Friday, April 23, 7 pm
Marc suggested today that I try writing about the present. I’m feeling old yet fresh anger and resistance and pain right now. Right now. I am a man divided and I cannot stand. My rabbit self doesn’t want to do this. I’m doing it. I feel a great wave of oppression and exhaustion washing over me. I’m doing this. My rabbit self wants me to go back into the chapter on my mother’s death and tell my stories. I’m not going there, not right now. Marc said today that I began this book writing about the past because I could find myself there, I had to go back because I couldn’t find myself in the present because I’m not living in the present because the old me hasn’t died yet. I can’t live right now because the living I’m doing right now is so full of the pain of my childhood separation from God and from myself that I have no room to feel this moment. This is progress because before now the living I’ve done has been driven by the rabbit’s schemes to keep me from feeling this pain.
The old me is dying right now. I don’t want to die. I have to die. It hurts. I’m not turning back. I don’t want to let go. I want to let go. I can’t let go. I’m dying. I want to be free of this horror, the only way is through it. I want to turn back. I won’t turn back. I am a man divided, I cannot stand. I am breaking down. I don’t see light or glory or joy on the other side. I don’t see the other side. I can’t see anything.
I want to go back to writing about my mother’s death and my father’s death and my daughter’s death. I don’t want to die. I wanted to write that book so people would give me money and be impressed. I wanted to tell the truth but I wanted strokes and support for my efforts from the world. I thought at first that God was offering me success and happiness in the world if I would be obedient to Him and write this book. This book? Or should I say that book? Is there a book at all?
I can imagine a book like the one I was writing; going into my past and shining the light of consciousness on those long days of my sleeping. I could imagine people buying that book and reading it and feeling inspired. I could imagine enough people doing so to allow me to quit my job. That book was recognizable somehow, I imagined labeling it "Spiritual Biography", that’s marketable. I can’t imagine anyone, except my brothers and sisters in the dream work, wanting to read this writing. What does this have to do anyone’s life save those who have chosen to die? Maybe God never intended me to write a book, maybe he’s just been leading me to water this whole time. I don’t know. I have to die before I can drink.
Here’s the dream:
I’m lying on the edge of a futon. In the crack between the futon and the wall is a radio. An announcer is saying: "This program is for those about to die." I feel the presence of death. I’m terrified. I get up and walk around the dark house then look out the window into the pitch black night. I know that death is out there. I’m terrified. I long for it.
There is my divided self. My resistance and my desire.
I just missed supper with Ellen and Ian. I said I’d be there but then I began writing this and I can’t put this down then pick it up again like my other chapters. This isn’t about anything that’s already happened, this is happening now and if I stop writing this present too will stop.
I feel sick. I feel dizzy. I feel sick.
I’ve died so many times in my dreams, but not like this. I’ve died to things in my life, but not like this.
I feel the intensity of the wave of pain lessening. Is my pathology working it’s way back in or has the wave passed naturally and is another process feeling coming? I don’t know.
I shared two other dream snippets with Marc today. In the first:
I’ve arrived at the North of Eden retreat. I’m sitting alone in my car at the lower parking area. I realize I’ve forgotten to bring everything; food, clothing, bedding, everything. I’m very upset. Then I see Bill sitting on the hood of my car and suddenly I feel no pain. I’m so happy to see him and so excited about walking up the mountain with him.
In the second:
I’m a college student in a large auditorium attending a lecture with many others, including a woman who’s been giving me odd and ambiguous sexual signals. I feel lost and confused. Then Steve sits beside me and I’m so happy to see him and we hold hands and get up and walk to a private corner of the auditorium still holding hands. I turn for a moment and look back afraid that the other students might think me gay, but only for a moment because then again I feel such joy at being with him and holding his hand that I don’t care anymore what anyone thinks and turning my back on them I go with him.
I don’t ever want to let go of that hand. I will let go of that hand. I will find it again. I will lose him. He will find me again. I am dying. God, I am dying. Give me your hand Lord. I’m turning my back on the world, God. Don’t let go. I’m crying. I’m all snotty. Please don’t let go. The rabbit wants me to impress You with my tears, I let go of that intention and now this wave of feeling too has passed.
What’s next Lord?
The house is quiet. Where is my family? Who am I?
I take another swallow of beer. The house is quiet. I am quiet. I think I’ll go find my family.
I nearly print this up to take to Ellen then feel another small wave of pain and resistance. Another small wave of nausea. Can I leave this computer and continue to live like this?
I think I’ll print this up and go find my family.
