Dreams from Last Night

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In the first dream, I was shopping and ready to check out. I saw a croissant that looked delicious, but as is the case in many dreams of mine, it cost too much- in this case, this simple pastry that was hanging on a shelf cost $17.95. I recall the number clearly. (Whoever says one cannot read in dreams has no idea what they’re talking about.)

I also wanted to look at the aisle that had stickers, but people were on the aisle and kept getting in my way.

At some point, I was watching a video while waiting in line, and then a live band began playing in the store. The band members had a “zombie” theme, and the result was that they had outfits that made it look like they were exposed body tissues and bones, and then people dressed up as zombies began to come in. I ducked and kept my eyes closed, and the people kept running by and poking me and touching me, and I screamed for them to stop.

When finally it seemed like all was over, I uncovered my eyes, and I was in a wooden room. There were only two people here besides me, two twins who looked like they were in their 20s. They had blond hair, dark eyes, large noses, and thin lips, and I was attracted to them.

But I knew they might be dangerous, so I tried to leave- I opened a door, and to my horror, the door only opened to another wooden door. I turned the knob of the new door and had fear burning in me because I knew that I was dreaming and could run into anything terrifying at this point.

The door opened this time to a small greenhouse-like area, and I quickly began to fly and burst through the glass. I “swam” in the air, and I recall seeing a huge moon in the sky as well as the rising turrets of some kind of factory.

I woke up. End Dream 1.

Dream 2:

As I fell asleep, I went in with the determination to find my Shadow and confront it. I don’t remember much of what happened here except that I was in my parents’ house, and then I remembered to find the Shadow. I went to the front porch- the first “shaded” area that I saw, and there was some kind of tree growing up from the middle of the front porch  to the its ceiling.

The tree appeared to made of stone, and I walked around it, crying aloud that I wanted the Shadow to appear, that I was here to confront it. Then I cried out for the Subconscious as well.

When I turned to face the house, growing against the wall were two women, one on the left and one of the right. I didn’t know which one to talk to, but the one on the left had darker skin, so I connected that with “Shadow.” I began asking her what to do, what the problem was, and I don’t remember getting a response. I spoke to the one on the right as well without getting much of an answer, and returned to the one on the left, who now looked different.

At some point, her face distorted, and she grabbed me and clutched me too tightly to her breast, leaving me unable to escape. But then I knew what to do- I struggled as much as I could to stand up and face her, and I inhaled her into myself- which, surprisingly, WORKED.

And after that, I woke up.

So my Shadow apparently has something to do with “the feminine” (big surprise there), and I’ve…at least somewhat incorporated her into myself. So…yeah.

Now on to figure out the Social Anxiety.

If anyone wants to help interpret the other elements, bring it.

Steve

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A Wordy Rant and Emotional Revelations Within; Read at Your Own Risk

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An emotional pattern is rising to the surface. I’m not sure I can totally categorize what this complex pattern of thoughts and feelings looks like, but I will try my best.

 

I’ve been meaning to write this entry for almost a week now, while the feelings and happenings are still fresh on my mind. God willing, I will be able to take the pain and go from there.

 

Let us begin.

 

Part of my social anxiety- not all of it, but part of it- stems from my fear of confrontation with other people. Just thinking about having an argument or someone getting angry with me causes my adrenal to rush. I don’t want to do or say anything that will invoke someone else’s harshness to come down on me.

 

In my life, avoiding conflict has become almost an art. I can’t handle rejection- of any kind- very well.

 

Low self-esteem can do that.

 

But yes, arguments, fights, being attacked and feeling defenseless in that attack, is one of the sources of my social anxiety. This much I know.

 

This ties in, of course, with the fear of public humiliation.

 

The majority of confrontations in my life have resulted in my feeling guilty, with my being the one who is first to say that I am sorry, with my being the one to swallow my pride, no matter how right I was, and to give in to the other person so that they won’t be angry at me. I am also talented at bringing comfort to people by doing this, and it has been very rare that anyone has apologized to me.

