Posted by: Bruce Proctor | May 25, 2018

Dream: The Great Letter-Tile Grid

My field of vision was as many as sixty tiles wide, and perhaps as many vertically.  Each tile was marked with a letter of an alphabet.  I soon learned that I could switch adjacent tiles. Maybe I could arrange them to create meaningful combinations. Maybe those groupings could even be made into large grids. Was it possible that all the tiles were to be parts of the pattern? Faced with figuring out this whole thing from scratch, that seemed, uh, unbelievably remote!

I seemed to get mental confirmations as I played. One thing for sure was that this game wasn’t based simply on one set of rules. Yet, as I gained familiarity with it, I did seem able to arrange some letters into stacks or rows or even grids of a few tiles. The problem was that I was never sure if the groupings I found meaningful were actually rules of the game.

When I say it was sixty tiles wide and high, I believe the grid was far larger, but as a beginner I could perceive only so much.

Looking at the tiles ever more closely, I soon discovered a whole other dimension to this grid. If I held my attention on a single letter tile, it would reveal a social scene of people living their lives. The longer I held my attention on it, the wider the scene would become.

The most notable I can remember was a scene of a pueblo people in a courtyard, women in full skirts, kids, old men. As I looked more deeply, the scene stretched wider and wider to my right: beyond the courtyard there appeared an area like a Salvation Army store, though without any walls I could see, but there was a sense it was indoors, and darker, with deep, shadowy corners. Altogether in the scene, lots of people were living a normal day.

I don’t know if they perceived me, or whether some action I never saw precipitated it, but to the left, four or five women were now flustered, one pretty younger one in particular, who turned red with the shyness of being recognized by a man’s attention. The other women fussed like hens to hustle her inside the nearest adobe doorway.

This was one tile. I came to believe that the whole grid was the entire social matrix of our country, and that my larger game objective was to create harmonies–and even, eventually, a full harmony–throughout the grid. (Yeah, right!) At least my available moves seemed, at this level, very simple. If so, at least I would not have to look into each individual scene before making my moves. The tile symbols thus seemed like a shorthand for  much larger meaning.

Then I discovered another dimension to the game. There was a perspective–a bit aslant–from which I could view the tiles as aspects of my own daily life, a perspective somehow entirely congruent with and part of the other dimensions of the game. If I could begin to organize tiles also from my thoughts and actions in daily life, maybe I had found another way to bring the bigger field together.

I was really engrossed in this game for long periods, zoomed in, really excited about one section or another. I began to sense more deeply the character and rules of an area and how different another might be. Working back and forth between sections, I learned to see the contrasts, that some seemed keyed to physical activity, or a particular place, or a mood. For instance, the area around my bed was very logically and firmly laid out, located in an upper right section of the grid. Another was dark red, black, and purple, in a lower central section and had no corresponding physical-reality location.

Of course, having identified this area or that, sooner or later I knew I would somehow have to begin to find ways to bring adjacent areas into as much of a seamless harmony–as many seamless harmonies–as possible. The nation and/or my self. Or my writing: My writing is all made of letters. I don’t even know if one focus or another is more essential.

 

 

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Posted by: Bruce Proctor | May 1, 2018

Comments on “Syd and the Polar Bear”

Sometime earlier that night, before my own bedtime, I heard an animal leap into into the back of the house where I live. It happens occasionally, though not so loudly as this. What could it be? And where, exactly? It could have been in the hallway, Mom’s project room, the attic overhead, maybe even the crawl space under the floor. It was so near I even thought it might be in the room with me, so I said out loud, to let it know that I, a human, was present: “I am here. Where are you?” After that I heard it no more.

Maybe because we live in such separation from nature in our culture, it always seems so miraculous to have a dream of wild creatures appearing in my dreams, so rare. This one especially, because a polar bear is so exotic, so unlikely, and in this dream, so closely intimate. Wild animals in my dreams seem naturally not just symbolic, let’s say super-symbolic. The dream doesn’t resolve itself into an obvious meaning. I like that the dream and the animal doesn’t resolve into “understanding:” the symbol continues to maintain its powerful tension. And that the polar bear, so close, could still at any moment erupt.

