In a dream a few years ago, Jesus called me up on the phone and asked me
to help him out. "The second coming isn't going so well," he told me.
I met Jesus in a cave in Jerusalem, where he was talking to a mother,
her baby, and a group of middle-easterners. Jesus was lecturing the
group on how the best way to envision him was not as a man dying on the
cross but as a baby. As the sun began to rise outside the cave, Jesus
said that the essence of Christianity is in morning (or it might have
been in "mourning").
It was revealed that the reason that Jesus
was having so much trouble in his second coming was an evil priest that
had allied himself with the devil. Jesus, Samo Hung (Jackie Chan's
foster brother from the movie Meals on Wheels), and I encountered this
priest and the Devil in an airport mall. After trying to hide from the
devil, a fight broke out between Jesus and the priest. We entered what
Jesus called "prayer time," where our fighting skills could be improved
by, for example, wishing that we worked harder in elementary school gym
class or that we had remembered to bring a knife.
That's right: in the second coming, Jesus uses Kung Fu to fight alongside Samo Hung against the Devil.
The
meaning of Jesus' sermon at the beginning of the dream, or at least
what I remember of it, has since shaped how I view Christianity in the
waking world. The material world, according to his sermon, is a
mother's womb, and each of us is the child. All of the disasters and
torment in the world are just birthing pains in the process of humanity
being born into a higher spiritual state. Jesus is the first soul to be
truly born out of this world, but we will all one day grow up to be
spiritual adults like him.
This model of Christianity works
particularly well with the Latin American worship of the Virgin Mary.
By entering into the womb of Mary (the Catholic Church or spiritual life
in itself), we can eventually be born again as lesser Christs.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Dreams about Jesus I
Jesus is a semi-constant figure in my dreams, showing up more than
anyone else save perhaps my mother and younger brother. At times he
only appears briefly and in some sort of disguise, while in other dreams
he is the protagonist and I am simply observing him. I am a
religiously-minded person, having received a degree in Religious Studies
at the University of Oregon, but am not myself a Christian or even
especially focused on the study of Christianity.
Jesus is, however, perhaps the single defining mythological/spiritual figure in the western world, and I tend to remember every dream in which he appears as carrying some sort of metaphorical weight or special significance. Jung argued that the dream-Jesus represents the "whole man," the complete personality of an individual surfacing in their subconscious, but I feel that in my case he appears more as a incarnation of a single aspect of me, the part of me that quests for meaning and depth in the world.
The first dream about Jesus that I have recorded in my notebook is from about three years ago, in which he and I were playing chess against each other. All I wrote down was that single image, with no context if there ever was any.
In other dreams, Jesus barely appears or is only symbolically present. One dream involved me jogging down the streed where my family lived when I was 16, after we had come back from England and during the time of my parent's divorce. This was where I lived during a major transitional time in my life, a period in which I began to define my current identity. While jogging, I saw a repairman working towards the top of a telephone pole. I had drawn pictures of this pole before, in a series of pastel drawings of the neighborhood that I did for an art class. The otherworldliness of this man so high above the world and the cross-like shape of the telephone pole led me to realise that this man was, at least in some form, Jesus. I turned towards him and raised my hands, palms pressed together, towards the repairman. This was not intended as a volitional prayer but one of thanks and reverence.
The next dream about Jesus revealed that Jesus was, in fact, a zombie. In Haitian Vodou, Zombies are people who are considered dead and buried in the earth for three days, only to rise again as a slave to the Voudon.
Exactly who Jesus was a slave to was unclear in the dream, but I suppose that it could be interpreted a number of different ways. Perhaps this means that, though Jesus himself died, his teachings were only buried for three days and then revived by his followers. The message and character of Jesus then became subservient to the Christains who preached the story of the resurrection, many of whom have since gone on to use Christianity to their own ends. The focus of much of Christianity is no longer on the living aspects of Jesus- his message and ethical codes- but more on following the man himself, a corpse that is not being allowed to rest.
