out of coppola self, into my own self

i go to sleep with this question. how do i bring the immortal world and human world together? i don't have the answer. not yet. not as far as the regular conscious mind goes. but i do remember something hwubby says, maybe the character dreams, and then the dreamworld, little by little, seeps into her world until she can no longer tell they are separate.

anyhow yesterday i read two pieces of spiritual writings, one by my guru, the other by a top fave swami who has been serving the guru's mission to impart the teaching of the supreme self for decades with unwavering devotion. guess what? both include revelations through dreams. and guess what? i dream last night. here's how it goes. actually i should say this is what i recall.

the entryway to the dream is like a rippling lake surface. i can see gorgeous dancing lights that are refractions of what's on the other side. i go straight through like walking into a lake without getting wet. beyond the shifting surface is a world where time does not go by in a linear fashion. how do i know that? i see a spread of beautiful, vibrant sprouts. one patch catches my eye. tiny lavender buds. they flower into full four-petaled bloom in an unhurried manner in front of my watch. the scent is sublte and intoxicating.

then i see sophie coppola. she is in a spaghetti strap dress. pink and fitted with a floral, ruffled hemline. i see she is frustrated trying to explain something to an audience and getting more and more so. in the dream i am calm and centered. i simply walk up. i say to her, is this what you want to say, it's probably the language. immediately she looks utterly relieved.

i tell hwubby the dream. he says, you are now in this frustrated coppola self. you just have to go back into your own self. you have a question. you ask your self. and trust what comes to you.

lake of the inner self. cape cod

sipping spiced milk in an aged adirondack chair. scanning the vista in front of me. a small lake surrounded by lush green of various hues. the morning air is fresh, cool and still. i'm sitting in the shade of an old maple. nonetheless i feel the sweet, gentle warmth of the sun. i let my gaze out into the far side of the lake. instantly i feel a wave of relaxation rippling out from the loosening eye muscles. the subtle motion within echoes the lovely silvery-blue huge rings gliding across the open, quiet lake surface. there is sublime purity within and without.

out of the corner of my eye i see the play of shadows in the meadow between me and the cottage. the inner eye is aware of the sporadic mental activity. i have no desire to find out what they are. i just let them come and go. my awareness rests in the lake of the inner self. it is quiet. it is open. it is pure.