Blades of Grass and a Chandelier

Last night I dreamt that while Sasha and I were downtown helping the homeless, we got news that our house had been repossessed, was being turned into townhouses and that they were about to put all of our belongings out onto the street. The homeless and the other workers were barely phased by my panic, and I ruminated about how we were going to get there to save our things. How were we going to get home in time, we took the bus and the car was at home? Suddenly, a Vespa appeared (something I’ve always wanted), sent by my friend Darren, complete with two helmets and a note taped inside mine, which had a big hole in the top of it. He said he put the hole there specially for me so that God could get in.

I was trying to maneuver through heavy traffic and driving like a maniac, eventually needing to get on the freeway, which you can’t do with the Vespa. I kept my “holy” helmet on, though, and I kept it on throughout the entire dream, even as I got off the Vespa, left it with Sasha and began to run up the freeway ramp. My friend Michelle pulled up out of the traffic and told me to get in, hurry it up (as only Michelle can say, brisk without offense). We don’t have time for your bellyaching about the Vespa and no, I don’t care who gave it to you.

Michelle drove me back to a neighborhood I didn’t recognize, where all the “houses” had turned into white “townhouses,” plastic like the motels in Monopoly. I couldn’t recognize the streets or the houses and I didn’t know which one was mine and Michelle was getting perturbed by my very verbal shock and awe. Get a grip.

I only recognized where I lived because my friend Brian was outside, standing in waders in water almost up to his waist and helping all the belongings downriver. I got out of the car and shouted over the roar of the water, “Brian, where are my things? Where is my house?” He smiled and lit a cigarette. "Oh, I saved this lamp (my Buddha lamp) cause I thought it was kind of cool. The rest of its coming out – ah, there it is…” and out onto the river comes my couch and chairs, etc. Brian helps it all along with a paddle and says, “Ah, don’t worry, there’s more where this came from. You don’t need it anyway, Nance, it’s a couch! That is a nice ottoman, though (and laughs).”

One of my favorite movie scenes of all time is in the movie Empire of the Sun where, after years in the harsh confines of a Japanese internment camp, freed British former wealthy diplomats wander about, confused and not sure where to go. They are hungry and sick and ragged. As they wander the countryside, they cross over a hill, in the middle of a great field, and all of a sudden they come upon the former riches they once had: chandeliers, gilted mirrors, French stuffed sofas, art and pianos – just sitting there like an abandoned circus, dumped right in the field, no better or worse than the blades of grass.

It so puts “things” in perspective. Their things didn’t save them from suffering a fate worse than they could imagine. They didn’t save them afterward either. They just sat there, immobile in the grassy field.

I’m not implying there’s anything wrong with wanting things – I do, and I own a few things I would really miss if they were gone. But in my sometimes panic that there will never be anything or anyone for me, I have grabbed for whatever’s in my path, without taking the time to invite the spirit within to help me really know if it’s for me. So often, what I need looks so foreign to what I thought I wanted that unless I invite the spirit in to weigh it with me for awhile, I’ll just skim right over it. But then, all of a sudden, I recognize it – and it’s beautiful and just what I’ve always wanted. Then comes the lovely, fingers-pried-off-the-wheel surrender. Wow. Who knew?

Today I am grateful to have an inner spirit I recognize and can sit with (usually).