✪ white flag on stage 6

The direction of one’s life has been on my mind a great deal, lately, particularly b/c it’s proving to be such a challenge to pick up my destiny-baton and run with it. But then i started reading Michael Meade and realized there’s this whole other part of the equation that i wasn’t factoring in: Fate. It’s what needs to be surrendered to before destiny can begin to unfurl; the seed of pre-existing conditions that will always be there and must be faced, head-on, if destiny’s got any shot at maturation. Hmmm… seems like i’ve been putting the cart-before-the-horse; no wonder my forehead’s sore from all this brick-wall banging. And: i’m starting to suspect that surrender is no easy skill of mine, judging by the scar-tissue on my pre-frontal cortex…

... and as with every good dream-turned-nightmare, isn't a handsome youth at the source of the trouble?

✶ *˚Last night, i had a dream — as i often do — and this one had me deliciously and somewhat awkwardly in the embrace of an impossibly Adonis-like creature, on the upstage left floor of the deck of a loomingly-expectant ampitheatre, behind the drum kit. As we came up for air and i my eyes began to focus on where i was — and what i was doing — i was appalled to discover that 3,000 pairs of eyes were tuned into the show. And the band wasn’t even playing. Somehow the Adonis picked himself up, with an infuriating grace, and said, “See you out here, babe, when it’s your turn.” He sauntered to his lead instrument to begin the concert, while i was left to slither away in humiliation.

The majority of the dream, thereafter, involved a panicky quest to find a way out of this labyrinth, attached to the ampitheatre, which was utterly cavernous and filled with refuges of every age. It became quickly clear that i wasn’t going to find a way out and, in fact, every being i met conspired upon my staying — including the fellow who insisted, rather viciously, that i was his garbage-monkey. *At last* i found myself on the stage right side (the proper side to enter, apparently) and as i stared out from the wings, i saw the ampitheatre give rise to a much larger domed grassy-area, filled with circles of rabid souls, all furiously fighting and protesting for the right to sovereignty. The furthest from the stage bore dark and anguished faces; the closer ones seemed more… focused and serene, almost… their eyes shining with a dawning light of… hope? (if i may use an overused and thoroughly co-opted word). Apparently this Adonis was making impact on more than just myself…

Probably *not* the leap Scott Bakula had in mind... well: he better just *go-with-it* if he's knows what's good for him...

Well, i now knew why i was there at any rate — much to my chagrin — having concluded i was some sort of novice Quantum Leaper, here to live out a particular thread of fate or destiny before jumping away to another body. As the time got nearer (b/c somehow i knew when it was time), a youngish, gaunt and terrified lad implored to me, “What are we gonna do??”

And i responded with the only thing i could: We will do what we have to, what we must do. We will step onto that stage, go to the instrument that calls us, and we will take our position. Then: we will wait for the beginning. And we will play what needs to be played. And we will sing when we are meant to sing. And we will trust that we are doing what’s right. Don’t worry. i have faith…˚* ✶

And that was the end of that. i don’t actually know if i succeeded in my hunch. For all i know, the lad and i could have been thrown to the lions at the first off-note. But it got me thinking… is this what it’s like to surrender?

Me, sing? *gulp* Ok...

If so, i found the whole experience to be a rather uncomfortable and dangerous scenario, and: ridiculously dramatic — maybe b/c i was fighting so hard (or, maybe it’s b/c i’ve been on a Battlestar Galactica trip lately, and the Hollywoodiness of it is seeping into my brain-mush). In any case, there was very little peace and a whole lot of scrabbling and dodging and ducking in my surrender. Plus, a ton of fear. It got to the point where the fear overwhelmed such that i had little choice but accept the pirate-plank before me, put on what little dignity i felt i had left, and walk to what surely would end in (a) certain death or (b) salvation from this nightmare. Clever scheming disappeared and the fate of my life became a binary imperative: sing and die -or- sing and live. Either way, *not* singing was never an option.

✪ It has become evident to me that surrender is the order of the day: it’s what i need to do — what i must do — if i’m to live the way i dream of living. But i’m telling you, the disconnect i’m experiencing between dreaming and living has become maddening — obsessive, even. i’m trying so hard, fighting *so.hard* to get-going with my destiny journey… but what i’m not doing so well is finding acceptance for the challenging circumstances that have precipitated since my departure from The Matrix, which are surely turns of fate yet-to-be-faced. i still believe that i can force the timeline of the direction of my life, for cryin’-out-loud! Heck, i may even still believe i can force the direction of my life — though that’s been increasingly less of an issue as i zero-in on personal resonance. It apparently isn’t enough to have a sense of where you think you’re headed; the whole how of getting there seems to be contingent on dealing with, neutralizing, and integrating the troubles (fate) you face along the way, the energetic troubles you are meant to face before earning your destiny wings.

Welcome to *me* vs. *me*... sure to be a brutal nail-bitter, folks...

Michael Meade, as a storyteller, tells of the great charge that is each of our lives, that upon the deathbed — the threshold before “judgment” — only one question matters: Were you yourself in this life? In fact, he argues, that’s really the only point of living, to be as much of yourself for as long as you can — a gift found only through the vocation of destiny. But getting there, as a modern culture and the individuals within, is a perilous journey:

“If we can each find a part of our individual destiny, that begins to alter the situation. I don’t think we’re going to “vote” the answer in; I don’t think it’s going to come that way. I should mention that where I find people picking up their threads of destiny and getting these senses of self-revelation is in all the dark parts of the culture: in hospice work, in youth work, in all the places where people are homeless, the places where other people don’t want to go. No one ever became themselves while they were comfortable. It always happens under stress and distress. One of the old ideas is that you look around and whatever looks darkest, go in that direction. Because there you are bound to find something that can challenge your soul.” 

Looks like i don't have a choice... may as well accept this...

Well, there’s certainly been plenty of challenge lately — and darkness. And it’s been a helluva struggle to make any sense of it, especially when i feel that i’m sensing my destiny, just on the other side of that mirror that continues to elude me. i’ve been grasping for all sorts of explanations, mostly the self-deprecating kind, but what i really needed was a story to help me understand what it is that i’m going through… and thanks to Michael Meade i’m starting to see the myth of my own continued descent. It isn’t over — i know it isn’t over — but i feel emboldened to get out on that stage and sing… whatever the consequence.