What are you doing?

Madison, Wisconsin

"What are you doing?"
     A woman in my Madison workshop told me she hears this question, put by an inner voice, many times a day. Sometimes it rattles her and saps her confidence. But she readily agreed that this may be a salutary question for us to put to ourselves, in the midst of any activity, or inactivity.
    It helps us to see our situation from the standpoint of an observer.
    What we look at what we are doing or not doing from this perspective, we are able to get a clearer view of what use we are making of our time and energy and our skills. Most important, we may now be able to recognize what we are attracting or driving away through our behavior and even our thoughts.
     This has to do with the law of attraction (though I can hardly use that phase since the travesty of The Secret), which I sometimes like to call spiritual magnetism. We draw different events and energies towards us, or send them away, according to our actions and our intentions. With our thoughts and fantasies, even before action, we grow dreams of life, and then walk into those dreams in the physical world. What we feed our minds and our bodies attracts or repels different parts of ourselves as well as different classes of spirits.
     I have noticed in my own life as a writer that when I am seeking to create something new, and taking the risks involved, I draw the interest of greater powers. More of my own creative spirit becomes engaged, lending me abilities beyond those I possess when I am doing something small and safe or quite absent from the larger venture. I notice this as a teacher and healer. When I am willing to give more to others, to do my very best to bring the light or spirit into their eyes or to wrap them in the healing embrace of Great Mother Bear, I draw powers far beyond my ordinary self – and now it can be very important to let the ordinary self stand aside while a Greater Self operates.
      I don’t want to sound too solemn about all of this. I find I do much better, and that those around me feel better too, when I approach life’s assignments in a spirit of play.
     What are you doing? says that persistent inner voice.
     I’m having a little fun, playing with an old and ever renewing idea. Glad you asked.

Image: "Dream Path II" by Dorothy Englander.

Retrieving the Soprano from Gounod's Faust

Waking hours before dawn, I thought I had let my dreams slip, but lingered in bed to see if they would come after me. Yes. I see a small pocket-sized book, with a light green paper cover, from an earlier time. There is a one word title, Faust.
    Slipping back inside the dream, I open the book, curious to see which version of the best-known devil story in Western literature this may be. Goethe? Christopher Marlowe?
    Neither. I am looking at the libretto of an opera. This is Gounod's Faust, a grand five-act opera. Some parts of the libretto have been tagged in pencil, very lightly. These are lines sung by Siebel, the young soldier who is Faust's rival for the beautiful Marguerite, a man of honor and devotion.
    I am seized with excitement. My mother's aunt, Violet Concanen, known in the family as "Aunty Dick" performed as Siebel - traditionally played by a female soprano - with the great Dame Nellie Melba as Marguerite, in Gounod's Faust at the Melbourne Opera House. I have an photo of Aunty Dick in that role.
   I come back from the dream space and look for the photo. It's in a little album my mother gave me, with many pictures of Aunty Dick, who my mother adored. Here she is as a dreamy teen, and all dressed up as a young Edwardian lady, and in a kimono for her part in the Mikado. And here she is in cloak and medieval garb, dressed to fight the devil.
   I don't think I have the little green book of the libretto, though in my personal forest of books one can never be quite sure. But it takes almost no time to find a bunch on online versions, and videos of Siebel's famous aria in the third act, "Faites-lui mes aveux," including a wonderful performance by Sophie Koch at Covent Garden here.
    Siebel gathers a bouquet of flowers for Marguerite. Mephistopheles makes the flowers wither.

I cannot touch a flower without it fading.