Saturday, April 24, 10 am
I thought I’d really burned something off last night and maybe I did, but Ellen cut me this morning and I feel I’m in very much the same place I was 7 pm last night. Still dying, still resisting, still in pain. Cutting is probably the best thing Ellen can do now. She’s hunting rabbit and if I’m bleeding it’s rabbit blood and let’s get on with it. Still, I miss the sweetness, remember the rabbit is chocolate.
The asshole is here too. While the dying rabbit is busy scheming, the asshole descends upon me with exhaustion; oh how I’d love to just take a nap, now the rabbit pipes in "You deserve it, you work hard, you’re taking all those kids tonight."
I’m feeling some anger at Ellen. I shared with her the writing from last night and see now that the rabbit was looking to her for food and she came with a knife. How can I be the rabbit and the child of God together? How long can this last?
My thoughts wander to tonight, the kids staying over, issues bounce around in my head. Issues about sleeping arrangements, Ellen’s sleeping needs, the kids‘, mine. This is a small house and now one of these other kids as well as Ian wants to come into our bed at night and I feel a sore throat coming on and on and on. Lost in the land of issues. The asshole is really moving in now, squeezing over my head, making me tired. I feel a gelatinous veil all about me, slimy.
I feel like I can go after the rabbit, but I don’t know what to do with this asshole. I’m slipping away. Disappearing. I don’t think I can hold out here in this chair. I’m going for a walk. Fucking asshole.
-noon-
My heart is beating faster, I’m warmer, damp with sweat, don’t want the space heater. I notice the new hole and cracks in my voice recorder. I’m resisting. Sinking now. Down. Into the darkness, the haze, the unknown. I feel pressure on my ears as if I were bodily sinking in water. I feel the pressure building against my entire body. My face is growing hotter, it feels red. I’m still resisting. I’m feeling anger. I know I can go deeper than this. I’m still resisting. The rabbit is still inflated, preventing me from going deeper. The asshole, the asshole is still a mystery, something primordial like the Titans. The bunny on the other hand is tres current. Now I’m getting down into some pain, the light of the world above is obscured, nearly gone. Ian chatters to Ellen in another part of the house and she murmurs along with him. Their sounds comfort then agitate me. I’m still sinking, still resisting.
I close my eyes, grasp the bridge of my nose and again, as before my run, feel a deep lethargy. Last night I was crumbling, today the center holds and that’s not good. That means I’m not dying. The center cannot hold if I’m to be reborn.
An image came up in my session yesterday; a rabbit/man with tentacles coming out of it’s belly, the tentacles are searching out the world, looking for places to attach to find attention, support, satisfaction, comfort, love and more. All the things I should have gotten from my parents and should be getting from God but am not.. Great waves of exhaustion sweeping over me again. What’s beneath them? What is it I’m not feeling?
How can I fight this asshole? Help me God.
Whoa, I feel the damn thing lifting off my head. Thank you God. I didn’t quite expect that to work. Alright where are we now?
I feel a bit of indigestion, a bit of anxiety. That’s not very deep. I want to go to my homework with the animus; holding Steve’s hand in the auditorium, world be damned. Can I get there? I feel lighter, more energetic. Is this real or bunny subterfuge? I don’t know.
Ian just brought me a drawing he made with Ellen, I feel a light joy and giggle, he leaves and I’m returning to myself. The rabbit’s trying to figure out how he can hold hands with the animus. Oh won’t he look so fine! Won’t all the dream work community think he’s such a Wonder Bunny! He’ll show off the animus all over the retreat center, he’ll be the Star! The rabbit had to go through so much to hold the animus’ hand, why he had to die, can you believe it? And it hurt, but here he is the Wonder Bunny! Don’t you just love him? Don’t you just want to cuddle him?
Alright what’s really going on right now? There’s a big difference between revealing the pathology and dying. What am I feeling? That’s the first step. My feelings aren’t as clear as they were last night. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to do this. The resistance is strong today. What can I do?
My mind wanders to cute girls. I really am lost The sunlight breaks out onto a Jesus statue Ellen keeps in her garden. Help me Jesus. The sunlight fades. Alright, I take Steven’s hand. I feel excited. I feel light. I feel loved. I feel a bit of doubt. I let go of the doubt and go with the animus. I stretch. Where am I? The connection has faded. What a short half life. Alright, next play in the playbook is to feel my pain and fear. The pain and fear that comes from my separation from God. The pain and fear I’ve felt and mostly avoided since childhood. Here it comes. I close my eyes, feel alone, tired again.
Ellen thumps into the study, this wakes me for a moment. I’m so feeble. I’m just going to let this cycle through. I’ll be back.
