Reprint of “Sandstorms,” originally written and published four years ago today… 

This is a work I reference a lot. I hadn’t read it over for a few years. Uncanny, the timing of its reappearance and message, as well as its freaking prescience. All I can say is, rock on, deeply awake!

Enjoy… 

DEEPLY AWAKE – SANDSTORMS

 

DEEPLY AWAKE – SANDSTORMS

 

After Thanksgiving, I caught the cold going around our little family. One by one we each succumbed, and on Sunday night, I noticed it sidling up to me, but was already well within its influence.

 

I have spent many days deconstructed, fallow, quiet. Lots of sleep, lots of feeling uncomfortable and feeling swimmy, like I am in a dream. Not entirely unpleasant, but a state wholly incompatible with tidying up, doing chores, or putting on scrubs and going to work.

 

I have noticed within my awareness, over the last three weeks or so, that there are many things in my life coming to a close, or are close to exhaustion. I do not mean this figuratively. There are big, big changes ahead. I told Sam my random shopping list a couple days ago. It’s as if every sector of our home, every sector of our living, needs some sort of outfitting. I’m not kidding. We only have one light working in his bathroom, neither of us have many clothes that fit us anymore, I have car issues, my job is not working out, Sam is not doing great in school, we are out of cat food, it’s just all random and all loose ends and weird, final details. Imagine that all the goodies you rely on that you bought at Costco are gone, so many things must now be replaced.

 

Last night I went to the movie house and watched Lincoln. I was reminded of my great friend, Marge. The ultimate leader, someone to whom it is wise to give one’s trust, someone who has thought things through far longer and more intricately than you could conceive of doing, that was Marge, and I recognized in Lincoln the resigned, resolved walk of someone walking hand in hand with their highest angels, answering to higher standards, often misunderstood, often reviled, and very nearly always loved.

 

Lincoln. What a magnificent movie. What a gift to us. Reminding us that definitions change, identities change, but there are certain truths that are incontrovertible. And here was a man willing to wade through the insanity of small men with their big doubts and their powerful beliefs.

 

I went to the movie last night because I was canceled, and because I had a friend who was going to go see it that same night. I wanted to have something topical to discuss, and I liked the idea that we were watching the same scenes the same night, knowing the other was doing so. It was nice.

 

Imagine my surprise when I realized that this morning I would have more than Daniel Day Lewis’ Oscar worthy performance to discuss.

 

Last night, no less than three times, although it could have been on an endless loop, for all I know, I had the same dream. Very specific. Very visual. Very very clear. And right up to the moment I decided to get up, the dream was going. Each repetition was different, there were always new elements, and yet, the gist of it was not to be overshadowed by the trinkets and crinkly doilies of dreamscapes. Here was the message:

 

I was working very hard, really in the mud, down on the ground with my tools, like a mechanic, fixing something from the ground up, repairing something, completely focused, completely taken up in the task at hand.

 

And then there came a windstorm. A sandstorm. And I could see nothing. It was all debris and white-out, tanned-out conditions. No visuals.

 

And then the dust settled, and I was stunned, very gratified and shocked to see that once the storm had concluded, in the stead of all the old structures, the things I expected to see once things calmed down, all those old things had been magically replaced with a brand new set of structures.

 

How do I describe this? I could see, through the last, fine film of sand, that there were new chairs, new furniture, as big as houses, making crazy shadows in the unpredictable, shifting sand. I turned my head this way and that, and all around me stood brand new, very beautiful and sturdy and strong structures.

 

I realized that it was the work I was doing which contributed to this new environment, but that that this was also a gift. It was completely unexpected. Imagine the best thing that ever happened to you. Now, imagine understanding that you just could not have had that wonderful, loving, beautiful experience if you did not have that love within you all along. But, reflecting on the magnitude of the wonderfulness, it is hard to imagine something this amazing without some divine intervention.

 

That’s what it was like. I felt like I had just unwrapped a present I wrapped for myself before I started to reckon time. And it’s just been sitting there waiting for me to notice it, have interest in it, and think myself worthy of poking at it, shaking it, denuding it. I had to get to a place where I could even imagine myself worthy of something I myself left for me, as a gift. This amnesia is bat shit insane.

 

I decided to post this when it dawned on me what the ramifications of this dream really are. I got, right up front, that there are changes coming up, and everything is in readiness, and I should to prepare for some awesome fun.

 

Deeper, there is the notion that there is nothing coming down the pike I cannot handle.

 

But further, there is another kernel of truth, lodged just so in this big mouth of mine, and I think flapping my jaws just a little bit longer will dislodge this sucker.

 

Here’s the bottom line.

 

I can now welcome cataclysm.

