03:30 am. I open the Iris of Time, step into the entryway and peer into darkness. It seems unusually light this evening. I see patterns or perhaps a collage of pale shapes. A little sweeping movement now and then, but nothing I would call an image. I’ve not caught on to how to see an image yet tonight.
I had a rather disturbing moment this evening. After watching a movie on TV, I envisioned that my time was up here on planet Earth and that I was out on a dirt lane talking to my son as we talked together for the last time. It was horribly sad. I was grief stricken and could have fallen into a fit of grief if I’d let myself. I didn’t have the courage. I backed out of it. But it set me to wondering if I am actually close to death. I’m sixty-nine.
Just a few days ago, I performed a Google search, and I learned that my psychiatrist, the one I had for four and one half years (until August 1992), my only psychiatrist, passed away back in January 2010. I’ve been wondering how he died, but then this afternoon, I received an email from his daughter in response to an email I had sent to her a couple of days ago, and she told me that he’d died of colon cancer. He was only seventy-three. His passing came as a surprise, although I had searched the internet for news of him specifically because I wondered if he’d died, sort of a premonition. I’ve experience so many deaths in such a short time. I lost an aunt who was really close to me last Christmas, then learned of the death of Renate Wood, who’d mentored my writing, this past spring. I lost my mother in October, and now the death of my psychiatrist, who’d at one time been a second father to me.
The reason I opened the Iris of Time tonight was to see if my Unconscious has anything to tell me. So I wait…
While doing Active Imagination, I feel that whatever I have in my mind, whatever I hold in my thoughts is a shout into the darkness for someone. I’m looking for a friend to come to me and tell me the situation. I hear the Pythia call my name, then silence. Eyes with a wrinkled brow, like one of the dwarfs from Snow White.
I hear a voice: “I want to hear from you. Tell me your name.”
Someone dark, in a cape walks by in front of me. I can’t see his face.
“Are you coming for me?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says. He’s now shrouded in darkness.
“What if I don’t want to go?”
“I thought you were ready. I heard you call.”
“Not for quite a while. I’ve just encountered death so much lately that I feel close to you. But I’m not ready. I have so much to do.”
“Come to me when you’re ready. I’ll be here when you need me.”
“That seems a comfort, something I’d not expected. Seems I’ve made a friend of Death. I do hope you’ll let me choose the time.”
“Well said. I’ll leave you now. It’s not good for me to linger with those who chose to stay.”
And I see the shadowy, cloaked figure walk off into darkness.
I close the Iris of Time and fall asleep.
07:00 am. I just had another war dream. Don’t remember all of it, but I was with a small group of soldiers, possibly a militia because we were not in uniform. We were in a residential area, and I was carrying a rifle. We entered a house where we were all staying, and I stood my rifle up against the wall in a corner. A little later, I went to retrieve it, and it was gone. It also seemed that the house was then full of the enemy. Yet, they tolerated me being there. I went to a young woman who seemed to be running the place, and asked her about my rifle. When left for a minute and returned with what she thought was my rifle, but when I examined it, I could easily tell that that wasn’t it. She didn’t know what to think and wasn’t very interested in helping beyond what she’d already done.
And then I woke.