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Spring’s whispers continue leafing out maples and oaks and casting lacy patterns of shade upon the road in front of us; within its transient beauty, we pause. A gossamer breeze tickles the overhanging branches and shimmers the shade into splinters of direction. A few steps further—sunlight squints our eyes until moseying within yet another shade-splotch and catching our breath before moving on.

A fitting analogy for the Sacred who gives light to those in dark places, to those in the shade of death, so that our feet may be guided into the way of peace. Luke 1: 79

For this, I yearn …

Lean into resistance where spirit meets soul in the eternal now. So says the spiritual seeker andworld-renowned surfer Bear Woznick, author of Deep in the Wave – A Surfing Guide to the Soul (2012). Let us explore the implications of this paradox.

Whoever heard of leaning into resistance when, clearly, fight is indicated—instincts on rampage, inflating egos into prideful battlements? Instinctively, we engage our allies to hedge our demands. This is war! No matter the scale, whether the court of law, or the bridge table, or the backyard squabble over a neighbor’s messy trees, or the doctor’s prognosis. We want our way, and now!

And yet we are urged to lean into the resistance, to surrender to its ugliness, tinged with darkness, to see what is actually there. Slowly, we wake up to our self-imposed strife and squelch it. Then discern the discordant factions and the resulting tension.

Then strip off our defensive armor and humbly wait until the emergence of the still small voice, however heard: in solitude, through an honest friend, though a gentle breeze.

Such engagement activates our Warrior Spirit, moving us into Soul-silence and the Eternal Now—until the next upheaval, with more leaning, with new lessons for continuous growth. Such practices keep our gardens watered. No drought can touch us!

At 11 P.M., I awoke with this shocking dream:

It is night. A wealthy, mean-spirited old man lives alone in his country estate. A solitary lamp illumines the great room in which he lounges upon an oversized wingback chair, his crop of white hair tangled about his large ears. His thick lips suck a cigar, its juice darkening the creases around his mouth. Because his health is failing, he needs help with personal care. Within the shadows, numerous young women, clad only in bikinis, await their turn to be interviewed. Each must kneel before him and allow him to fondle their breasts and other body parts. I’ve no recall of having been touched, but I was hired.

Disgust forced me to end the dream by returning to consciousness. I could not bear to see myself in service to Evil, the wealthy, mean-spirited old man hiding out in my psyche. Such corresponds to the archetype of the Negative Animus as discovered by Dr. C. J. Jung in his analytical psychology in the early 1900s. I still shudder with the implications of this dream, especially having lived within its thrall for much of my life.

That the Beast is still around unnerves me.

After I reflected upon my entrapment in the dream and short-circuiting its momentum, I resorted to composing a different ending. I returned to that great room, shielded my eyes from the wealthy, mean-spirited old man, grabbed my purse, ran out the front door of the country estate, found my car under the waning moon, and raced home, still panting. Only deeper consciousness in the present will prevent further entrapments. For that I rely totally upon Precious God.

 

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