The second coming is, in itself, a zombie story. The Book of Revelation describes people rising from their graves and fighting against the living. Though I don't consciously consider it as such, perhaps this dream was expressing the unconscious thought that Christianity is something that is still walking long past the time that it should have died, an undead monster that feasts on the brains of the living.
Jesus is, however, perhaps the single defining mythological/spiritual figure in the western world, and I tend to remember every dream in which he appears as carrying some sort of metaphorical weight or special significance. Jung argued that the dream-Jesus represents the "whole man," the complete personality of an individual surfacing in their subconscious, but I feel that in my case he appears more as a incarnation of a single aspect of me, the part of me that quests for meaning and depth in the world.
The first dream about Jesus that I have recorded in my notebook is from about three years ago, in which he and I were playing chess against each other. All I wrote down was that single image, with no context if there ever was any.
In other dreams, Jesus barely appears or is only symbolically present. One dream involved me jogging down the streed where my family lived when I was 16, after we had come back from England and during the time of my parent's divorce. This was where I lived during a major transitional time in my life, a period in which I began to define my current identity. While jogging, I saw a repairman working towards the top of a telephone pole. I had drawn pictures of this pole before, in a series of pastel drawings of the neighborhood that I did for an art class. The otherworldliness of this man so high above the world and the cross-like shape of the telephone pole led me to realise that this man was, at least in some form, Jesus. I turned towards him and raised my hands, palms pressed together, towards the repairman. This was not intended as a volitional prayer but one of thanks and reverence.
The next dream about Jesus revealed that Jesus was, in fact, a zombie. In Haitian Vodou, Zombies are people who are considered dead and buried in the earth for three days, only to rise again as a slave to the Voudon.
Exactly who Jesus was a slave to was unclear in the dream, but I suppose that it could be interpreted a number of different ways. Perhaps this means that, though Jesus himself died, his teachings were only buried for three days and then revived by his followers. The message and character of Jesus then became subservient to the Christains who preached the story of the resurrection, many of whom have since gone on to use Christianity to their own ends. The focus of much of Christianity is no longer on the living aspects of Jesus- his message and ethical codes- but more on following the man himself, a corpse that is not being allowed to rest.
The second coming is, in itself, a zombie story. The Book of Revelation describes people rising from their graves and fighting against the living. Though I don't consciously consider it as such, perhaps this dream was expressing the unconscious thought that Christianity is something that is still walking long past the time that it should have died, an undead monster that feasts on the brains of the living.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Every Day Is Like Bloomsday
Notes from May 29, 2008:
I am walking toward a man-made lake near my house when I notice that everything is tinted with an unnatural shade of gray. Looking up, I see that there is no sun in the sky. Two ducks fly away as I approach the lake, moving in perfect synchronicity. I wonder if I am dreaming, as I am prone to having lucid or half-lucid dreams.
There are the tricks I use to find out if I am dreaming:
1. Do I remember waking up? Yes, I do. The shower head was broken this morning, and instead of spraying it only drooled water onto my head. I remember hitting it, turning it around, wanting more pressure.
2. How did I get where I am now? I think that I got off the bus from Portland two minutes ago, but sometimes I remember things in dreams that never happened, like being diagnosed with cancer.
3. Can I turn on a light switch? Maybe. There isn't one nearby.
4. Can I read? We'll see. I have been walking towards a comic book store (and do not know why I have been walking towards a comic book store).
There is one other trick, which I always forget when I dream: staring at the back of my hand. A book I read says that we have low attention spans in our dreams. I did not remember this one.
I walk past an old man taking on a cell phone, laughing. Why am I not walking home? I must not be dreaming because I can remember what happened earlier that day. The only thing from the past 24 hours that I do not remember is my dream last night. I see light shining from behind the cloudy sky and think that I must be awake.
