyes stared at C.W., with a certain shyness. C.W. starts to make small talk, the young man just listened. After a few moments and even fewer words, the room becomes silent. In the corner, behind C.W., stood the young man's father. His arms were crossed, staring attentively. Behind the young man's father, and to his left stood another man.

At first, C.W. thought it was the same stranger who appeared in his office, but somehow this man seemed different.

It took C.W. a few seconds before he recognized who the man was...it was his own father.

Seeing C.W.'s father was a bit confusing to him, he had died five years earlier. This wasn't the first time his father had appeared to him unannounced, on the astral plane. After they acknowledged each other, the scene progressed on.

Silence dominated the room as C.W. sat gazing at the young man. Words became unimportant. C.W. could feel the young man's pain. The young man sensed C.W.'s concern. The quiet moments they shared, were the kind that gave comfort to those who share a deep relationship.

The young man glanced away for a few seconds. It was as though he were searching for something in the room. Then he gazed back into C.W.'s eyes and spoke softly...

"I'm not well," said the young man.

"I know," replied C.W.

"I've had a difficult time in this life," said the young man. "The world is big, too much to understand. The ways of this new nation demand much of me, things that I cannot accept. I have tried, but nothing seems to work out the way it should."

The young man takes a long breath and continues on. " I'm afraid. The old ways of my ancestors seem so right. This new world tries me so. I want to be who I am; not what others expect me to be. I keep getting weaker, it is the illness of doubt that is taking me over. I don't want to give up, but I am growing more tired with each day.

"I understand," C.W. answers with a sigh ...

"I think I may be dying," said the young man. "I know I can't do it their way. Will you help me? Will you help me understand how to live in the ways of this new land?"

"Yes," replies C.W. "I'm aware of your problem and I do understand. I believe I can help you, but it won't be easy. "With that, C.W. said nothing more.

The young man smiled and settled into a relaxed state, more comfortable than before C.W. arrived.

C.W. doesn't know what else to say. His emotions were distraught.
Soon, the young man drifted off to sleep. C.W. placed his hand upon the young man's still shoulder, with a light pat he rose slowly and turned from young man's presence.

As C.W. turned, his eyes met the eyes of the young man's father. He still had his arms crossed, as he looked toward his son, he sighed.

Both knew, there was nothing more that could be done for him. They understood what troubled the young man, and knew all they could do was let him go.

Disappointed, the heart of this gentle father, sunk into a bottomless pit. He felt a sense of failure on his behalf. This was his son, yet he was helpless. Holding back tears, his head sagged, as he thanked C.W. for coming by.

C.W.'s father on the other hand, stood silent in the corner of the room. He was angry with C.W. because this gentle man was his friend. He reacted as though C.W. took the matter much too lightly. In his heart, he thought C.W. should have been able to do more for both the father and the young man. This reaction bothered C.W. deeply, but he knew nothing more to do.

C.W. said "goodbye" and made his way through the house. Once outside, he stood in the yard thinking about what had just occurred.

"Why had I come here?" C.W. asked himself. "What could I have done for this young man?"

"Why did the stranger that appeared in my office, who I now know was my father, ask me to come here?"

"Come and buy this house," C.W.'s father had said..."you only need to take responsibility."

"The gentle man who owned the house, never mentioned anything to me about the house even being for sale, his only concern was for his son."

Standing amongst the parked vehicles in the front yard, C.W. notices a man in his mid-forties about fifty feet away. The man slowly moves toward him in an uncommitted manner. Slightly taller than C.W., the man moves very erect with a certain confidence.

His hair was blonde, cut short and combed back. He was clean shaven and wore dark glasses. He had on a long black woolen overcoat, covering his body from neck to knees. His hands were in his coat pockets, while gray dress slacks extended down his legs to his highly polished black shoes. An unlikely figure for this outdoor setting.

The stranger came to a stop, and nodded. C.W. acknowledged his greeting with a small forced smile. He was still contemplating what had just happened in the house.

They stood together in the yard. Neither of them spoke. It was similar to strangers meeting, while waiting for public transportation, saying nothing, just standing there occupying the same space.

While pondering his dilemma, C.W. unconsciously began to do a slow waltz. Shuffling his feet from side to side. The silent stranger began to waltz even slower.

After a short time and sensing C.W. was troubled, the dark clad man turned his head toward C.W. and said..."would you like to take a walk and join me in a smoke?" Before C.W. knew it, he said, "Yes." What was surprising, was that C.W. didn't smoke.

They walked north, along the river bank's western edge, sharing one smoke between them. C.W. began to talk. He tells the stranger of the young man he had just met and his problems with living. C.W. told him of his personal feelings toward the experience.

The blonde haired man in dark glasses listened, making no comment whatsoever, as he walked between C.W. and the river's edge. He stared directly ahead without turning his eyes to view anything, in either direction.

Passing the smoke between them, C.W. continues on, talking uninterrupted. He felt no inhibitions about explaining to the stranger what he was thinking and feeling. It felt as though, they had met and talked before.