 

For that reason, when someone sincerely apologizes to me, I appreciate their apology more than a starving man would appreciate bread. I appreciate that someone can see that they have hurt me or done me wrong.

 

The emotional pattern that happened recently was a miniature reflection of a much large, on-going process with one of my friends while also being the latest in my own series of emotional hits. It goes something like this:

 

I meet someone, and there are fond feelings there. Shallow or deep, this doesn’t matter; the feeling of comfort and the belief that the person is somehow and somewhere good is there.

 

A disagreement or misunderstand, whether large or small, occurs. The person in question goes on to not only disagree or misunderstand me, but then turns on me, becoming hateful, spiteful, and spinning his own web of lies and deceit in which I am then caught.

 

Before I can defend myself, before I can realize what’s happened, the person has taken up his stance as Judge, Jury, and Executioner; he strikes at me with false accusations that, when reason is applied, are obviously false, but in the heat of the moment bring up rejection after rejection in my life, and I am forever cast out of his life, no matter my relative level of importance to him.

 

At this point, while still believing his attacks on me, I break down, crying.

 

Then I go around, trying to make atonement for the sins I’ve committed- to other people. It’s as though part of me believes that my expressing my love and gratitude for other people, I will be able to garner a larger army, a larger defense on my side.

 

So, maybe a good does come out of it. After all, expressing appreciation and gratitude for others is good, and I mostly just assume that they understand by my actions that I care about them.

 

Then I start feeling guilty about hating the person in question, and I basically beat myself up for not being spiritually advanced enough.

 

This past time, I saw that all these feelings of self-doubt and lack of self-worth and such are preventing me from being close to anyone in a relationship type sense. I had previously not seen this, but the pain I felt when an almost perfect stranger and a completely perfect asshole attacked me, rejected me, and left me to shake with my own tears seemed to be there.

 

It is worse when the people you have known or thought you knew turn on you in this way, yet a perfect stranger reduced me to tears.

 

The night before this happened, a intriguing thought appeared, going back to my youth: why did I believe things people said about me? Why? Why would I automatically believe that if someone said something, good or bad, that it was true?

 

Why did it never occur to me that other people may actually do things that I don’t do- like say nasty things to hurt me, to harm me, because they are jealous of me? Because they really do see something in me that they don’t have, or they really do assume something’s happening in my life that isn’t in theirs?

And all this time, I believed people said mean things to me and attacked me because somewhere, I deserved it or really wasn’t good; I believed they were simply telling me the truth.

 

But what happened to me to keep me from thinking for myself about myself? Why is my self-esteem so low?

 

Llewellyn Vaughan-Lee says that the Teacher can see what these things really mean. However, I do not formally have a guru or teacher, and therefore, I can’t say that my low self-esteem has ever done anything except make me suffer.

 

People are often surprised that I’m not always passive. I am passive a good bit of the time, not making waves, being a good little boy from a culture long since dead and faraway, but when has this benefited anyone? I do have my opinions, but when out in public, when around other people, when people do and say things with which I disagree, I simply smile and nod, not agreeing internally but politely just hearing them out.

 

Please don’t be mistaken, dear reader; I’m not saying that I think less of or look down on the people who have differing opinions. My concern is not what people opine but how they go about it. I have had some of the most fascinating conversations with people who don’t have antagonistic opinions or experiences, just different ones, and that, that is the stuff with which this life is spiced.

 

People say things about me that are misunderstandings of me. I have been accused more than once in my life of being “stuck-up.” The latest rendition is someone using the exact word “snotty” and telling me that I was trying with all my effort to make myself feel better than he.

 

But I’m not stuck-up, or at least I don’t think I am; being polite and reserved in social situations doesn’t mean I think I’m better than anyone. What it does mean is that I respect everyone enough to act in a way that shows I care about them, even if just a little. Being able to conduct one’s self does not mean one thinks one is better.

