Doctortayria's Blog

I heard an extremely compelling lecture tonight that discussed the extraordinary technology that created the pyramids in Egypt. The lecturer mentioned that currently we know from research into ancient Egypt what they used to eat, wear, how they built their bathrooms, how they made love, but we still do not have a CLUE how they knew the mathematics so precisely expressed in the pyramid constructions or how they moved rocks that we, even today, could not imagine how to move because of their size and weight. They somehow just put them there!

Apparently, like what they say about Atlantis, there were civilizations before recorded history that were so advanced, we have not even begun to catch up. What are the stories in our Earth’s history that we have managed to suppress and continually refuse to acknowledge?

As I took this in tonight I thought – no wonder in the vicinity of these pyramids, emitting the deep and mysterious knowledge that created them, some kind of anarchy, of the highest and best kind, is suddenly setting fire to the human spirit. From Wisconsin to Bahrain, inside our minds our in our social bodies, some ancient knowledge has been loosed and people are not going to take it anymore.

Persons have said to me regarding my interest in the indigenous mind and indigenous wisdom – “just because it’s old doesn’t mean it is good.” Maybe that is true. But on the other hand, look again.

Tonight at our dream group I felt myself standing in the middle of the oldest, holiest temple I can imagine. In the realm of the psyche, so charged with illuminated life and wisdom, where a soul meets its own self raw and unvarnished, our little group seemed to be standing in wonder, as if at the Parthenon. Here the gods and goddesses show themselves. Here they are not banished as they too often are from conscious life. Here the mortals and immortals meet and clash and demonstrate the intersections of patterns and energies that create our lives. I am, and was, in awe. In the holy of holies. The dream, where nightly we encounter the divine.

I am thinking strongly tonight of a friend who is honoring the first anniversary of the sudden death of his much loved wife. I am also in constant touch with another friend who is in the first months of living into the unexpected death of her husband of 30 years.

I remember when I was trying to get over love, not for a spouse who had died but for one who had decided to move on, telling my students in a college classroom that I don’t know what love is. It felt to me at the time like a disease a person needs to be cured of. How do you find healing for this?

At some point I finally realized that love is fatal. You don’t get over it, you live into it and everything it asks of you. It slays you. It destroys your life. And opens your shattered heart to the universe.

We don’t choose love, it chooses us. We can hide from it, avoid it, create boundaries to keep it out, but when it hunts us down and finds us watch out. The heart is in for another piercing. Floods of universal powers move in to break down the flimsy dams, to devastate and re-create all at once.

To my cherished friends living with the diagnosis I say, surrender. Your former life is fertilizer for a greater cause.

A peaceful revolution, organized on Facebook, by the youth, that toppled a tyrannical regime of 30 years in Egypt – I knew that we were in a new world but I have never felt this feeling, that it IS so new. This is just the beginning of what is possible. I can’t wait to watch what catches on next from the courage, clarity, passion and integrity of this movement. It makes me weep, and feel so hopeful. Could war actually become obsolete? I’m bursting with optimism.

The Poet with His Face in His Hands

You want to cry aloud for your
mistakes. But to tell the truth the world
doesn’t need anymore of that sound.

So if you’re going to do it and can’t
stop yourself, if your pretty mouth can’t
hold it in, at least go by yourself across

the forty fields and the forty dark inclines
of rocks and water to the place where
the falls are flinging out their white sheets

like crazy, and there is a cave behind all that
jubilation and water fun and you can
stand there, under it, and roar all you

want and nothing will be disturbed; you can
drip with despair all afternoon and still,
on a green branch, its wings just lightly touched

by the passing foil of the water, the thrush,
puffing out its spotted breast, will sing
of the perfect, stone-hard beauty of everything.

~ Mary Oliver ~

I went to bed last night with a focused prayer, asking what I need to know. I felt the crescent moon, more gorgeous and stunning than any moon vision I can remember, had imprinted itself on mind so strongly, I called for a dream to help me understand. I received an unforgettable one. I was in the woods, a tiger was sitting serenely, looking straight into my eyes. It was a tiger with coloring that I don’t think exists in this world, grey fur with black stripes. The words came, “This is what is not yet taken care of.”

I am starting to get the message, there are things I have left to do. They often picture the Virgin Mary standing on just such a crescent moon as I saw last night. Maybe she will help me give birth to the next thing.

I can’t stop thinking about how beautiful the moon appeared tonight – a perfect crescent, perfectly balanced as a bowl, lighting the bottom of the moon and up the sides evenly. The whole orb could be seen, with luminescent white light making the crescent. I honestly don’t remember seeing such a moon in my entire life, usually the crescent seems to be on one of the sides. I watched it until it set. In the midst of moving around the house with busyness since then, the imprint keeps coming back, strongly, potently – as though it wants to tell me something. White orb of this dark, clear night, are you talking to me?