-7 pm-
I haven’t much time. Eve will be by with the kids any moment. In fact she’s overdue. I feel hot and agitated. I spent the last couple hours out raking a section of field I hit golf balls into. Before that I napped. I was full of doubt out there raking. Am I wasting my time? I’ve mown the tract and hit balls there, but it’s a lot of work and I usually let it go before summer is half way through. I was feeling my pain out there. Physical activity helps keep me awake. This is Saturday and my pattern is to not to do much on Saturdays. I take over primary parent duty with Ian at 1 pm typically so Ellen can nap before getting ready for work. She leaves around 3:30. Today though Eve took Ian and she’s bringing him back and dropping him off with her two kids so she can go out. That’s what I’m waiting for. She just called. They’re running late.
So what’s going on? I feel a nice calm in my body from working. I feel a bit petulant, as if I don’t want to be here. I’m concerned this is just blathering. I’m in my head. Let me see if I can drop down.
I close my eyes, focus on my breath and lower belly. My throat feels tight. I wish the kids weren’t coming. I feel a buzzing in my head, like a TV between stations. I hold my face and try to let go. There is absolutely nothing here for me to figure out. I hear the constant ringing in my ears.
They’re here.
Sunday, April 25, 3pm
I just dropped Ellen off at a North of Eden meeting which I will join at 5:00. We went into the wound that opened when she cut me as I reported Saturday at 10 am. Here’s what happened. I felt, while writing the first entry of this strange journal, that the writing itself was stretching into the razor thin gap between my true self and my pathology and prying them slightly apart where they have been very nearly one and indistinguishable. The writing itself in real time became a tool for my process. I’d never felt that before. It hurt like hell and as I said my resistance was fully aroused. Then I moved through something and felt that I had completed some piece of work. Not that the rabbit was entirely dead but that some part of him had been lopped off, something that would not grow back.
I was feeling lighter Saturday morning and asked Ellen to read the piece. She didn’t say anything so I asked for her response. "Well it’s a beginning." she said. I felt belittled, hurt and angry and fell into a confused, surely silence. Ellen and I hadn’t seen much of each other since that exchange until our ride into town a short while ago.
I was still silent, still angry, not trusting her, not wanting to share anything with her. Finally, I don’t recall how I got around to it, I acknowledged that I was feeling angry. "About what I said?" she asked. "Yes." "So you’re angry at me?" "Yes." This was difficult for me, much easier to just stew in my anger, painful to admit that I felt angry, especially hard to admit I felt angry at her. "Do you believe it?" she asked. "No, I know it’s pathology." then I went on "I don’t believe it’s true but it feels true, I can’t separate myself from it." So there’s my predicament. The part of me that’s dying now is so close to the bone that it feels like it’s all me.
Ellen confided that as soon as I asked her what she thought of my writing she felt a churning in her stomach. She felt the rabbit asking for approval. She hates the rabbit. She married the rabbit and hates it now, more I think than I do which again shows how closely entwined with it I remain. She said she had done the most loving thing she could think of which was to cut the rabbit, cut that tentacle reaching out for affirmation. I felt injured. Now what happened next is important and I only saw it, only came to this image talking with Ellen forty five minutes ago. What happened next was that I became lost in my pathology. I knew it was my pathology but I was completely awash in it. It was as if a tidal wave had swept me off my feet and tossed me every which way. I knew I was being tumbled by my pathology but I had no reference point in reality, no idea where the shore was, no idea which way was up, no rock to cling to, no sense of the animus, no sense of my divine boy. I had no place to speak from that wasn’t pathology so I kept my mouth shut. I couldn’t even see a way to acknowledge my feelings without sounding and feeling bitter, so I stewed in it. That may have been the best I could have done.
The rabbit is deeply entrenched throughout my life but no where more so than in my marriage. Ellen can feel it, a churning in her stomach, and she won’t put up with it. In the long run this is good news for me but right now it feels like shit.
So where am I right now? I’m sitting at the counter at Capital Grounds overlooking State Street. I just consumed a double decaf cappuccino and a piece of chocolate hazelnut mousse cake.
I feel restful, not the exhausted oppression of the asshole but peaceful as though I’ve just passed through a storm. It was very painful in the car with Ellen. I felt she was pulling teeth, amputating limbs and cutting out cancerous growths without anesthetics.
Alright enough of a break. What’s going on now?
I notice a sexy girl walk by. There’s a place for me to hide, to escape to, but she and her midriff are now gone. What am I feeling?
I feel my old enemy; resistance. Here is the part of me that doesn’t want to do this, like a thin, hard shell between the surface of my chest and my heart and lungs within, flexible and strong like "mithrail", the Elvin armor from "Lord of the Rings" - but worn inside the bone.