But Siebel uses white magic against the dark. When he refreshes the flowers with the holy water that Marguerite uses in her daily devotions, they come back to life, and he sings, "I laugh at you, Satan."
    The devil has more tricks. Mephistopheles has captured the soul of the aged, decrepit philosopher Faust, who was so depressed by his failure to find wisdom that he decided to kill himself. In Gounod's version, based on a play by Michel Carré called Faust and Marguerite, Faust curses the joy of peasants he hears laughing and cries out to the powers of hell, who promptly respond. Mephistopheles appears in a puff of smoke and seduces Faust with promise of knowledge, youth, and sensual delights, at the price of his soul. Captivated by a vision of the beautiful Marguerite, Faust shows what all his studies have been worth by making the deal, and we have been talking about Faustian bargains ever since.
    Faust shows up at Marguerite's house, sings a magnificent aria, and presents himself in the guise of a dashing and mysterious young suitor. Though intrigued, Marguerite doesn't yield to his advances, and Siebel, with his bouquet, may still have a chance - until Mephistopheles trumps the flowers by magicking up a box of jewels and a remarkable  mirror. "How beautiful my reflection is," sings Marguerite, looking in that mirror. "I am the princess greeting her subjects as she passes by." 
    I turn back to the album. I read that Aunty Dick was so popular as Siebel that she got more curtain calls than Melba at the premiere at the Melbourne Opera House, which must have strained relations with the diva. Here she is again, lovely as Dorothy in the opera of the same name. Here is the program for a state dinner in Perth where she sang for the Prince of Wales. They served peach Melba - named for Nellie - and cheese straws for dessert. The Prince of Wales asked her to dance, and she found him "drunk as a lord".
    I met her only once, in the world, when I was very young, and my mother took me across the vast continent by train from Melbourne, where I was born, to meet her family in Western Australia. Aunty Dick, who was also a singing teacher, urged me to "breathe from the diaphragm."
    She left this world long ago, but I have seen her in dreams, and once found her very happily engaged in making music and giving singing lessons at a school in another world. I suspect she is quite capable of arranging a book delivery.

My Aunty Dick (Violet Concanen) as Siebel in Gounod's Faust

Entertaining our spirits

We must entertain our spirits, including the spirit of pure entertainment.
     I received a lesson about this when I was working on my first book on dreaming and shamanism, which was published as Conscious Dreaming. One night I set a serious intention for my dreams, in the following language; "I would like guidance on how to bring the gifts of dreaming to many more people in our society."
    I was soon deep in dream land. Though not fully lucid, I remembered my intention, inside the dream, as I looked around a new landscape. I saw hundreds, maybe thousands of people sitting on bleachers, laughing and happy. Lots of families. This seemed very promising, in terms of my hope of finding a way to reach many more people.
    Perhaps I would find a guide here. As I tried to get my bearings, I noticed that the crowd was gathered for a three-ring circus, under the big tent. There were circus acts - a walking bear, someone walking a tightrope, clowns and a pretty girl on a trapeze. The figure who drew my attention was an unlikely gymnast, dressed in a loud plaid suit and puffing on a large and stinky cigar. He did impossible stunts, bouncing all the way up to the top of the tent, and down again.
    Then he jumped from the ring into the stands and started cuddling and smoothing with attractive women. I found that I knew his name. "Marty." Something told me that Marty was the guide I was looking for.
    I was incredulous. This cheap show-off from some oneiric Comedy Central was my guide on bringing dreaming to the people?
    Marty gave me a big wink as he squeezed the ladies. Leering around his stogie, he said to me, "It's about entertainment, kid. It's about entertainment."
    Marty was right, I realized when I came back from my dream excursion. If we want to reach people, we must entertain in the sense of holding their attention. In its original meaning, an "entertainment" is something that maintains people in a certain frame of mind. Later it is used to mean something you offer to look after your guests. Today, we think of entertainment primarily as amusement, but all the layers of meaning are relevant to the message from Marty.
     Our guides appeared dressed for their parts, in the ways that can reach us and hold our

attention. I know that Marty was the right guide for me that night, and I'll hope to keep him entertained in my current and future writing. I don't know whether he works for Thalia, the muse of comedy, but I'll hope to earn her patronage as well. It's a thought worth entertaining.

