Lies I Tell Myself

I am in a house just visiting and I noticed that there seemed to be a lot of people, young adults, living there. I asked someone and she said there were 25 of them living there, on 3 floors. That’s 8 people a floor, I said, that’s a lot. They were okay with that, things seemd peaceful and orderly.
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I don’t remember if this was in the same house, but I asked 2 of the girls if they wanted some help; they were each doing a chore or task. After a moment of thought, one of them said, I know what you can do, you can dig out Jennifer’s info and write it out on a card because we’re always calling her and have to keep looking for her info. I agreed to do that but then didn’t remember it until after I left.
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I was in the main chapel of a church, much like the one I grew up in as a child, and a funeral service had just concluded. A wedding was to take place immediately following, the wedding party was already there. I was a helper and wore a dress in the style of a very young girl – no waist with little puffy short sleeves – pink and so short it barely covered my ass. I was a bit concerned that my lace underwear was showing, the back was actually down below my cheeks. In the meantime I noticed amongst the wedding party standing up on stage was a girl whose lower legs were swollen and thick, almost elephantine, so I said I’ll go get a high stool for her to sit on. I found one to the side that was made entirely of clear acrylic, with a full back like a chair, but when I tested it out by sitting in it, I found that the right armrest was cracked. I ran to find something else. There was a sense of urgency and need to be of service because it was my duty.

DREAMWORK:

More numbers and more math! I really would like to know why and what they mean...

It means my dreams are becoming more precise and specific as to the messages they wish to impart to me... The house of my self is able to accept more people now than it used to. I am allowing more people to get ‘into’ me without my usual kneejerk reactivity to feelings of invasion and insufficiency of space for myself. Peace, order, and community are co-existing in me for the first time in a long time.
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My shadow sisters have something to tell me. Jennifer is the ‘pseudonym’ I use when I don’t want to tell people my real name. It’s something I hide behind to keep others out of my affairs, my life. It’s a lie. Most likely my shadow(s?) had tried to speak to me about the lies I tell many times before (always trying to look me up and reach me), to no avail, because I would acknowledge it but then shove it back down and forgot about it.

The worst thing about my lying is the lies I tell myself. This is always done out of fear.

I lie to myself that I can lose my padding of fat eating the way I do. (It’s spiritually caused, nothing physical...)

I lie to myself that I do not need love, passion, and ecstasy the way I did when I was younger. (Again, deny the physical.)

I lie to myself that I do not fear death, only the dying. (Somehow, I am denying the physical here as well, even though I’m not sure how...)

I think I get it: I lie about my body, my body’s needs, the misuse and abuse I subject my body to, and worst of all, I deny its expression, as if it doesn’t deserve to.

How do I stop lying? How do I balance the fear? What am I afraid of?? Pain and suffering, of course. The original wound of Type 7. Once again, it is simply critical for me to connect and ground to my body, to the earth, to the physical and the manifested plane. Is this also something I ought to ask my ancestors to help me with? YES, another emphatic affirmative from my body. That makes 3 things on my wishlist for the Ghost Dance:

1) ask for help with recovering my selfhood: self-confidence, self-worth, self-assurance
2) ask for help with fear of aging and dying and death
3) ask for help with fear of pain and suffering

In fact, all 3 can be under the umbrella wish of “ask for help with grounding and connecting to my body, to the earth, to Life, to manifestation. It is a tall order, as tall as I’ve ever made one, but I feel sure my ancestors can handle it.
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The last part of my dream is usually the darkest and least pleasant, I sense this one is no exception...

The funeral (a rite of passage for the many small deaths I’ve died to so far in my life) is over, and the marriage (of my masculine and feminine) is taking place on sacred ground. I am the self-designated helper and I have made it my responsbility to make sure everything works out right. Except I am dressed like a child (immature), looking like an ass (yes, pun, sadly), and acting like a fool (trying to please). Worse, sitting on a transparent ‘high’-chair with a broken arm. The image is, as it was meant to be, painfully clear to me. It says, get off your lie of a high horse (or throne), your self-importance is apparent to me (your true Self), and stop trying to help because you think it’s a noble thing to do, because you need to have something to do, to control, to be acceptable, to feel useful, to feel worthy. Best you get out of your own way and let the divine take over, you are on sacred ground already, after all.

The bridesmaid with the heavy, swollen calves? She didn’t need my help, she was showing me the help I need: anchor myself as if I have heavy legs, settle down and stop flitting around so the sacrament of marriage can take place, for goodness’ sake!

Try and be still, and wait in solitude, like Kafka said, for the world to offer itself to you.

p.s. I should change the name of this blog to “Diary of the Recalcitrant Dreamer”... I hang my head in shame, and vow to be more still...
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“Do not even listen, simply wait, be still and solitary. The world will freely offer itself to you, to be unmasked, it has no choice, it will roll in ecstasy at your feet.” ~ Franz Kafka