Ask Dr. Druid . day 40 . Dream Toddlers

Ask Dr. Druid . Day 40

Dream Toddlers

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    In 189,800 hours of our 569,400 hour life, one-third of our terrestrial span, we are dream toddlers. However august and accomplished we become in the solid, roughly sequential, daylight portion of our life adventure, we are untutored and gawky, if not helpless, in our dream experience. Dreaming happens to us. Our parents were ignorant of dream existence and its radical rules.

     Perhaps it was thought enough for the homo sapiens to master the obviously demanding rules and consequences of K1 day life. However, the haphazard approach to dream experience has had dread consequences. The next stage of the evolving creature, homoa jubilant, will need to learn at least the rudiments of dream will, dream action, dream manners, and especially dream humor, or we will not be admitted to the Wider Galactic Community.

     The Stiff Brains, as we are so derisively dubbed in the rollicking metalight-speed Galactic WarpNet, are seen as the El Stupidos on the fringes of the more faceted and agile Galactic Community. I have defended our provincial, noble savage strengths with what wit I can muster in their glittering and cavorting presences, but we are, frankly, a dull lot.

     At the end of the nineteenth century, we were on the threshold of wondrous multi-mind discoveries when this very linear stolid Viennese dude the Galactics call Siggy Fraud inexplicably became the rage of the Pessies. The failed post-Romantic whiners are called Pessies on the WarpNet. Pessimism is seen as a deadly leprosy of consciousness by the lighter-than-light creatures only some of whom look remotely human.

    Erif, the 6' 4″ chocolate brown felinoa sapiens sage told me that Siggy Fraud was undergoing a major soul overhaul between incarnations because his notions about dreams and the quicksilver consciousness therein were so appallingly dull and wrong. He had managed to pollute the inner atmosphere of several generations. When he had had his spherical sight restored, the pomposity and thinness, the small grey grimness of his Bombastic Version struck him vividly in the face, like a sudden cold wind before a storm. His Version had had so little of wonder and of deftness. He had had an alchemy, a grim one: he had turned gold into lead.

     Erif told me that Siggy’s peripheral vision circuits had been damaged and that the most precious sense, his sense of humor, had been impaired. His grotesque misinterpretation of the dream worlds had turned people from their full heritage of consciousness as if they had been trapped in a goldfish bowl rather than set free on the deep, wide sea. He had not meant to do ill. He was afraid. He had little art in his heart, and the seduction of the multi-worlds seems to taunt our day world’s need for order and predictability. Art is the chalice which can hold the intoxicating elixir, but artists got separated out, were not integrated, and the society became unbalanced.

     An Earth people called the Senoi deal with the night world just as if it were a different part of their whole life in the way that a play is different from a banquet. Not better, different. The sadness, the loss is in valuing one over the other. There are people who get mesmerized—dazzled—by the dream worlds or vision worlds and therefore handle the day life inadequately. A concern about the dream worlds is not silly or inconsiderable. They are extraordinarily vivid and powerful energy levels. No one would let a child drive a race car without learning to drive. I am extravagantly fascinated by my whole twenty-four hour life, but I recognize the real dangers involved with lonely exploration of alternate densities. A deliberate study of the complexities of reality is in the end faster, surer, and safer. The pyrotechnics of drugs are titillating, but they do not teach you how to act in alternate realities. Drugs drain the (nervous) system rather than replenishing it. When you act in the dream worlds, however timidly or tinily, you are recharged.

     The reason we are kept from the wider Galaxy is because we blunder blindly around in the china shop busting up the crockery. We are energy boors.

     We were sidetracked into the pathology of divers densities by Siggy’s overheated intellect. Leaving him on his siding to heal, we can begin to design the balanced humorous mind, the luminous and intriguing whole life, and one day we will be greeted into the glad Galaxy with cheers and hurrahs.

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   I remain astonished that with all the excellent and fascinating education I was so lucky to be illuminated by, not one adult ever mentioned even one time that to be wholly and wholesomely human, I should become dream-able.

    I am by no means a Senoi. I’m not as fluent in dream action as they are. As we ask our child who comes home from school, “How was your day at school, dear?”  — every morning they ask their littlest child, “How was your night at school, dear?”

    Imagine that we in the industrial West invented the radio which can tune to invisible and inaudible strands of energys and display then in a way we can hear. Similarly, the Senoi and many shamanic peoples have invented how to tune their own internal receivers without needing an external gizmo like a radio. What they experience is often a 3D or holoexperience. You yourself do it every night whether you remember it or not. They can just do it less haphazardly. So will you by day 66.  

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Notes:

.. homo/homoa .. I coined ‘homoa’ to feel less hopelessly narrow. I once had this swell Swedish lecturer gent who was an expert on the Mayan Calendar seamlessly use “she” as the pronoun for his whole lecture. It was a viscerally remarkable event. I had no idea the subtle energy bombardment that the patriarchal biases of the language really invisibly impose upon us. Each time he said ‘she,’ I realized that subliminally I was visualizing a ‘she’ doing or thinking what ever went on in the sentence. This actually changes the voltage of your imagination.

.. Siggie Fraud is Sigmund Freud for those of you not so addicted to pithy puns as I.

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Ask Dr. Druid, 66 Days from Lead to Gold, Secrets of  Alchemy You Can Use, a druid shaman’s playbook .. Intro; Prologue; Day 1; Days 2 & 3; Day 4; Day 5; Day 6; Day 7; Day 8; Day 9; Day 10; Day 11; Day 12; Day 13; Day 14; day 15 Review 2; Day 16; Day 17; Day 18; Day 19; Day 20; Day 21; Day 22; Day 23; Day 24; Day 25; Day 26; Day 27; Day 28; Day 29; Day 30; Day 31; Day 32; Day 33; Day 34; Day 35; Day 36; Day 37; Day 38; Day 39; Day 40;

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6 thoughts on “Ask Dr. Druid . day 40 . Dream Toddlers

  1. Mr. Fraud did chill our adventures into conscious and optimistic dreaming. I wonder how different the last century might have been if we had had the shamanic training and resources you are illuminating?

  2. Thanks for the reminder Mr. PB. Dreams matter not because they have an effect on our “waking life”, but because they are at least one third of our whole life.

  3. esfera & cl, It does baffle me why we would dismiss &/or twist one of the great resources & accomplishments of consciousness. How can we then not expect to be skewed in our reactions?
    Ignoring dreams and not training ourselves in the spectrum of consciousness is a self-mutilation in terms of abilities of consciousness. People get lonely and bored. They would never be lonely or bored if they had the dream/reverie/attention resources which would have been their ancient druid birthright.
    I am all for all the tools. Linearity has its powerful uses. But it's so piffling small a slice of the knowing and being pie.

  4. I have to say that I've never dared diss Mr. Fraud so filetingly. I also never put together his ruining of the whole shamanic and wondrous dream traditions for a whole century of unpleasant pessimists.

  5. temps, iotas, thanks for the visit. I get so much glee from dissing Mr. Fraud. Cheez whizz, what a pill he was.
    I wish the hilarious had as much impact along in history as the grim and grouchy and pious. One day we will. The Irony Age kicks in by 3008.

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