 

Yes, I may be, in some ways, more educated and more cultured than other people, but those other people are still people, still my fellow humans, and even if they don’t have opinions or perspectives that are as well-reasoned as mine, they still have their own thoughts, feelings, and experiences to share, and many times, it’s simply a matter of giving a person a chance to share herself.

 

Or maybe there is a Shadow side to all this where I really do believe that I’m better than other people, and I simply have been too stupid to see it.

I do think other people give me more credit for intelligence than I deserve. I hear person after person say that I’m intelligent, yet I can see exactly how much I don’t know, I fear that I haven’t learned nearly enough in any field or subject or begun to climb to the ranks of mastering anything, and I’m almost 27 years old- an age that, as a teenager, I believed would see me involved in the world in a professional manner, doing the things I wanted to do, and so on.

 

But here I sit, in my childhood home, with the issues that have plagued me from my childhood.

 

Part of me understands what has to happen- the taking of revenge was the cracking open, the knocking down the wall between my ego and my shadow, the dichotomy no longer a clear dichotomy. I have avoided sinning, I have avoided doing things I believed unethical for fear of what might happen to me.

 

But then, if you see the problem with that, that’s the only reason I haven’t done these things in the past- the fear that karma or God or something would punish me for revenging myself.

 

However, if the same Principle of our world allows a person to hurt me in the first place, I think that the Principle should all me to defend myself. I don’t care anymore- I’m not going to sit down and take things.

 

If that requires me to sin, so be it. The reality is that society counts me as a sinner anyway, and I wonder if the concept that being gay may indeed be a sin may have kept me from actually being intimate in my lifetime to the extent that it has.

 

But no more. Down with that world, down with that world view; down with the world view that I’ve had for so long.

 

This view includes this feeling I’ve had that “other people seem to have this idea of what’s going on, and I’m totally lost; it’s like this big joke that I’m not in on.”

 

But that, my friends, my dear, dear readers, is incorrect; there are far, far too many people I have met during my short life that actually don’t get it whatsoever; they aren’t “in” in something that I’m not, I’m just seeing the idiocy that runs rampant, seeing things too clearly, and I’m confused about why other people are not seeing it.

 

Maybe I was not born with a strong will and the ability to not have my feelings hurt and the power to just blaze through whatever troubles come my way as some people seem to have been. (We’ve all met such people.) But I wish it were that way.

In the argument last Friday, I was told point-blank that I was not worth knowing, that the person in question had no desire to know me. But that was also a misunderstanding; he doesn’t know me, so his desire is ill-placed.

 

Today, I prayed for something that I dare not pray for. I whispered a prayer for something that seems to be like a cheating of everything I’ve ever done, something that seems to be the utmost of selfishness: I prayed for happiness, to be happy.

 

Everything in my life has been oriented in such a way that I think I must have something to be happy- I must be in love, I must feel love, I must suffer first, I must earn my happiness, I must accomplish x, y, and z to be happy, and so on.

 

But to pray directly for my own happiness had never occurred to me. I felt happiness in my heart, that glowing brightness in the upper part of my chest, the sense that everything is going to be okay, that sense that all the arguments and all the ideas and all the problems don’t matter when you’re already happy. Being with someone, not being with someone, being religious, not being religious; none of this matters when you yourself are happy.

 

The happiness wasn’t laced with the poisoned clouds on the horizon of “happy medication,” where one’s problems and darkness still loom, where they’re only held off by medicine that will eventually fade and hurl you into the storm again. The happiness instead was the bright sword of Christ, born happily, a claiming of the birthright of each and every human being.

 

But I have been taught that for me to be happy while another suffers is actually selfish. That doesn’t make sense, though, because it would be almost impossible (save for a miracle) for everyone to become happy at the same time.

 

So instead, I would say that happiness of one’s self must be filled, filled, and filled again until it spills over and helps everyone that you know.

 

I also realized that praying for my own happiness was a change in me, a signal that I wanted to show love to myself. This is a brave, new world, a world in which I will know what it means to love myself.