Thalia, muse of comedy, by Jean-Marc Nattier (1739)

Dream captures

They're at it again. There's a report from Japan that brain scans can predict dream images that are confirmed when subjects are wakened from "light sleep" inside an MRI. It seems this is accomplished by comparing brain signals characteristic of the waking brain with those of the dozing brain. So if a certain pattern of brain activity appears if you are looking at traffic or reading text while awake, it's a reasonable guess that's what you are doing when the same pattern comes up during sleep. The Japanese have recorded some blurry images suggestive of generic dream content.
    The Japanese researchers don't claim to be at the point of reading minds, or even of capturing "deep dreams", which they associate with REM states. But some neuroscientists aren’t slow to tell us all that is coming. Dreams are just “an extension of brain states”, says one of them, so full capture may come with advancing technology. I don’t think so. The full panoply of dream experience will always escape the laboratory, because in dreaming consciousness travels beyond the body and the brain.
     We could reach a point, however, where neuroscientists claim to be able to tell us exactly what people are dreaming (and thinking). That could breed terrible delusions of control. Add to the mix new technologies that will give people more and more options for sinking their imaginations in corporate-generated virtual realities, and you have the stuff of very scary science fiction.
    Happily, the mind is not in the brain. The brain is in the mind, and the mind is nonlocal.
    As for the MRI. I don't understand how anyone could sleep inside one. It would be like trying to sleep in a tumble dryer. When I requested an MRI years ago (because I wanted to learn first hand how this works) I had horrific wakeful images of a hostile tribe attacking me with spears, as depicted in my drawing. They didn't find anything unusual in my scan, though I really don’t go around seeing spear-waving savages on the street every day.
    They'll never capture the dreams that matter in a sleep lab. To get to the good stuff, you must go where the wild things are. That's truly a no-brainer.

Due diligence: A friend involved in MRI research clarifies the technology involved in the Japanese study: "There are short-bore head magnets, so in principle there is no need to stuff the whole person into the tube. Falling asleep is also possible, if the subject has very good ear protection to block out the noise. The subject, of course, needs to have nerves of steel to fall asleep in this situation, so there may be a selection bias from the outset."

Drawing "In the Sonic Washer" (c) Robert Moss

The Bear from Bearbrass

I was born in a country that has no native bears. Koalas are cute but they are not bears. As a very small boy, I remember howling in a Melbourne department store because I wanted a teddy bear as big as myself, and was not allowed to take it home.
    My European ancestors knew the bear well, and warriors among them made a practice of going berserk, which means literally to wear the "bear-shirt", in an effort to embody the strength and fury of the bear in battle. Especially after I moved to England, I dreamed of fighting in an army of ancient warriors who trooped into battle under the banner of the Bear Goddess.
    That cycle ended many years later, after I had moved to North America. Still in leather armor, weary of battles, I threw down my weapons and went out into the wilderness to die. A bear cub found me there, took my hand, and led me to a place of healing. By now the bear had appeared to me, again and again, as a healer and protector. Whenever I opened a healing circle - and any gathering of dreamers can bring through healing - I led the singing of a Bear song I had learned from the Mohawk people.

Don't cry little one
Don't cry little one
The bear is coming to dance for you
The bear is coming to dance for you

I titled a depth workshop that became one of my favorites "Dancing with the Bear: Reclaiming the Arts of Dream Healing." The first time I held this workshop, a woman physician from Alaska joined us because both her grandmothers - one Athapascan Indian, one Euro-America - visited her in the same dream and told her, "You must go to Robert Moss so you can meet the Bear. Until you meet the Bear, you will not be a true healer." She had never heard of Robert Moss, but she did a quick internet search and discovered I was leading "Dancing with the Bear" in Oregon a couple of weeks later. She bought a plane ticket, met the Bear, and now her patients are blessed to encounter both the best of Western medicine and the gifts of the Medicine Bear when they go to her office.
    I have enough stories of the Bear to fill a book, and maybe that book will be written. Yet I

