Indigestional Psychic Reside.
We all daydream, right? It’s a good ol’ unconscious escape from the everyday ordinary pace of life. Well, occasionally, I’ll admit to falling into something akin to daydreaming during my morning meditative practice. Most of the time I try to follow my teacher’s advice (Cynthia, Jim) to release the thoughts, refocus on my breath, and drop deeper into meditation. Sometimes it works. Other times… not so much and my mind takes me on a wild ride.
Some might call these “daydreams” inspiration from a muse, intuitive visioning, a lesson from the imaginative unconscious, or simply indigestional psychic residue from last night’s pot roast (yes, I made that up). I’m not sure what to call it, but now and then, it bubbles up and I ride its wave. It happened the other day and I feel compelled to share the story. Warning: this narrative is a little fun, a little disturbing, and a little disgusting in a seventh-grader kind of way. Perhaps, it’ll be worth getting through to hear its lesson. I hope so. Here’s what happened in my reverie:
A Revelatory Shitstorm.
(Reminder, this was a dream-like vision, not real)
I was downstairs in my recliner, distracted by my little dog, Cooper. He was bouncing around and wanted to play. I was a bit irritated and frankly, more interested in something else, probably work or football. I was giving Coopsauce my half-hearted attention, hoping he’d settle down. Of course, he didn’t. He dropped his squeaky ball and I reluctantly lean over to grab it. As I reach for his toy, I notice my hands, particularly my fingers, are covered in shit. (Wait. What?! Yes, I know. It gets better...). I jolt up in the chair. My face contorts in disgust, and, assuming it’s Cooper’s poo, I initiate a scolding. As the words form, something stops me. Upon closer inspection, I realize… the scat on my hands is my own. Worse yet, it won’t come off. Gross!
In this daydream meditative state, I didn’t know where the shit came from, but I had the sense it had been there a long time, maybe years, and I was just seeing it for the first time. As I’m struggling to grasp what’s happening, I notice the poo won’t come off. I rush upstairs and wash my hands. It won’t wash off. I try harder, running them through hot water and tons of soap. I use the nearby towel to dry my hands. Still covered in poo. I extended my hands as far out as they’d go to distance myself from the nastiness. Distressed and panicked, I cry out for help to the Divine One.
“What do I do?!” I howl. “Help me! My hands are stained with my own shit! I can’t get rid of it!”
In a deep and loving voice that also seemed to be laughing a bit, I heard Divine Love say, “Settle down..., calm down. It’s going to be alright.” This gave me some comfort. In a weird shift of alternative reality, I dropped deeper into my meditative stance.
The Beautiful One whispered with kindness, as if sharing a secret, “It’s okay. It’s good that you’ve finally noticed this mess. My lovely little boy, you’ve had shit on your hands for a long time. It’s time to wipe them clean.”
Embarrassed, I said, “I’m sorry, I’ve tried. I used warm water and soap, even a towel, but nothing helped.”
“That’s because you’re not doing it right,” said One Voice. “You need to wash all over, inside and out, but especially, you need to scrub your brain and get it all cleaned up.”
I obeyed, went back to the kitchen sink, and washed all over. Soaping up real good, I was somehow able to gently cleanse my brain. I covered it in bubbles and massaged the suds in. Then I rinsed it with warm, clear, refreshing water. After finishing, I felt new and stepped back. My hands were totally clean, as was the rest of me. For a moment, I remembered what my hands looked like before washing. It made me a bit sad to know I had done things to shit myself. It was true and I couldn’t deny it. After all, I’d been carrying the stains for years without acknowledging it. But, with this sadness came freedom. I felt liberated. I was clean from head to toe, and the duty no longer covered my hands. My mind was free, clean, clear, and wide open like the crisp air of a cloudless blue sky. I breathed in and remembered; it was all an illusory vision of my morning meditative practice.
Yup, that just happened.
Peace out, friends!