 

And really, what sense does it make to care what other people think, especially strangers? They don’t know me like I know me; I won’t apologize for the virtues I have, I will not allow my vices to hurt anyone else, so what the bloody Barbara Streisand tampon fuck has the problem been all this time?

More reflections coming soon!

 

Beaux

Religion of the Stars

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Things have begun to deepen or lighten up. The threshold is giving way into an unknown territory, the unknown land that we’ve all been to before but have forgotten.

I am standing again the Presence of God, but this is a different facet of God, a dark facet that I have rarely encountered.

The religion of the stars has returned to me, the Meta-Religion of mankind, the religion of the soul of which each and every religion and tradition in the world expresses a part, an aspect, an image.

It’s true, it’s easy to get lost in the practices, in the theology, in the images, but when reality intrudes, when God comes home, there’s no room for argument.

I’ve said “FUCK YOU” to God more times in the past year than I would’ve ever dared thinking of doing before. But I did it, and I have survived in whatever way, despite the momentary flashes of my survival instinct.

It is strange that only when I became absolutely hateful and irreverent towards God that God would dare reveal Itself. It counter-intuitive, it goes against everything that I ever believed or understand; it was only when I embraced Satan, when I embraced all the evil and hatred boiling inside of me as a paradox of my personality, as a contrast to the kind-hearted, generous, caring part of myself, that God began to crack through into my life in a more substantial way.

This process if far from over, but apparently, God wants me to be an asshole, at least part of the time. So I’m going to go with it.

In Forrest Gump, there’s a scene where Forrest and Lieutenant Dan are on a ship, and Dan constantly curses God, screaming and yelling at Him, challenging Him, going against Him, defying Him however he can…and I never put together the fact that the next scene is that Forrest and Dan’s ship is the ONLY ship that survives the storm.

So maybe the essence of it is courage. Maybe the essence of it is that God wants us to fight Him, to put a challenge, but not for His sake- for our sake, so that we can be shown how strong we truly are, so we can see our true colors, our true nature, whether that truth is good or bad.

But then, God is above and beyond taking offense, it would seem. God dances in the starlight He created, not caring about who would blaspheme Him or not.

It’s amazing. This Christmas has been a strange one so far, but the whole meaning of the Incarnation and so makes more and more sense. The Mystery of Christ is never exhausted. The Mystery of the Blessed Virgin is never exhausted.
I think that the darkness cannot comprehend the light, and I think that what we so often refer to as “Light” is actually only a prophet, testifying to the Light.

 

1In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.

2The same was in the beginning with God.

3All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made.

4In him was life; and the life was the light of men.

5And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.

6There was a man sent from God, whose name was John.

7The same came for a witness, to bear witness of the Light, that all men through him might believe.

8He was not that Light, but was sent to bear witness of that Light.

Those few verses speak of all kinds of cosmology. This the unfolding of the universe: unbound light that shines into matter that cannot process and reproduce the true nature of the Light, and then the human mind seeing traces and patterns of the Light in the world, but not itself being the Light.

Kyrie eleison.

Christe eleison.

Meditation and a Grey Alien: Everyone’s Wondering About This

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On Facebook, I wrote recently of my encounter with a Grey Alien.

Now, naturally, this may sound like I’m rehashing a story of a typical UFO abductee, but I am not, as I was not an abductee or even a contact-ee or anything along those lines. This experience simply occurred in the context of meditation, a fairly deep meditation at that.

Most of my friends and family know that the Grey Aliens have terrified me since around age 5. If you want to see the most frightening thing I’ve ever seen, Google Whitley Strieber’s book Communion, and that face on the front has never been matched in the world in terms of fear.

Some would immediately interpret this to mean that I’ve been abducted, but I find that to be a dubious notion. The image is archetypically frightening, as someone once pointed out- the enormous, slanted eyes with no iris and no apparent soul in them, the pale, withered skin, not unlike a corpse. But that wouldn’t explain exactly why the image traumatized me and why later on I would burst into tears at the mere sight of it.