Posted by: Bruce Proctor | May 1, 2018

Dream: “UFO’s and Hillary”

I’m in a desert national park seeking evidence of UFO’s. It is morning, deserted out by the highway, when I spy about half a mile away a Star Wars-like fighter jet, which fires a weapon, a ball of light, which I follow with my eyes as it bounds across the landscape, the highway, the continuing desert. It bounds and bounces off the ground one, 2, 3, 4 . . . 10 times, losing energy each time, and light, until at ten it’s stopped. I go over to see it. Yes, there it is–and there’s a sort of little flag or something on it. I debate whether to touch it, but “what the hay!” and retrieve the patch, about two by three inches, a dark red fabric with a black block-printed design. I cannot read it, but it looks for all the world like a manufacturer’s tag.

Other incidents follow until I decide it’s time to write a report about this. At a park camp area I find a patch of ground not too soggy and put up a pup tent and write. Two lady campers arrive next to me and decide to eat at the local steak place. “Is there one way out here?!” I ask incredulously.

Hillary Clinton shows up in a well-equipped box truck. She too is seeking evidence of UFO’s. She tells me she’s partnered up with a fellow who finds this stuff everywhere. “I know he seems insane, but everything he says, just do it. It all pans out.”

She is counting some change out to me. For nickels she says “3 cents”, for quarters “20 cents.” I begin to protest, but she tells me: “Don’t worry. No matter what I say, later on it turns out right.”

He joins us and we’re off. Later, when we’re returning, in a row of tall spruces separating the road from a big estate, he spots something deep in the shadows under the dense bottom branches. “Stop!” he commands, launches out, and dives under them. There are two large empty dark green rubber trash cans there on their sides, but he’s interested in a third, smaller brown one. “This is it!” he tells Hillary. I think it’s nuts, but she doesn’t bat an eye.

We are standing by a driveway, maybe of the same place. He tells Hillary, “I have some bad news for you. That car you gave us in Poughkeepsie. Well, it’s totaled.” She finally boils over: “If your teenage daughter did it. . . !” He says, “Don’t worry, it’s not her.”

 

 

Posted by: Bruce Proctor | April 29, 2018

Dream: “Syd and the Polar Bear”

12-24-2017 Dream

A room on an unknown corridor off the main house is inhabited by my grown niece, Syd. Syd, that is, plus animals: It’s so crowded in there I can’t get in. With her are two large, white, wild animals. One is smaller, perfectly familiar; the other a FULL-SIZED POLAR BEAR!

Both animals are now in the corridor with me, the bear’s immense shoulder right by my head. I stroke the familiar, smaller creature. But with the polar bear almost up against me, I soon–ever so tentatively–venture to touch its fur. Even in the room I’d noticed its shoulders and head were covered with dusty dirt and rock bits. Now, having touched the beast, and since it showed no reaction–at least, so far (gulp!)–I so slowly begin stroking its shoulder, and when that prompts no reaction either, I deepen the stroking, spreading my fingers enough to begin combing the fur and sifting out the grit. Still no reaction.

Over minutes, so cautiously. . . I stroke farther and farther up its neck.

Finally I reach above me to the base of the back of its gigantic head. I discover there, around his neck, a sort of cheap, clear, plastic collar, like that cellophane used to package ice cream. Carefully, carefully I lift it over the bear’s tiny ears, eyebrows, around its massive jaw, and fully off its snout!

Could it be enjoying enjoying this?!

Its jaws are immense.

After long hesitation I begin stroking the head and snout and get all the dust I can off it. It seems entirely accepting, as tame as a pet!

Syd’s ready for bed. Her room is now an old-fashioned upright refrigerator standing in the hallway. To all the animals she orders, “Come IN. . . Now!” Before the white animals can leap in, two black labs squirm in. [Syd’s extended family all have big, athletic, ever-eager, labrador retrievers.] How can they all fit in there?! Syd calls to me to shut the door, but when I try, it closes to within half an inch, and, at the utterly unyielding fur-covered flesh within, not one more iota.

