Mars and Mother

DREAM that I was in a multi-level building, and connecting one floor to the next is a gradually inclining ramp that ran from one end to the other end of the floor. There were shops and businesses along these zigzags all the way up, all seemed to be thriving. I was sitting at a table with some people, chatting, and did not realize until I got up to leave that someone had stolen one of my bags. Somehow I knew the thief was this young Chinese guy, along with his buddy, so I tried to find them. I was anxious because there was something important in that bag, but I thought to myself, at least I still have my wallet in my purse. I don’t think I ever caught up to them, but somehow he relented and left my bag for me to find. I looked through the contents and didn’t see anything missing, although my wallet was in there, so I was mistaken, but if he took money he also left me enough…

In another dream a group of us was moving. I think it was more than moving home, it felt more like a whole organization or community, the whole ‘group’, whatever the group was. At one point my mother (didn’t look like my real mother) handed me a necklace with a blue heart-shaped pendant and told me to hang on to it for her for now. I stuffed it in my pocket while she told me to hang it up somewhere. I said over my shoulder because I was in a rush to get moving, that my room wasn’t set up yet…

DREAMWORK:

I tried to talk to myself about this restless, anxiousness I feel these days, then I tried to go back to doing my gratitude practice which slipped off the map some time back, but the second I got quiet enough a feeling floated up in me that said, “I am living on borrowed time.” Then the voice of my inner critic followed right on its heel, brandishing his whip: “You’ve had your break, now you’re just slacking, now get up and get going!” But I know even that is just one of the two armies at war inside of me, the other side carries the blue flag of peace, and declares: “I am content and happy, as I’ve not been for a long time, living and doing as I am. I don’t want to give any of it up.” And that’s the point of conflict.

Being more aware now that nothing is as black and white as we would have ourselves believe, I see that both sides are not entirely ‘right’, nor entirely ‘wrong’. There is in me a part that is still maturing, still not quite ready to go back out into the world to fully claim my place in it; and there is too, a fear that still needs healing, of feeling insufficient in myself, of wanting to hide from the world. These are peas in the same pod of my shadow, beginning now to come to light as I look upon them, though I’m not sure what to do… Perhaps my dreams will show me…

The multi-level building, an old, familiar motif in my dreams, is still the symbol of my ‘self’, this time interconnected with the zigzag of ramps. I see that as an improvement. Businesses thriving is also a good sign, not so much the busy-ness, but more the sense of harmonious flow, of things running smoothly, without gaps or obstructions. I can match the feeling up with my writing work lately, being able to express and flow from the inside onto my ‘tablet’ fairly easily and adequately, at least to myself.

The thief is, of course, a part of myself. Although he played the villain, he is in fact my Animus, my ally. But how? I suppose he stole my bag so I would snap out of my complacency and set out to chase him. Why, though? Why, to get my attention of course, to tell me that the help I need is from the masculine and from my lineage. But why not an old man? It is a young man because my animus is as yet immature and flighty, he does not have the full confidence and trust in himself to act with total honesty and integrity. He does not have the courage to be fully himself, though he does not mean any harm.

Do I feel inferior because I am Chinese? If I’ve ever asked this question of myself I don’t think I’ve ever answered it in earnesty. I would have to admit that I do, that for the most part I’m not particularly proud of being Chinese. My disapproval, with its underlying shame and inferiority, far outweighs my appreciation of what it means to be Chinese. Yet I know there are wonderful treasures in our lineage and tradition, but I’ve never felt connected to them. I don’t know what it’s like to be a fully Chinese woman, much less a Chinese man, fully immersed in their own culture. I suppose I could say that that part of my heritage was stolen from me, or that I had let it go because I was busy being assimilated by the new culture I was suddenly dropped into. But it was never really gone from me, was it? I was born with it in my blood, in the racial memory that I carry, it only needs to be awakened. How?

It is the god of war, Mars (which I just finished reading about yesterday), that I shall invoke now, to show me how to fullly manifest the power of my masculine, how to compete and survive in the world – from marketplace to battlefield, with the wisdom and integrity of my traditions and cultures – both inherited and acquired, and speak, walk, and act with poise, balance, strength, and vision.

An idea just came to me, to read a book written by a Chinese man that will show me the ethos and pathos of being a contemporary, as well as an ancient Chinese man, in and beyond time. Mars, please guide me to find this book.

Just realized something: I did not give thanks for the revelations of my dreams yesterday. It was a beautiful gift of wisdom and insight, healing to my fretting spirit, but I took it without thanks. I give thanks now to Source and my dreams, and all the spirits that touched me with love and kindness, from every part of my being. Thank you.

In the second dream I am reminded by my ‘mother’ – the great feminine – to keep the heart of compassion in sight during this transition and transformation we are going through as a generation, but in my headlong rush to keep moving I brushed off her instruction, reasonsing that I should get my life in ‘order’ first. She did not want me to neglect my emotional needs for the sake of getting ahead in the world. I have forgotten my priority to my inner life.

I remember now that this dream took place just outside the door of a room, one of those sub-basement level rooms that is sheltered behind a wall but you only have to walk up a few steps to street level. I had just stepped out the door and my mother was still inside the room. So perhaps she is telling me this on the threshold of my stepping out into the world, my mind had already left and my body soon to follow. Remember to be compassionate with yourself, she says, remember to stay true to yourself.