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This morning’s nun dream gave me considerable pause:

 It is evening, spring. Hundreds of nuns have gathered at a large convent for a supper meeting with their new Provincial. Conversations buzz, last minute preparations fall into place, some finger rosary beads. For days, I have been responsible for ordering and overseeing the preparation of the steamed vegetables for the meal. I was still uneasy, fearful of asking for help. The Superior and her entourage greet everyone as they stream into the refectory and take their places. To my dismay, I notice a serpentine mushy-like, pale green thing inching along the hardwood floor, its head moving with each twist of its body. “Is that asparagus?” I ask.

 The dream story mirrors another shameful experience in 1966 when I was a recently professed nun, overwhelmed by joint pain, loneliness, and desperately seeking attention. Then, arrangements of tiger lilies for the refectory tables, cut that morning by the creek bed, had died.

So what does this dream signify in my present circumstances? It must have something to do with that serpentine mushy-like, pale green thing: Shocking in its repulsiveness. I liken it to asparagus, its gyrating phallic form like something you might encounter in Kafkaesque imagination.

That I’m so unnerved by this glob of glistening tissue suggests its emergence from my unconscious shadow: The scum of unacceptable character defects that still dominate my choices and thoughts and keep me in bondage. Thus my CPA 12 Step work continues, one day at a time …



Sedated by Versed, my left eye anesthetized, I waited in the operating room. In moments, Dr. Bruce Cohen, ophthalmologist with Barnes-Jewish Hospital in St. Louis, MO, began removing the cataract that had clouded my vision for months. All the while, two rectangles of varying sizes morphed into brilliant reds, oranges, greens, golds, yellows, lavenders; then sucked into a sea of blue, only to reemerge with greater vibrancy. Later I learned that phaco emulsification (high frequency sound waves) had produced this lightshow.

Convalescence from this surgery has evoked deep thoughts: how the sightless manage in a dark world; how the vision-impaired handle impatience, reading, accidents. My light-sensitivity and blurriness lasted a few days, only to be followed by the imbalance between my healing eye and the other one. Drops administered three times daily promote healing; one of them, the anti-inflammatory Ketorolac, stings to my toes.

But on a deeper level, I liken denial and rationalization to this milky condition of the lens obstructing passage of light into the eye, an imperceptible process, sometimes taking years. In a parallel sense, these defense mechanisms distort inner vision: judgment becomes impaired; thinking, skewed; and imagination, banal. If this aberration is not addressed, dishonesty eclipses the soul into total darkness. And within this darkness lurks the Evil One and its passion to suck souls into eternal death.

Thus, the urgency of the Psychic Surgeon to evacuate all traces of filmy overlays from our souls, to expose them to the Light, exceedingly more dazzling than the lightshow I experienced in the operating room.

In time, with corrective lenses, I will see again.


photo credit: loco’s photos via photo pin cc

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