The situation is this— we’re working for another king now who's gay & half a head shorter than his lover… The king claims there's been negligence… the king claims that funds --like himself-- are short… Somehow, the mules are starving while the treasury’s been drained on horses, war horses (lining the pockets of those who breed them, who of course, are all friends of the king). And even if the rest of the kingdom is starving, going broke now the fault here, somehow --or certainly the burden is ours. And so the king will no longer see us we can only hear what the king claims through his lover who's now in charge… And so, it doesn’t look good, what it looks like is we should now offer to work for nothing, or close to it. That is, if we ever want to work in this kingdom again… Well, all the wealth sucked to the top & stoked by war doesn’t need Dr. Freud. I mean listen to the news, and Welcome to the Kali Yuga, Have a nice day!
--No, that’s too smug, You already know that. What about your own real negligence, and the raging real conflicts of your own real life
| that you keep facing in the same old way, giving preferential treatment to the parts of yourself that are already well-heeled and have it cushy?
--You’re nearly broke. No wife, yet remain in your cloister, writing & keep facing the world as if there’s no there there, no one who’d receive you. So the king, who’s that in you? A runt who sends an emissary, his better half out to do his bidding --that which he loves & holds in high esteem-- but what about your body? That faithful mule who has served you so well & to whom you throw scraps? What about your social instinct --kind of clunky, isn’t it, and why you’d think to trot some handsome Johnny out rather than risk speaking to your own people. And it’s not even clear what kind of work you do, well, what about that? You weren’t sure what to make of this dream. (Sometimes it takes time, lots of time, the grit of time slowly rubbing against our blinders… Your initial interpretation of the dream’s lyses lacks the sight-lines, the actual vantage and so, misses the point of the angelic messenger who brings you your dreams.
Here’s what you thought: “This is just what it’s like… to have a memory that doesn't know when to quit.” “As if in the night its satchel has dipped back, way back” “into the storehouse, for grain put away from some other time” “--a time when all that mattered is what the king claims…” ~~~ | Clever. But that interpretation is just piss-elegance, and being spiritually jive. Like much religion, the transmission of this dream got garbled between worlds. Parts were lost. Here’s what you missed: There are actually two kings in this dream, two kings in you & in everyone & when we look down on either we cynically fail to recognize our own majesty. One king is your ego, the stressed-out ruler of a precarious realm. The other king seems no longer around (He’s invisible, but when we forget about him that leaves the ego king in charge). But don’t look down on your ego either --that king is doing the best he can with limited resources. But the job is too big for him. He’s a little like George W. Bush, a little like Judas Iscariot --a needed leavening to thicken the plot, though he actually serves to end one age and bring in another. And as with the two kings, there are two common kinds of war. One kind is stupid, an inadequate solution fueled by righteousness, hubris, and greed blaming others, impotent rage… --it drains your treasury. The other kind of war is an internal affair waged against the above. Tame your own inner conflicts & the missing king comes back into view. That jihad is the war we need to fight. But don’t forget to feed the mules. They’re the faithful forms of discipline that can carry your load to market. Our world is starving, suffering now from a lack of discernment between these two kings, and between these two kinds of war. Become a friend of the king who was here first, the king who doesn’t blame, who doesn’t act out of duality --give him everything and there’s nothing real you will lack. |
