As I sat today, I became aware that a part of my mind had just dreamt of running my thumb along a blade to feel its sharpness.
On days after nights of troubled sleep, my meditation sittings hover on the edge of phantom worlds. My monkey mind is quiet, no rehashing of memories or elaborate plans being constructed. Instead, one part of me sleeps and another watches. The sleeping part is active and moving, creating experiences to have, while the watching part is still.
This is the way in which all this world has come into being. I have no conscious connection with the self who ran his thumb along the blade, yet it was I. That same confusion of self is what separates you from me, too – we are the same dreamer in different dreams.
When we sleep and dream up experiences to have, we are the Children of God. When we realize there is no separation among us, there is only one dreaming Child of God. And when that Child wakes, there is no division between It and God.
The dreams are not to be condemned – these worlds are a gift, and our experiences here are the process of creation. We are tethered here by those dreams we cling to. I dearly love my family, and so I am happily bound to these phantom worlds.
In the darkness of sleep, some of the dreams seem to have escaped us and become nightmares. Addictions and habitual mind have externalized and become pursuing demons. They too are tethers, but these unhappily bind us here.
Each time we shift phantom worlds, we lose our tethers and create them again in different forms in new worlds. There is no death unless we think we’re the tethers, but even they are resurrected. There is no loss except of form, which incessantly changes.
After I sat today, a bee rose from where I’d been sitting. Perhaps it was the dream of blade and thumb.