When I enter the comic book store, there are several people grouped around two tables playing some sort of game. The bald man behind the counter is staring at a computer screen. As I walk towards one of the display racks, a man in a baseball cap turns to me and asks what's up. He acts like he knows me, but I do not recognize him.
I look at the comics on the rack against the wall and find that I can read the titles. This proves nothing, since I have had dreams where I can read before. In those dreams, I find books and movies that never existed, that I wish really existed. One such book, The Guide to African Bug-Magic, spoke of how to turn into a fiery cockroach in order to survive the coming Christian apocalypse. I remember, as a child, wanting to sleep in one morning so that I could watch the Ninja Turtles in Space movie on VHS. In waking life, there was no such thing.
As I leave the store, the bald man behind the counter ominously says that he will see me later. That place was one of the nine pits of Hell. I have decided that some people become victims to their own imagination. It was Six O'clock on a Thursday and they were role playing, just as they did yesterday and will do tomorrow.
Nietzsche's idea of the Eternal Recurrence: every action is redone throughout eternity and we are forced to live our lives again in the exact same way after every time we die. We have no free will. We only think that we are making the same decisions that we have always been making.
I still cannot tell if this is a dream or not. I will go to sleep and dream about waking up or wake up and think about dreaming or dream about thinking about going to sleep. Some dreams have the same mundanity, the same lack of clarity, and the same small moments of beauty as everyday life.
I am walking toward a man-made lake near my house when I notice that everything is tinted with an unnatural shade of gray. Looking up, I see that there is no sun in the sky. Two ducks fly away as I approach the lake, moving in perfect synchronicity. I wonder if I am dreaming, as I am prone to having lucid or half-lucid dreams.
There are the tricks I use to find out if I am dreaming:
1. Do I remember waking up? Yes, I do. The shower head was broken this morning, and instead of spraying it only drooled water onto my head. I remember hitting it, turning it around, wanting more pressure.
2. How did I get where I am now? I think that I got off the bus from Portland two minutes ago, but sometimes I remember things in dreams that never happened, like being diagnosed with cancer.
3. Can I turn on a light switch? Maybe. There isn't one nearby.
4. Can I read? We'll see. I have been walking towards a comic book store (and do not know why I have been walking towards a comic book store).
There is one other trick, which I always forget when I dream: staring at the back of my hand. A book I read says that we have low attention spans in our dreams. I did not remember this one.
I walk past an old man taking on a cell phone, laughing. Why am I not walking home? I must not be dreaming because I can remember what happened earlier that day. The only thing from the past 24 hours that I do not remember is my dream last night. I see light shining from behind the cloudy sky and think that I must be awake.
When I enter the comic book store, there are several people grouped around two tables playing some sort of game. The bald man behind the counter is staring at a computer screen. As I walk towards one of the display racks, a man in a baseball cap turns to me and asks what's up. He acts like he knows me, but I do not recognize him.
I look at the comics on the rack against the wall and find that I can read the titles. This proves nothing, since I have had dreams where I can read before. In those dreams, I find books and movies that never existed, that I wish really existed. One such book, The Guide to African Bug-Magic, spoke of how to turn into a fiery cockroach in order to survive the coming Christian apocalypse. I remember, as a child, wanting to sleep in one morning so that I could watch the Ninja Turtles in Space movie on VHS. In waking life, there was no such thing.
As I leave the store, the bald man behind the counter ominously says that he will see me later. That place was one of the nine pits of Hell. I have decided that some people become victims to their own imagination. It was Six O'clock on a Thursday and they were role playing, just as they did yesterday and will do tomorrow.
Nietzsche's idea of the Eternal Recurrence: every action is redone throughout eternity and we are forced to live our lives again in the exact same way after every time we die. We have no free will. We only think that we are making the same decisions that we have always been making.
I still cannot tell if this is a dream or not. I will go to sleep and dream about waking up or wake up and think about dreaming or dream about thinking about going to sleep. Some dreams have the same mundanity, the same lack of clarity, and the same small moments of beauty as everyday life.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)