On Answers I Need (Blog #879)

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Yesterday I read in Gayle Delaney’s Living Your Dreams that you can incubate your dreams, or rather, ask your subconscious questions and get answers in the form of dreams. And whereas I’ve tried this before with little success, Delaney suggested a technique I hadn’t tried, so I gave it a shot last night and asked about my tension headaches. “What’s causing them and what can I do about them?” I wrote in my dream journal. Then I thought of everything I’ve tried to help my headaches, reasons I might find them “useful” (because they help me slow down), and whether or not and how I’d be willing to change so they could go away. Then I concentrated on my question until I fell asleep.

The theory behind dream incubation says that even if you don’t dream about your specific subject in question the night you ask about it–and you probably won’t–assume that whatever you do dream about is you answer. (Why, Marcus?) Because your subconscious, which speaks in symbols, is smart, is listening, and wants to help.

That’s the theory, at least.

In response to my asking about my tension headaches, what my subconscious offered me was a series of four or five dreams, which at first blush had nothing to do with one another. However, again, dream theory says that one night’s dreams usually amount to one topic or message. In other words, your subconscious repeats itself (because most of us don’t get it the first time). Sure enough, after waking up this morning and writing down my dreams, I realized they all dealt largely with one subject–men. And whereas for time’s sake I’ll spare you ALL the specific dream details, I will share some highlights and what I’m taking away from them. Before I do, since my dreams fit this pattern, I should say that another facet of dream theory says that a series of dreams will often communicate–this is what’s been going on (past), this is what’s going on (present), and this is what will go on (future).

In terms of the past, my first dream took place in a forest, a place I felt lost. There I was taking pictures, which I sometimes associate with watching other people live their lives and not really living your own. Specifically, I was taking pictures of Patrick Swayze, whom I take to be the quintessential talented, hot man. Also, he happens to be (or was) a dancer, like I am. This commonality between one’s self and a dream figure/celebrity is a clue, Delaney says, that the figure represents part of you that you haven’t fully recognized, owned, or integrated (talented, hot). Lastly, I should say that in my dream Patrick Swayze had a naked butt.

If only your dreams were so good.

In terms of my present, my second dream involved my speaking to some friends about housesitting, which I’ve been doing a lot of lately. During the conversation I mention that as a house sitter I sometimes put the mail in the wrong place. As I do, I notice I feel embarrassed. (See Patrick Swayze above: em-bare-assed). Later I’m at a tennis court, which I associate with waiting (and a lot of back-and-forth), something I definitely feel I’m doing a bit of lately, especially in terms of healing. Anyway, then I’m back with one of my friends that I’d describe as a hard worker (and sometimes sick), and I put my head in his lap. As I do, I imagine that he feels somewhat uncomfortable.

In terms of my future, my third dream involved me waiting (waiting again) on a pilot (someone who helps things “take off”). Eventually, one comes, someone I’d call passionate and confident. Later, one (hot) straight man is congratulating another because he (the second one) is about to go to the moon. As this is going on, I have my hand on the first guy’s right shoulder. (Incidentally, my right shoulder has been hurting for a while now.) Then this guy and I have a conversation about straight guys and gay guys, and it feels like there’s mutual respect and understanding between us.

I said earlier that for me the theme that ties these dreams together is men. What I mean is that for the longest time I felt like straight guys were “real men” but gay guys weren’t. That I wasn’t. This is evidenced in my first dream about watching other people live their lives and not recognizing my own gifts and abilities but rather being embarrassed by who I am. I could go on for a long time about this because I don’t think I came to this I’m-less-of-a-person-because-I’m-gay idea on my own. Indeed, having grown up in the south, in the church, and in a Christian school, I know I didn’t. But it’s not just these groups. Our society as a whole teaches that straight men are simply better than gay men in every way (well, except maybe decorating and–I don’t know–keeping our nails clean). Even better if you’re straight, white, and rich. Robert Ohotto says that when he intuitively reads a gay man’s energy system, they almost always show signs of being abused even if they haven’t been abused physically or sexually. Why? Because when a society systematically teaches a person that who they are is wrong, shameful, different, strange, bad, embarrassing, and less-than, that’s abuse.

This would, of course, apply to almost all minorities, including women.

For me, my second dream is about my beginning to make peace with the misconceptions I grew up with. This is evidenced by my saying that I sometimes put the mail (the male) in the wrong place. That is, sometimes I think that because a man is straight or rich (productive) while I’m gayly house sitting or, um, waiting for something else to come along, that somehow makes him more of a human, more worthy than I am. I often mention my thinking I need to always be productive, and I think my putting my head in the lap of my friend who’s a hard worker is indicative of the part of me that needs to rest and the part of me that needs to work coming to terms with each other. Like my friend in the dream (who’s me, really), I’m not always comfortable with this because–again–the idea of productivity has been pretty drilled into me.

“Real men are productive.”

My therapist says that one nice thing about my being gay is that I don’t have to play by the same rules as the rest of society. I can say, “Fuck you and your productivity, straighties!” Ultimately, I think the answer for me is in my third dream, the one that featured the guy who goes to the moon, which I associate with the feminine. Not that I’m going to GO to the feminine, but I am working on integrating my masculine and feminine sides. This is something I think everyone should do–because we all have them. Also, I’m working on having a mutual respect and understanding for not just straight guys, but also for all guys–because if you think there aren’t “better” and “less-than” in the gay world, you’re mistaken. (As Jack McFarland says, “No pecs, no sex.). I guess we all create hierarchies. But the truth is we’re all equal, we’re all even.