 

I am quite joyful as I write that, fairly gleeful. I have taken on my favorite internal character’s attributes. He’s about 450 years old, looks like a short, psychotic version of Albus Dumbledore, is completely abstracted and thoroughly rooted in reality, uses reality as a schoolroom all the time, has a wicked, intense, explosive sense of humor, understands most everything, is completely sweet, kind, humble, but with his initiates? A squirrel. And that’s who I feel is sitting here coaching me to get all the levels of this dream.

 

Endings are to be looked forward to now. Each of these energetic closings will be part of the sandstorm, part of the wind that will make my eyes squint and tear up, make me tuck my head close to my armpit, breathing slowly until the dust settles. Each and every one of these events will carry with it this sacred wind, this obliterating and transformative sand.

 

There is nothing to fear, and much to celebrate. The house is built. It is ready. And I guess it just needs a good wind to help stabilize the joints. I guess that’s how it works.

 

I know this was no fever dream. I went to sleep last night intent on becoming the beautiful almost-full moon I gazed at as I drove home from the show. I wanted to be that white blue light, feel it become me, fill my trunk, my breath, and my environment with that liquid light of love and wisdom.

 

I do not know if you are suffering through a sandstorm right now. I do hope you are not, because they are a pain in the ass, but if you are, it’s ok.

 

Never let it be said there is only one way to do this thing. We are all doing a spectacular job of awakening, and we are doing it in perfect timing, in perfect rhythm with a cadence that I think may in fact be ridiculous to sit and discuss as if we can begin to comprehend it.

 

My friend and I have been talking a lot about the big events coming up, what we expect, what we want. And it really does get pretty simple. Imagine if, in one day, in one hour, in a moment, everyone in the world, simultaneously, became very, very still, and in that moment of silence, it grew within each man and woman and child on this blue planet that no one here is an enemy, least of all self. That each of us are beings of light, love, joy, peace, brotherhood. We are essences of love. And if each and every person got a hit of that, well, imagine what the world would look like!

 

I think there is a lot of sense to this. I still am a hold out for a transfigurative moment, and I for one am going to be sort of miffed if I don’t get to have some sort of big energetic event. Anyone who has read these blogs knows that I tend to “go large” energetically, and with an event like this, you better believe I expect a couple of big ones (miracles).

 

I believe that this energetic door we are now marching toward with all certainty and solemnity was opened in 1992 or 1993, and has been squeaking open more and more and more as the celestial events of this year have marked our collective consciousness with timing, with mysterious events our souls know are important but which our rational minds still sometimes balk at.

 

That’s why this whole winter solstice thing has a bit of a made-up feel for me. I feel like it’s someone else’s expectation that we as a gang have just decided is correct, something we can all get behind. But the calendar goes on and on. We go on and on.

 

But, since everyone has sort of decided that is the day, this one day, December 21, 2012, is some sort of key, then, ok, I can go along with that. I’m just happy for some company.

 

So, if we are going to create for ourselves a moment into which we may walk, as a community and as the individual aspects of The All that we most definitely are, then what sort of outcomes can we expect? Will it be as simple as just waking up, collectively, to our beauty and magnificence and power and creativity? Well, that would be enough, wouldn’t it? It would be a damn good place to start. There’d be a lot less nonsense in this world, and rational people would feel a lot more innate permission to speak up if everyone was operating from the same even playing field.

 

But maybe there will be something more.

 

And maybe this is not some concocted event, not entirely.

 

We helped The Teachers ascend eighteen years ago eleven days from now. The 12-12 has always held a significant place in my heart. I am beginning to ponder how I want to spend it, where I want to be a dawn, at the 12:12:12, at sunset. I am beginning to gather the prayers I want to say, the thoughts I want to be conscious of, the intentions I wish to inhabit. That day will be spent in the skin of my ancient, crazy monk, wandering the earth here and there, choosing this place to pray, this place to eat, this place to dance.

 

And as these winds start whipping through the walls of my current unsustainable reality, the old constructs I have always called home begin to become obscured in the dust and I notice that I must avert my eyes, only now and then, but I can sense that the storm is picking up speed and power, and that this is an going to be an unpredictable one.

 

And then, I lift my head. I close my eyes. I point my face into the clouds, and I feel the grit and ice prick my face like a thousand points of fact, things that used to harm, scare, freeze, and I let these now just blow past me, blow through me, moving all where it will inevitably come to rest, allowing these gusts of finite and forever change kiss my skin with a sting of recognition and retreat.

 

I do not know how everything is going to shake out. I do not know, exactly, how each of the chapters writing their closing remarks are all going to come together into anything like a cohesive whole. But I know enough to trust my dreams, and my dreams told me again and gain, in a cheeky way that only my guides would know I’d appreciate almost as much than the message itself, you’ve got this. You’ve been preparing for this your whole life. You have amnesia, so you don’t understand that what you have been working so hard on, dear mechanic, is your “future” reality. You have been preparing, and it is you who put the stronger structures in place. Let the wind do its part.

 

Enjoy this next part, and don’t fear the sandstorms.

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