have long been aware of the irony that an Australian who comes from a country with no native bears should have become so close to this ally in shamanic dreaming and healing. I am happy to report that there is a bear in my Australian antecedents, unknown to me until recently.
     From Robyn Annear’s excellent book Bearbrass: Imagining Early Melbourne I learn that Bearbrass was one of the names by which Melbourne, the city where I was born, was known in its early days. "Bearbrass" was an attempt by the early settlers to render the supposed Aboriginal name for the site. It appears to be a mis-rendering of "Birrarung", meaning "river of mists" in the language of the Wurundjeri people. Other variations include Bareport, Bareheap, Barehurp and my favorite, Bearberp. 
     I can picture the solemn and dignified expressions on those around me when I next announce that I come from Bear Burp.

Dream Transfer: Eating the Fruits of My Journals

We can grow a dream for someone in need of a dream - a healing image, a vision of life possibilities, even a map to another world.
    As a last exercise in my workshop in Ann Arbor last weekend, I asked members of our circle to form threesomes and take turns to act as Seeker and Dreambringer. The Seeker would set an assignment by identifying the theme. "I need guidance on retirement." "I need help in bringing my different skills and interests together in rewarding new work." "I need to help a member of my family approach death with courage and grace." The Dreambringers whould journey with the help of shamanic drumming to find the right dream or story to bring to Seeker. The right dream might be a composition, folding elements from the Dreambringer's own life, things perceived during the journey, and creative imagination. I explain how to conduct a dream transfer in practical detail in my book Dreamways of the Iroquois.
    I was blessed on Sunday to have very creative dreamers as my partners for this exercise. I set them the assignment of helping me to generate the creative energy required to bring through new books. I am especially grateful to Tami, who brought me this juicy vision:
   "You are seated in front of a stack of your old journals. As you leaf through them, ripe berries burst from the pages. You are eating the berries with gusto. As you devour the fruits of your journals, you fill with unstoppable creative energy and inspiration."
    I love this image, of taking the fruit without becoming snagged in the brambles. I'll keep it with me as I seek to devour my journals without being consumed by all they contain!

What you can take with you to the Other Side

Ann Arbor, Michigan

What happens on the other side of death, and desirable ways to approach this journey, are matters much too important to take on trust from others. We need first-hand experience, and we got plenty of it in my Death workshop in Ann Arbor over the weekend - including a delightful account of what carry-on bags you might be allowed to take with you on a flight to the other side. The title of this workshop is "Making Death Your Ally: Shamanic Approaches to Death, Dying and the Afterlife". Some of the itineraries we follow, and some of the depth experiences of those what have followed these trails in the past, are reported in my book Dreamgates. 
    In a series of shamanic journeys, powered by drumming, I asked the dreamers in our circle to check out various departure lounges for a journey to meet people who are living on the other side of physical death and to explore conditions in the afterlife. We experimented with a crossing by water, a transit through fire, with entering the embrace of the Great Mother, with traveling on a beam of light and longing from the opened heart, with taking off from a very special airport or another place of ascent to seek the beloved of the soul in a higher realm.
    I love fresh experiences that expand our understanding of multidimensional reality and how to move back and forth between adjacent worlds. In my own prior journeys, I had been to a location I call the Silver Airport, where travelers to the Other Side are offered a number of travel options but can't get through security until they have left all their luggage behind. In one of my visits to the Silver Airport, I saw bags being placed on a carousel that took them into the mouth of a fiery furnace, where they were consumed.
    A man named Bill in the Ann Arbor workshop had an experience on his arrival at this kind of airport that we all found fresh, entertaining and inspiring. He arrived at the airport in a black town car. When the trunk was opened, he found he had an incredible amount of luggage. Bag after bag came out, much more stuff than could possibly fit in any trunk. He was told he could take none of this with him. All this luggage must be left behind, and would be destroyed.
    He was allowed to take only two carry-ons. They were tagged “Love” and “Wisdom”. He opened these carry-on bags and found they were vastly bigger inside than out. There was room for anything and everything that mattered.

Drawing by RM: "Getting My Wings Out of the Luggage"