Posted by: Bruce Proctor | March 21, 2018

New photos off my microwave’s window

I took more photos from reflections off my microwave’s window.

 

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Posted by: Bruce Proctor | March 21, 2018

2-07-18 The feisty lady swimmer with hand paddles

During my kicking set Monday there was a little old lady in the next lane using hand paddles. Even with them, her body was contorting so much that, though she swung her arms most vigorously, she hardly went anywhere.

Early in my set–my kicking isn’t very good, about half my normal swim speed–I saw we were almost abreast, and she noticed it, too. During a length I’d start out ahead and she’d try by gosh and by golly to catch up. She got to where she’d nose me out at the end of a length, but lose it again when I made my turn. Toward the end of my set, she finally pulled ahead for good, and ended her workout. As I continued with my last lap, she made her way out of the pool and came back to pick up her gear. I’d just finished. She caught my eye, and we smiled broadly. Was it Phyllis from the front desk? If so, I didn’t quite recognize her out of her familiar attire. Was that an altogether friendly smile, or was there a glint of triumph?

Posted by: Bruce Proctor | March 21, 2018

Recent snowstorm photos, March 2018

 

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Posted by: Bruce Proctor | January 28, 2018

Photos: Reflections off my little microwave oven

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A reminder: I use no tricks in my photographs. They are all as they appeared in my viewfinder. In this case I did spot out a few irritating gobs of food on the microwave window.

It’s amazing to me that I can find these epiphanies in so many humble and unlikely corners of daily life. Since I had only a few minutes to work, I imagine more photographs will be found.

 

 

 

 

Posted by: Bruce Proctor | January 28, 2018

Ice: Photos January 2018

 

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For the first time I can remember in almost 40 years of photographing, this last say 6 months I did not pick up my camera. No particular reason. Other projects, lack of inspiration? That ended this January when a deep freeze of unprecedented weather here in Maine created ice I had never seen before. I followed the progression through the weeks avidly. Most of the best were in the beginning, but I’ve always been fascinated to follow ice and snow as it morphs through the winter.

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Posted by: Bruce Proctor | January 23, 2018

The Michael Teachings: Recommended Reading

Next to The Work of Byron Katie, The Michael Teachings have had the most profound effect on my life.

They have provided an elegant and detailed system which revolutionized my understanding of the nature of human growth, behavior, and purpose. It not only explained human personality in both simple and detailed terms, it also explained so much about world and political issues. Dozens of questions I’d always carried around with me that never seemed to have the possibility of being answered were resolved with this teaching. I now see the world largely through the lens of this teaching. It is far and away the most comprehensive and practical system I have come across.

When I first came across Chelsea Quinn Yarbro’s Messages from Michael in 1989, I was in a gift shop in New Paltz, New York, looking over their bookshelf of cheap paperbacks. This book was among them. The ghost arm and Ouija board on the cover did not inspire confidence. I picked it up and put it back several times. I didn’t want to face the clerk buying such a thing, but the fascinating material inside finally won out.

The personality system presented therein is, briefly, based on groups of 7s: 7 Roles in Essence, groups of 7 Overleaves of personality, and in some ways most significantly, 7 progressive cycles of reincarnation.

The roles are: King, Warrior, Sage, Artisan, Priest, Server, and Scholar
The soul cycles are: Infant, Baby, Young, Mature, Old, then 2 cycles beyond the physical realm.

To me, the best books available on the Michael Teachings are the four Chelsea Quinn Yarbro books, starting with Messages from Michael, then More Messages from Michael. The other two resources I’ve found generally reliable are Emily Baumbach’s Celebrities: The Complete Michael Database, which gives overleaves of several thousand famous people; and The Michael Handbook by Jose Stevens. The Handbook has been useful for me in its hands-on, in-some-depth discussion of the overleaves.

Skepticism, as Michael often says, is the proper attitude to judge any material by. I don’t regard Michael as infallible, certainly. Of the discarnate teachings I’ve studied, it is the most steady and down-to-earth. Each person must evaluate any teaching’s validity for themselves. Over time, the conviction (or lack thereof) of truth tends to grow firmer.

 

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