Down deeper I feel residual anger. Below that it’s dark, amorphous. In that dark, damp place I sense the rabbit panting, entwined in my guts. I’m coming bunny, I’m coming. Now I’m hacking with my machete. But what do I feel? I feel an anger different from the anger I felt at Ellen. This anger is more secure, quieter but more potent, still small.
I see a rabbity tentacle shoot out to another passing, pretty woman, this one across the street. I hack it off. I’ve gotta take a dump.
I’m back. Okay. I hold my face in my hands and try to go inside.
I feel a great sucking - a hole in my gut - a wound and a rabbit sending out tentacles, searching the world for relief. Can I let the animus into my sucking gut wound? I don’t know. That idea seems a bit of a bust.
I fall into a nearby conversation about the Institute for Social Ecology and am now pulling myself out.
I feel sad. I watch a girl’s ass then her crotch as she turns. I close my eyes, hold my face in my hands.
I take Steve’s hand in the auditorium. I imagine him sitting next to me here, even better. He’s sitting next to me here; the animus/Steve. I have to keep my eyes closed to let it work. We take hands. I lower my head onto my arms like a schoolboy at his desk. This too is shifting on me. I look out the window. The midriff walks by again. I close my eyes, face in my hands. I feel sad. I drop down and hack at the rabbit.
I return to Steve and show him my gut wound. I don’t think he’s here to heal it.
Time to go.
-Wednesday, April 28, 6pm
I’m stuck in Stowe waiting for my supervisor to show up. I’ve finished business for the day but have to wait to meet with him then drive the hour home.
I’m in my pain. It feels thicker today, deeper, steadier and familiar. Ellen and I are having a tough time. I can’t speak for her and haven’t spoken with her much since the conversation in the car on Sunday but it seems to me she’s become, bit by bit over a year or so increasingly sexually repulsed by me. I should say repulsed by the rabbit but I don’t see any other me than the one being rejected by her. Last night I was so angry I left our bed, tried to read, typed Sunday’s entry into the computer then spent most of what little was left of the night with Ian in his little bed. "Pappi, what are you doing here?" he woke and asked as if he wanted me to leave. Before I could work out an answer he fell back to sleep. By this morning I had dropped down through my anger into my pain. This is good. I’ve remained in this steady pain and physical exhaustion all day. There’s a bit of the free falling blended in with the pain so it’s been a good day process-wise. I’ve done good dying today.
Yesterday I spent the first hour and a half of my day doing dream work business, something to I’ve never before done on a work day. I went to the study, recorded a dream, called Bill to talk about scheduling the next men’s group gathering and did a very brief check-in, went online and discovered that Steve had sent me a thoughtful and feelingful response to the first entry of these death chronicles and I thought and felt my way through a response to him, then found an email from Laura; a deep response to something I’d said to her at the end of the NOE meeting Sunday and I slowly returned her deep volley then felt embarrassed and afraid that my return may have been rabbity rather than deep and so went the opening of my day. Then I felt nervous, guilty and afraid because I had spent so much of the morning doing dream work instead of job work. Later that afternoon I called Bill for a ten minute check-in that lasted forty and put time pressure on the remainder of my work day. I was pretty lost until I finished working at home around 8:00, took the babysitter home and went for a ride with Ian. I fell into a simple peace for the rest of the evening, playing with him briefly when we got home, washing his hands and face then snuggling with him in bed and reading Lord of the Rings aloud until he fell asleep. Ellen came home early. I cleaned up the kitchen, ate a late supper then headed into bed and read before lights out. Ellen came to bed about an hour and a half later and that’s when the trouble started.
Bruce is already nearly a half hour late. If I weren’t writing this I’d be upset.
Sunday a good thing happened. I was sharing at the North of Eden meeting, trying to reveal to the group how my pathology might get in the way at our coming retreat. I said the rabbit wanted to be the best, the most honest, the most dramatic, the deepest, the longest suffering. He wanted to be the worst pathology of them all so I could get the most sympathy, he wanted appreciation, he wanted to impress everyone. I hated him, I said, but was so tightly entwined with him that his death felt like my death. I was getting worked up, feeling my anger and talking faster and louder. I felt a nudge from Bill’s thumb. Was that deliberate or involuntary? I kept going. About a minute later he took my arm and said: Michael, you talked about a feeling last time we spoke." Now Bill’s gesture is a new one for all of us. The tradition at dream work gatherings; men’s group, women’s group, Bache group and NOE (North of Eden) group has been that we share one person at a time and no interruptions. This has been an important discipline for us. But a new discipline is emerging. This new discipline was first called forth in the NOE core group, six people who worked with Marc for about a year or so on the North of Eden website and then on the retreat...