During the contemplation, the deep mulling over my feelings and just outright feeling them, I had the impression of being in a room with a Grey Alien. She didn’t move her mouth; instead, I heard a definitive female voice all around me. She appeared to wear a cloak of some sort and explained things to me. Having been terrified of Greys all my life, I found it strange that I wasn’t afraid here- in fact, quite the opposite; I found myself completely at peace and relaxed.

Later on, I continued the meditation, and discovered a few things. First, the alien had a name: she called herself “Saiya,” or my mind gave her that name or some along those lines. Second, her skin wasn’t grey- it was white, pure white, like light. Third, her eyes weren’t black voids- they were sky blue, beautiful, pure, and clear.

She had the quality and feel of something quite natural and vital, much like one would imagine a butterfly, a rain drop, or a flower. Something about her was Holy and Beautiful, almost Angelic.

I also want to note that this happened at quite a deep level of meditation and relaxation; at this point, I kept fading in and out, my thoughts stopping and my simply existing, probably quite closed to the so-called “Dhyana” of the Hindu tradition. No time was lost, though; I could account for everything for the most part. Again, there was no fear of “Saiya.”

So to Van Tilden, I must say that I wish you could experience that kind of peace and motherly feminine nature, as that would rather solve the fear of the aliens for you, I think. I can’t say that the fear is completely gone, but I do know that it substantially decreased, because there’s a new understanding or perspective that I haven’t had before.

As to whether or not aliens actually exist or what this experience really means, I can’t give a definitive answer; what I do know is that I would trust the part of myself appearing as “Saiya” because that kind of peace isn’t given to us every day.

Beaux

UPDATE: Okay, I wasn’t sure when this happened how the name was spelled; the first impression was “Saya,” which sounds like “Sah-Yah.” “Saiya” just sounds more like Americans would say it, but I looked up the meaning of the word “Saya,” and talk about freaky: in Hindi, it means “Shadow.” Thus, I would say that “Saya” and the Greys have been my own psychological Shadow- and it’s long been thought on my part that the Grey Aliens are a kind of modern-day space-age analogy to the Devil and Demons and so on.

So Saya is then likely my own Shadow, my own Carnal or Animal nature in Jungian terms.

That’s an INTERESTING coincidence, to say the least. She’s beautiful.


Synchronicities Abound! or Strange Coincidences Seemingly Constituting Support for the Jungian Acausal Connecting Principle

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BEAUX’S NOTE: I, Beaux/Stevo, did not write this. Rather, my friend John wrote this, tagged me in the Note, and I found it powerful, beautiful, and compelling. I asked for his permission to repost it, so here it is. For the very reason of making sure that everyone understands that John wrote this and not I, I’m writing this extremely vivid and ugly preface so that everyone knows.

That being said, the formatting was a bitch to try to actually put on here, so I apologize to John if this repost’s formatting appears botched or off at all.



Synchronicity 1: Langdon.

  1. I recently had the pleasure of interviewing Dr. Alan Gribben, the Mark Twain scholar who became the center of an international controversy by announcing his new combined edition of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, which replaces the n-word with “slave” (and “Injun” with “Indian”), for an article in the Aumnibus, AUM’s student newspaper. In researching Mark Twain to prepare my questions, I naturally learned that the maiden name of Twain’s wife Olivia was Langdon.
  2. Less than a week after interviewing Dr. Gribben, I received an email by complete accident from the Citizens Scholarship Foundation of the Fall Mountain Regional School District. The email read (in part), “I have used the emails that are listed on our rosters. If you notice any errors, please let me know.” I have no idea how my email address ended up on their rosters. I looked up the Fall Mountain Regional School District and it is located in Langdon, New Hampshire.

Synchronicity 2: Ph.D.