There was something ominous about this man clad in black. It seemed as though he was in a state of complete awareness, yet he didn't speak.

As they walked on, the river bank became steep and slippery with large rocks protruding from the ground. C.W.'s voice began to stutter as he moved across the rough terrain. The dark clothed man next to him moved undauntedly as C.W. struggled to stay on his feet.

Unconcerned with the obstacles before him, the stranger moved with the grace of a big horned sheep. C.W., on the other hand, needed to reached up to take hold of a branch on a small tree extending from the river bank to steady his movements. As C.W. grasped the branch to balance himself, he hears a sudden cracking sound and finds himself slipping and falling towards his companion. The man in dark glasses stopped abruptly, reached out his right arm, snatched C.W. by his shirt collar and pulled him upright.

C.W. looked at the face of this nameless man and started to chuckle, as he said, "Thanks."

To his surprise, he saw that the dark glasses on the man's face were bumped to the side. His blue eyes were fixed straight forward. It was at this point, C.W. realized his companion was blind.

Marveling at the mastery of this man's affliction, C.W. just had to ask, "How do you move about so easily? Doesn't it bother you to be blind? You seem to get around with absolutely no concern as to where you are or where you’re going."

The stranger adjusted his glasses with the same hand that he caught C.W., and with the other hand he passed to C.W. the still lit smoke they had been sharing.

The sightless man let out a puff of smoke, and began the only four sentences he spoke to C.W. "I don't need eyes to see. I see with my heart. I have come so far in my journey, and have experienced so much that I live, not in this world but through my heart. Within my heart there is sight, and this inner sight is called truth."

C.W. was astounded by this statement. He wanted to know more, but somehow, knew not to ask. The sightless man's statement was simple, just as all truth is simple. They continued on, walking together, sharing smoke, and finding comfort in each other’s presence.

The scene faded slowly as they moved out of the frame. A new image appeared. A full view of a large log with three figures sitting side by side. C.W. is seated on the center of the log, his hands lying flat on the front of his thighs as though he was about to get up. To his left sat the healthy figure of the young Native American, his hands crossed one another draped over his thighs, content in his surroundings. To C.W.'s right sat the sightless stranger with dark glasses. His hands tucked securely away in the pockets of his long black woolen overcoat, unconcerned with time and place.

Who these people were became apparent by this scene. Their significance would play a part in the future of this writer's ever changing life.

I am of mixed blood, mostly northern European descent. The rest is made up of the ancestral blood of the Cherokee people. My heritage has given my heart compassion for this race of aborigines who once dominated the southeastern United States. These proud people remained for as long as they could against the onslaught of an encroaching culture who felt their destiny was to rule both in government, and religion. A new world culture, obsessed with the concept of self-liberty, a liberty that often proclaims progress is the only conceivable choice. This new culture believes that the end always justifies the means, or better yet, take what you want now, do what you like now, we'll worry about the consequences later. That way, they will have plenty of time to make up a story if the issue is ever addressed.

There are people in this new world even today, that find success at any cost, a little discomforting. On the other hand, it's the go-getters that like to proclaim that success is necessary for both social and human growth. That might be so, but are we all supposed to dance to the same drummer? Can't we search for both success and satisfaction without having to run over those who wish to move more gradually?

Do we have to destroy the past, or that which is comforting to the soul or the planet to benefit in the now, while ignoring tomorrow? It is an individual choice. It is called freewill.

My dream was self-evident. The three characters in my dream were parts of me within myself or parts of three different times of myself, in my own journey. I am C.W.

I sat between these two figures the same way I sit between them now. The young man was a youthful representation of myself, new to a world that demanded success by the rules and expectation prescribed by self-serving people. This more innocence part of my human character crumbles under the strain of conformity. But I, for instance, have learned to deal with a cruel but often charitable world through self-awareness, knowledge and personal experience. I can get through the daily grind and achieve a sense of progress by doing what is natural and always considering the consequences of all my actions.

I have matured in the conquest of life because I've learned from my mistakes, but something still lacks. The dream state in which we exist is the now, where we bear up to the strain of worldly demands. Everyone who lives in the now knows that the load cannot be carried forever. It will eventually break every individual's back and take their life, just as it broke the heart of the young man and stole his life away.

It is through the sightless eyes of the one who sees through his heart, that cast the load from off his shoulders. This frees his hands which he places in his long coat pockets, because his hands will not be needed to carry the baggage of life in this final phase of the long journey home. He has discovered truth, and truth sets you free because truth bears no load. It is carried by the sacrifice of lamb's blood, His blood.

Dreams are the psychoanalysis of our subconscious. Reflecting the past, present and future of what we were, who we are, and what we are to become.

As often as I can, I try to see through my heart, but unfortunately there are times I find myself reacting strictly on emotion. If we had the slightest idea of where we were headed, we would then realize that with each obstacle placed before us we are challenged to grow in spirit, strength and confidence.