Now, will any of this help my headaches? Hell if I know. I’ve had a killer one all evening. But whether or not my dreams have the answers to MY questions, I am convinced that they have answers, answers I need.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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All things are moving as they should.

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The Best of Things (Blog #146)

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To this day, one of my top three movies is The Shawshank Redemption, which–extremely briefly–is about a man named Andy who is falsely imprisoned and eventually escapes after years of slowly chipping away at a concrete wall. (If you haven’t seen it, I’m sorry to spoil it for you.) One of the final scenes involves the night Andy escapes. After crawling through the tunnel he’s made, he breaks open a sewage line, crawls through hundreds of yards of you-know-what, and eventually emerges on the other side of the prison walls. It’s pouring down rain, and as Andy stretches his arms out wide, the water washes over him. Finally, he’s free.

The movie concludes when Andy’s best friend, Red, is released from prison and breaks his parole to join Andy on a beach. (It’s very sweet in a heterosexual sort of way.) Previously, Red had told Andy to accept his fate, that he’d be stuck in prison for the rest of his life. He says, “Hope is a dangerous thing.” Andy’s later response is one of the best lines in the movie, maybe any movie: “Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things.”

Last week I read a book called Scared Selfless by a psychologist who was severely abused and traumatized as a child. In short, her step-father used her as a sex slave and prostitute until she became a teenager. For several years, she dissociated, meaning her psyche seriously compartmentalized the horrific experiences, and she was able to go about her day-to-day life interacting with her step-father as if everything were “normal.” When she got to college she started having flashbacks, and although the shit really hit the fan, the good news is that she started the long road to healing. That road included a number of psychologists (at least eight), a diagnosis of multiple personality disorder (dissociative identity disorder), and discovering that she was a lesbian.

It’s a lot to process, I know.

Today I took the book to therapy and asked my therapist a few questions out of curiosity. There’s a comment in the book that “during prolonged trauma, denying one’s feelings can be beneficial and adaptive” because–why focus on your terrible life if you can’t do anything about it? So I asked my therapist if that was true, if it was “okay” to shut down sometimes, to put part of you in a box until you can deal with it later. My therapist said that in severe cases, it’d be hard not to. But–and she sort of pulled back the corners of her mouth before she said this–she didn’t think it was ever healthy to deny one’s feelings, to compartmentalize. She said, “I think a better response would be hope. Okay, this sucks, and maybe I can’t do anything about it now, but it’s only temporary. Everything is temporary.”

Although I’ve been through a number of traumatic experiences, I can’t imagine the level of trauma the lady who wrote the book endured. Still, I can appreciate anyone who shuts down or puts things in a box because I know I did that for the longest time. I remember being fifteen when Dad when to prison. I started paying the bills, driving myself to school, falling asleep on the floor at night while I was studying. I kept a four-point average, and after school I’d type up legal work for my dad and his friends. Looking back, I should have been mad as hell, come home crying on a regular basis from all the pressure. But I only remember crying a handful of times in six years.

I know enough now that the reason I fell in love with The Shawshank Redemption was because I felt like I was in prison too, trapped in a situation I couldn’t get out of. More specifically, I both knowingly and unknowingly took parts of myself and put them behind a concrete wall. In particular, I took one rather large part and put it in a concrete closet. For years I played the roles of the dutiful son, the teacher’s pet, and the nice boy. And whereas I can’t say that those roles were disingenuous, I can say that they didn’t represent the whole of me.

Here’s the deal–if you’re not whole, you’re in prison. 

My therapist says that hope is real, that she’s seen it change people’s lives. In my experience, it seems that hope has been, as Emily Dickinson would say, the thing with feathers. Some days it’s been right there, others so far away. And yet it’s always returned, sometimes in the form of a book, sometimes in the form of a movie I can’t stop watching, sometimes in the form of my therapist. When I consider the last twenty years, it’s amazing to me that I didn’t fully recognize the prison I was in. Like Andy’s friend Red, I guess I’d simply gotten used to being there. And yet part of me obviously knew there was more to life. Hey, get us the fuck out of here. We don’t like all this concrete. This place could use some color and a new set of curtains.

The last few years have often felt like tunneling my way through a thick wall–little bit by little bit. Like Andy crawling through the sewer, my therapist says she’s in favor of digging into and dealing with all your shit until it’s under your fingernails. (Then you can clean it up.) In short, healing hasn’t always been a pretty process. But I do think it’s been worth all the hard work. Even since starting this blog, I’ve felt like a lot of walls have come down. Yeah, I’ve been through hundreds of yards of shit, but I’m more complete now than I ever have been. Last night–at four in the morning–I went for a run, and it started to rain. Rather than go back, I just decided, I’m in this. So I spread my arms out wide and let the water wash over me like a baptism. I wish I could describe it better. My feet were hitting the pavement, my lungs were working overtime, my heart was beat, beat, beating. Several times I splashed around in puddles as if I were a kid again. It felt like every piece of me was there–it felt like freedom–it felt like the best of things.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Rejecting yourself is what really hurts.

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