  1. Will Ellis asked me to identify the graduate school from which I hope to earn my Ph.D. While I told him about some of the universities that I already had in mind, his query also inspired me to look for other schools. In this way I discovered the Institute of Transpersonal Psychology.
  2. I was reading “Terence McKenna’s Last Trip,” an article about the last series of interviews to which he agreed before passing away. According to the article, McKenna would sometimes treat “the Net like a crystal ball, entering strange phrases into Google’s search field just to see what comes up.” This inspired me to do the same thing. I used a true random number generator to generate seven random integers ranging inclusively from 0 to 26. Each number corresponded to a letter. 0 = space, 1 = A, 2 = B, 3 = C, and so on. I do not exactly remember the seven-letter “word” that resulted from this process, but the first letter was “I” and the last three letters were “P,” “H,” and “D.” I entered this into Google and the search results included mostly websites for the Ph.D. programs of universities whose names begin with the letter “I.”

Synchronicity 3: Technopaganism.

  1. I was reading the Wikipedia article on technopaganism, which “focuses on the spiritual side of technology… One belief… is that the Internet itself is attaining a unique spirit.”
  2. While I was researching McKenna, I had come across the following quote of his: “Organized religion is as concerned with controlling social groups as organized politics is.” I had subsequently posted this as a status update. This apparently inspired Stevo Harris to make the following status update: “Chaunce Woodmansee, John Gibbs Tisdale II, behold, each other. Just trust me on this one, despite how huge of a request that is to ask of either of you.” Then, as I was reading the previously mentioned article on technopaganism, Stevo, in a comment on his status update, said: “You guys are on the same wavelength. This is what Facebook is for, people like you and John meeting and conversing and exchanging. This is it – this is what this whole social networking thing is about, so we’re living its purpose. Oh, yeah, baby, I just took Facebook THERE.” Like me, Chaunce is a self-described mystic, a psychology student, and a fan of Carl Jung (who developed the concept of synchronicities).

Synchronicity 4: Time-space art as a sleep aid.

  1. At the end of the night (4 or 5 AM) on which the preceding two synchronicities occurred (which is also the night during which I received the email mentioned in the first synchronicity), I had so much energy pulsing through me that the prospect of sleep seemed unthinkable. I had been sitting in front of my laptop, “devouring sites, weeding through lists, exploring virtual worlds,” as McKenna once did, for hours, so I turned it off and began pacing around my room. My mind still wanted to be working with information, but my eyes were tired of staring at a screen. So I sat down and did something quite archaic: I began writing with pen and paper. But I was in no “normal” mood, not even by my own eccentric standards. I didn’t write in straight lines but rather in a spiral around the paper; thus, it was more of an artistic writing than a scholarly writing. Here is what I wrote (some familiarity with philosophy is required if it is to make any sense): “A stream of consciousness more powerful than the Mighty Mississippi courses through my veins. Animal spirits? Preposterous! Cogito, ergo sum? Nonsense! Prime indubitable? More like a composite fallacy! A terrible philosophical blunder. Who could be proud of being labeled the father of modern philosophie? Non, Descartes, il est la morte de la philosophie! Mai moi, je will be the mother of postmodern thought. Nay, not the mother, for the other end of the spectrum is not radical enough; the spectrum itself must be completely transcended! Mother and father, ha! Sexuaity, ha! Reproduction, ha! The union of opposites is unnecessary. There are no opposites! There is only One! Even the growth of plants does not do it justice. Mothers, fathers, pistils, stemens, all things of the archaic past! Such concepts are so last nanosecond. I am not the mother of postmodernism, I AM postmodernism! And not postmodern ‘thought,’ either, for I am the transcendence of thought! I am the transcendence of all that is, was, or ever will be. Not that there ever ‘will be’ anything ever again. It’s over. The end is beyond nigh. It’s to the point that ‘end,’ ‘beginning,’ ‘nigh,’ ‘far’ are no more! Time is dead. It’s to the point that there is no point! For what is a point if it does not exist in time and space? Awaken from the dream of reality. We are lucid.” After writing this I was able to fall asleep.
  2. The next day, Jill Harrell started chatting with me on Facebook. This was the first time that we ever directly communicated with each other. She had added me as a friend just days prior. She informed that on the previous night, she was unable to sleep because she was thinking so much about the time-space continuum. So she began doing some fingerpainting, and then she was able to fall asleep. Interestingly, we each had our artistic time-space sleeping aid experience at about the same time.

