8. Jan Ramsey-Hart (Etats-Unis)
Soul in Training
Last night I dreamed I was my Soul-in-Training, an SiT.
I was myself, but with my Soul as if I was more aware of what I am actually doing here on Earth than ever before.
I was like Josef or Ma-ah in a way, in that I was tagging along with my OverSoul 7… but unlike the character OS7, my OS7 wasn’t irritated that I was there. On the contrary, it was quite pleased I was there. It insisted I go with it to check on various personalities and so we did. This all seems too easy, like I am totally accepting of what I am doing, no questions, it just makes sense. I check in on a hillbilly family in Tennessee and realize I am looking at my brother and his family at a different time, celebrating the Christmas season in the cold, cold hills! Snow on the ground and coal in the stove, they were quite happy and appreciative.
My Soul checked them off its list (a handy tool for me to see that S/He had a list; like we had several destinations to reach before we were done).
The following symbolism is odd because it can be seen in more than one way, which I believe means using more than one version of reality to make a composite picture of an event.
Sometimes my perspective of self was minimized; as if being in a pocket. These were moments when I wasn’t lucid, but was still observationally with my Soul as it checked things out. When I was lucid I was attached to the pocket with a chain, like a watch fob. Of course, I was also fully independent in that I wasn’t attached and free to go and do whatever I wanted, but in these moments I chose to stay with it so I could learn through observing what it did.
After this we went somewhere where my dad was present. This was odd because I’d had a dream of him a few months ago being a simple-minded Pennsylvanian farmer named Jimmy Oleson who was taking a life break, so to speak. While there I was, well, imbued with a possibility, a probability, nay, a down right likelihood, that my dad and I are counterparts; in a nutshell, I am my own dad.
I was wondering why I couldn’t get him out of my head these past few months. It has been many years since he passed away and I have been so angry at him that I didn’t want to talk to him. He really pissed me off!
So here I am tagging along, when presented with this ridiculous prospect!
My Soul asks me how I’m doing. “Fine” I mumble, wanting to be angry at my dad, but at the same time coming to grips with the fact that we may be closer than I ever hoped for. I am spiraling in a dynamic of disappointment about how my dad wasn’t there, yet joy and appreciation filled me for the joyous times he was there. How he taught me to fish, tie a line, shoot a gun. How he taught me to be natural. How he taught me it was OK to love nature in a personal manner not recognized by everybody, but recognized by many.
I sort of realize that for me to move ahead in my studies I have to get over my grief and my anger. I have to accept him as who/what/when and where he was. I have always entertained the possibility of my dad being a fragment(ed) personality. He auto wrote and auto drew fabulous designs from the PNW Natives and other instant moments of nature… there were times he was suddenly so inspired to draw that he would pull over to the side of the road and sketch out a mountain on a napkin from the glove box he would be so overwhelmed with the impulse to do so.
Somewhere a portion of me opens and I receive my dad as a part of myself. My Soul is happy. I can tell it is pleased that I have come to this recognition. I am also pleased to have had this recognition. At the same time the personality that feels like my dad sort of recedes into the background, no longer a central focus of my perception.
I am like a happy kindergartner! I am with my Soul and I am doing something that I’ve wondered about. How am I to reconcile being myself and so many others, but with a happy abandon I see that it is a natural perspective to my focus. I realize my Soul is sharing itself with me and there is an individuality to it that is itself, even with all these other many parts swirling around within. I am giddy about this! Like a kid in a candy shop. I actually ask “So, you’re sure you don’t mind if I tag along with you like this?” to which it replied “No, I am thrilled to have you accompany me!” I am questioning, in a single feeling, my perspective of us aspects being a bother as presented in OverSoul 7. It sort of laughs and I understand how irritated I can be with kindergartners and their endless even if fascinating questions. I laugh and start to apologize for being a pain in the ass, but I suddenly know I am not a pain in the ass. This is a day all OverSouls look forward to in the development of their personalities.
I smile and am so very content to be here that I almost get lazy and forget to ask questions. I know Tracy would like me to ask about Salitre, but I am too lazy to formulate the question. I could ask a question about Elias, Paul H., the internet, anything, but I am too lazy to ask. As if I am floating in a bowl of awareness’s as fluid as water in a fish bowl, but instead of colorful fish, it is flashing with colorful experiences and personalities. I realize I am one of these flashes, and in this moment I am brilliant yellow, as if from a polished, liquid black harlequin opal.
It asks if I’d like to go, but I say no, that instead of sleeping on my own I would like to stay with it all night if that was ok. Of course that was OK, and my slumber was like an opium induced dream as I continued to be wherever it was. A poets study, a young woman’s cold Victorian Christmas in Paris, how easy it was for Thanksgiving to become its own season that lasts within the hearts of men (in Eurocentric society at any rate) for over a month. I feel Jimmy Oleson’s family celebrate Christmas with a goose in the snow. A wonderful white Christmas.
I bask in this feeling of Christmas/Winter Solstice and all it means to me, the Dawning of Light, the birth of Christ, not necessarily of Jesus, but of the eternal flame that signifies Christ Consciousnesses and how it permeates all things in all cultures by as many names and intentions as people there are to think about it individually. It could be overwhelming, but instead I feel secure. The magic of the longest night of the year holds me in its arms and my Soul has come at my beckoning for a dream. I can’t remember why I want the dream, but remember I am supposed to have one.
I let it know that I am interested in things of a more esoteric nature, in all seriousness, and it finds this humorous, as if I think it doesn’t know what I want. I see the irony and realize how together-we-are through personal intentions, and that my personal intentions are my own, my curiosities are my own, although they may be shared, my slant is my own, as its slant is its own.
I think of several experiences I would normally like to ask questions about, but here it is as if I know the answers already and am happy to drift off into a sweet slumber while still being pocketed all over the universe by my Soul. I know my questions will be answered while waking, all I have to do is formulate them.
Tacoma, WA USA
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