The more that I remain aware of that fact, the more I begin to understand. The greater my understanding, the more difficult my challenges. I do not succeed in my spiritual growth unless I'm willing to except the unforeseen obstacles in my life. I move through these obstacles successfully by seeing through the eyes of an open heart.

There are many interesting points in this dream that I will now cover. Two underlining issues keep re-occurring here. Taking responsibility, and the evolution of change that takes place in body and soul.

Let’s first start with the symbols in the dream. From behind the desk, surrounded by the darkened walls of the subconscious, a single light burns, sparking the journey of any soul through the adventure called life.

The circular or octagon house as it was described, is the continuum, infinite, or eternal. Who is the owner and master of this dwelling? It is the gentle man who smiles with sincerity, happy that we have finally come to make his acquaintance. He is looking forward to introducing us to ourselves. Wearing modest clothing and surrounded by unpretentious furnishings, we find ourselves face to face with the creator of the mirror in which we live. We are in the presence of God.

The young native American represents my former self, living in a mindset of simpler times, an early phase of life in an unchanging culture of traditions and customs. Unhappy about leaving the past and fearful of tomorrow, he finds his youthful years are fading away. He is confronted with that which he cannot achieve without change. Preconceived ideas of his youthful divine goal must perish under the strain of the soul's evolutionary demands.

C.W.'s father represents the disappointed part of my former self whose young light is dimming. A part of myself that I do not want to let go of. It is this part of me that wanted to do something to stop the twilight days of youth's end. It was not my father that wanted me to take responsibility, he was symbolic in bringing me into confrontation with myself.

Where was this young man's mother? In the dream we assume she is native American, and in many ways, she was. We find her in the bed where the river flows, the ancient mound of times gone by, the tree branches and leaves that defuse the amber rays of sunlight that shines without ceasing. She is the mother earth, a receptacle that reflects the will, creation, and power of God. Yes, she is like the young man, broken hearted by the changes that have come upon her womb. Changes that have distorted the intent of her virgin soil. We find her in the back drop of life waiting patiently, persevering for the day when God's redemption restores her to her original purpose of supporting pure life forms.

What about the father's roll in this particular dream? From our beginnings, He has watched the garden of His Eden defiled with the weeds of our souls. They corrupt nature and are self-serving at best. With arms crossed He stands besides us in deepen sorrow, knowing the lost innocence we must experience as we move out of the old and into the new. He Knows that the souls of His children must suffer through the pain of rebirth, as He guides us through a maze of circumstances that will one day, lead us back home. He also knows we must deal with understanding, in these times of difficulty and changes, and accept the duties and responsibilities of a new self that allows Him the right to guide us through a life that evolves towards His goal and His good.

The father and mother here are also represented under one roof. As I stated, the octagon house is the symbol of the infinite, the eternal. It is an intangible symbolic object per se, of the Father, represented here in its abstract form because there are no boundaries to the omnipotent. But on the other hand, this particular manifested structure is round and one story tall, with its subliminal interior roof's upward appearance, demonstrated by its cathedral design such as in the church's desire to connect with the heavens.

The mother is a Native American, so where do we also find this round single story structure. It is prevalent in the spiritual kivas of the Southwest. Its circular form is embedded in the ground with a hole in the roof for the emergence of life into the outer world, and then unto the heavens.

There is an obvious difference between Christianity and Native American spiritualism, but there is a relative connection between the mother's womb, the outer world, and heaven. Its parallel comes in the form of the virgin mother's womb; it gives birth unto the Son who leads us into the heavens through His blood.

Near the beginning of the dream, we are transported to the river bank amongst randomly parked vehicles, and once we leave the house we find ourselves back amongst the vehicles. These vehicles are the different forms we become as we travel various paths on our own indeterminate directions, crossroads we face each day, as we are guided by a power higher than our own. Most people like to think that they plan the direction their life follows, but as the old saying goes, "the best laid plans often go asunder.'" We do not choose we are chosen.

The blind man is self-evident as described early, but what we haven't discussed here is the meaning of the smoke. Here again is a cross reference between the Native American religion and Christianity. Native religion sees smoke as communal prayers between heaven and earth, where the Old Testament saw the sacrificial smoke, to be communal prayers unto heavens and the one God. This explains the sharing of smoke between ourselves and who we are to become. We pray not so much as to redeem our past, we pray more so, to the evolution of the future of our souls in oneness with God.

Do angels enter our dreams like in Bible tales, to inspire us and guide us along our journey, or is it the higher self-prompting us to achieve self-salvation on a higher level? Are spirit guides influencing us with concerns over our past lives through premonitions, or, is it the Holy Spirit driving us through the fire, to evolve our spirit, soul, minds and physical beings into complete oneness with Christ Conscious? Again it's for you to decide. We, after all have the gift of free will, no one can decide for us.

But one point does demand to be recognized concerning this dream. It is that we must take responsibility for our actions, and work toward designing a more positive future, our lives depends upon this, and by the way...Sweet Dreams.

C.W. Pendragon