Synchronicity 5: Aldous Huxley.

  1. Another friend of Stevo’s, Marco Slate, sent me a message. Up until this point Marco and I were completely unacquainted with each other; I had never even heard of him. He asked me, “Do you care for Aldous Huxley?” I responded, “Yes I do. I had myself a little vow of silence after looking through The Perennial Philosophy.”
  2. Later that day, Fae Frederick posted the following Franz Kafka quote on my wall: “You don’t even need to leave your room. Remain sitting at your table and listen. Don’t even listen, simply wait. Don’t even wait. Be quite still and solitary. The world will freely offer itself to you. To be unmasked, it has no choice. It will roll in ecstasy at your feet.” In a comment, I responded, “What a synchronicity! I just had someone I’ve never met ask me if I’m fond of the work of Aldous Huxley. I was telling them that I once took a vow of silence after reading the chapter on silence in his book The Perennial Philosophy. He cites that Kafka quote, which is what inspired me to do it.”

Synchronicity 6: The biological psychiatry controversy.

  1. I was working on a presentation that I will be delivering to the psychology club on the biological psychiatry controversy, which is essentially the debate about whether or not the human mind is completely reducible to neurochemical processes in the brain. A big part of this debate is the overuse of psychopharmaceuticals such as antidepressants.
  2. While I was working on my presentation, Emily Martin posted happy birthday wishes on my wall (it was just past midnight, so technically it was my birthday). This led me to look at her profile to see what she’s been up to (I haven’t really talked to her in a while), and I discovered that she is majoring in biopsychology. Also while I was working on the presentation, a friend started chatting with me. He was struggling with some existential issues and, through no provocation on my part, he revealed (to my horror) that he is taking psychopharmaceuticals. I told him that such an approach is merely a quick fix and urged him to ween himself off, to find a more holisitc way of dealing with his problems. He agreed with me but ultimately stated that because of the practicality of the quick fix, taking the drugs is worth the risk in his opinion.

Synchronicity 7: My birthday.

  1. Today is my birthday. My family has a tradition: when it’s one of our birthdays, we all go out to eat.
  2. The universe gave me an amazing birthday present: the grand opening of Earth Fare, Montgomery’s first truly health-conscious grocery store. Anyone who knows my über-hardcore-health-conscious-raw-organic-gluten-free-vegan ways will understand what an amazing synchronicity this is. Rather than going out to eat, we are having an organic vegan meal at home.

I am utterly grateful for the bizarre coincidences that have been connecting me with other people. I am starting to become less reclusive as the world is becoming increasingly interconnected. I am sure that the synchronicities will only keep getting more and more meaningful as we continue to near the singularity.


Dream Interpretation

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Do you ever have a dream where you wake up, in your room, and you get up, in your house…but you’re actually still dreaming? Enough is similar in the dream to where you don’t question it, yet it’s all still just a dream.

I have many, many dreams of getting up and seeing that the door to my room is unlocked- or open. In many dreams, I find myself in a bedroom, and I try to close the door (to hide from monsters or whatever else), and then when I look again, the door is open again, or it has holes in it, or it won’t close all the way.

Now I get it- this points to a very fundamental aspect of my personality, the fact that I can’t “lock out” a lot of thing- I can’t shut out things that other people can. It’s difficult to explain in this entry exactly what I mean, but I pick up a lot of people’s emotional “noise,” and I can’t lock the door to my own emotional well-being at times.

I feel good to understand this. Now how does one correct it?

Beaux