I got to play the part of a trickster god. The dreamscape
was a strange and warped mythology, filled with characters from my life, people
who represented things far bigger than themselves. My role was both eerily familiar and yet crucially
different from the one I play in my regular life…
---
I wasn’t a part of the cadre of others serving under the
leadership of the one who oversaw us all, or I was, but not in the sense that
the others were. I was largely distrusted and disliked by most of them. I sensed
that I had earned this in some ways and that it was…useful, at times.
I watched and said nothing as they took a statue out of a
sacred place. They had a good reason for doing so, but we all knew they would
be in major trouble if the “big guy” found out—and it looked like he was
going to. He returned unexpectedly and wanted to open the chamber where the sacred
statue was meant to reside and retrieve it for some purpose. I stepped forward and
quickly offered myself as the charming and humble servant who would do anything
for him—he choose me to lead the procession.
I used this place of
power to alter the timing of events and distract him for a moment—opening an
opportunity for the others to return the statue. The statue was where it was
meant to be when he looked and the ritual he had come to enact was completed
without incident. Oblivious to the deception and my role in it, I received praise from him for
a job well done and a trusting smile as I bowed humbly and expressed my loyalty
to him aloud.
I sensed the others
resented me for that, because they knew (and had presently seen yet another
example of) how untrustworthy I was. I also sensed that this was appropriate
and necessary: right order had been preserved, which was the goal of everyone
involved. I was satisfied with my work.
---
There are things I want to be doing right now. But there are
also things I should be doing right now, and so, for not having the motivation
to do the shoulds and with the guilt of that not allowing me the pleasure of
the wants, I end up staring at a wall and contemplating the meaning of strange
dreams. It isn’t a matter of not having motivation, now that I think on it, as
much as it is a matter of defiance in the face of duty. I resent the very
nature of “should” and even the most enjoyable of tasks becomes an
insurmountable obstacle.
When she was alive, my mother said often that I lack
discipline.
But it feels more like I lack compliance.
Is that a normal
reaction?
---
Later, I overheard an argument between two of them. Or maybe
I stumbled upon one venting to another. She was unhappy at how she was being
treated by a certain group. I did not help matters. I worked her into an even
worse mood by relentlessly pointing her attention at the wrongs they had done
to her—she was sobbing, so upset she was with this group, by the time I
finished provoking her. I waited and let the pain consume her, then I handed
her a card with the name of a different group. I freely admitted that I had
fallen out with this other group some time before but that they might work out
better for her. She took the card and made a decision to look into it. She wasn’t
happy. She didn’t thank me. But I sensed that this was appropriate and necessary:
no matter how traumatic the break, she was on a better path now. I was
satisfied with my work.
---
There are only two things in this world that reliably make
me angry: oppression and criticism. I suppose that says a lot about the person
I am.
Does that also betray my biggest latent issue with my
upbringing? Does it betray that I always felt like my mother wanted to control
who I was? That she was a perfectionist who never let me feel that I was “good
enough” to just exist as I was? That every compliment was bookended by
complaints?
Does it also betray that I couldn’t get along with my peers
because I couldn’t conform? Because I refused to normalize? Because I didn’t
want to be the classmate they wanted me to be or fit in the boxes they tried to
shove me into? That even when I had friends, my relationships were always
contingent on the other person not questioning or criticizing anything I did?
Because
I would readily believe any reality another person chose to represent so long
as they afforded me the same courtesy…
---
I felt the briefest sadness when the others would speak ill
to me or look daggers at me. I felt the briefest longing when I watched them
sit together and share in memories and games. That surprised me. For some
reason, I had been expecting to feel differently about being the outsider. For
some reason, I expected acceptance and power to remove the little pain in my
heart. It didn’t. But I was still satisfied with my work and, more importantly,
with my being.
---
Why am I so uncomfortable with this dream? Why do I hesitate
to speak of it? Is it because it seems to condone things I have been taught to condemn?
Is it because I fear what others will think of me for dreaming this dream? Or
is it because I secretly want to accept the lesson even though I am not sure it
was a lesson at all?
It seems too much like a fantasy to take seriously. No—scratch
that: fantasy dreams fade far more quickly and don’t feel uncomfortable to
think about. This is something else. Is this a lesson? Is this some kind of
permission?
No. Maybe. I don’t know. It’s dangerous to answer that question. Especially on my own.
No. Maybe. I don’t know. It’s dangerous to answer that question. Especially on my own.
I want to go sit in the shrine room and ask Him…
But I have things I should be doing right now…
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