Now I’m getting upset at Bruce. I’m feeling angry now. Wait, I think he just drove up. I can’t tell. I’m going to... yes it’s him.
We speak in the parking lot. I’m cold, shifting back and forth and shaking my shoulders wearing only a vest but I don’t want to let him get inside and get distracted with his beer and the bar and the other salesmen. He asks me how I am and I start by saying "your half hours are worse than mine." this is a new option for me, to speak the truth but not from a place of anger but from a humorous place. I driving home now, it’s 7:30.
Now I’m on my way home.
The new discipline is that people who feel moved, who feel they’re with God, can respond to other peoples’ sharing to help them. At this stage the only people so qualified are the six, Bill, Ellen, Steve, Sue, Deb and Christa. It hasn’t happened that often and everyone is still a bit hesitant to assert the privilege/responsibility. And to the best of my knowledge Bill’s taking my arm was the first time someone interrupted another who was going full steam. Bill said what he said and I felt the bottom of my cave of pain drop away and I realized I’d been talking from the rabbit and I felt embarrassed and disoriented and I was free falling into the sucking hole I earlier described. I asked Bill what feeling he was talking about, I couldn’t remember, I was lost. I don’t remember what he said but it led to the question: "What are you feeling now?" I said, "Empty, in the void, not knowing and uncomfortable with that, and I just held the talking stone in silence for about a minute or so then turned to Bill, thanked him and passed it on and continued in free fall the rest of that evening and much of Monday until mid-afternoon when time pressures pushed in on me and pulled me out of my free fall and back into the world of worry and pain.
In that moment with Bill, in front of the group, without making excuses or feeling stepped on or angry or needing to describe anything further or trying to sum anything up I just died. It lasted less than a day.
-Thursday, May 6, 8:30 pm -
I’m waiting for Ian to go to bed so I can talk with Ellen. I’m in the thick of my pain. I may read to him once he’s in bed. What a relief a story would be. There was once a day when I would talk to Ellen to relieve my pain but I believe tonight when I talk to her it will get worse, I’ll go in deeper. I wish there was some other way through this piece of work.
Ian just came in to say goodnight, he said Mommy’s reading to him tonight so I’ll plow this stony field a bit longer.
I had lunch with Bill this afternoon. He called me yesterday evening as I was finishing my work day. We hadn’t spoken for a while. I asked if he called to check in and immediately felt uncomfortable and resistant. He said he’d called for another reason but would be willing to check in. I told him I was too busy which was only partly true. The deeper truth was that I was afraid. I was afraid for the same reason I feel afraid about talking to Ellen tonight. I was afraid, I am afraid because checking in takes me deeper into my pain and I don’t want to go there. Bill caught me unaware and asleep. Before he called I wasn’t thinking about my pain or my process, I was doing my money job and I felt jerked out of that known, safe place into a tumble of fear and pain and resistance, jerked into my process. I’m there now. I came in deeper with Bill at our lunch this afternoon and I’ve told Ellen I’d like to go in with her tonight after she’s put Ian to bed. She warned me she may be too tired and that sparks my anger but that anger doesn’t ignite, there’s just not enough oxygen available, my pain and fear draw it all.
I eat too much. I feel acid in my belly and chest.
I feel like I just keep repeating myself through these journals; pain, fear, resistance, tumbling. I do think I’m deeper in this death cave than I was when I wrote that first entry nearly two weeks ago. I don’t sense the sucking hole wound I spoke of earlier, maybe I’m in it and can no longer separate out enough to see it. I still feel there’s worse to come.
I wonder if Ellen fell asleep reading to Ian. She often does. I’ll go check.
She had fallen asleep. I just found out she has to get up at 5:30 tomorrow morning. I spoke briefly describing to her what I’ve been here laying down. She’s asleep now.
I try to go online but can’t get there so I‘m back.
This burning is hard. I consider getting something to drink and eat. I told Ellen this feels like lowering myself into a tub of scalding water, I can only go in a little at a time then pull out a bit then a little bit deeper as each part of myself learns to accept the pain. I more often go slowly into cold water than plunge. I once plunged into water so cold in Northern Minnesota that I began to cramp and feared I would not make it back to the dock. My understanding of what’s going on now, such as it is, is that I must abandon the dock anyway. I hate plunging.
It’s dark here, murky. I feel entirely alone. If ever I came to this place without this thread of dream work I would do drugs or get drunk or jerk off or walk the night, anything to get out of this feeling. I’m exhausted. I’m going to read then going to bed.