My dreams lately just cut to the chase. So bare bones are they that I can almost cast them aside, like a 30 second ad on late night TV. Yet when they’re this spare, that’s when I know the dream is coming for me. She means for me to sit up and listen. The dream that woke me up this morning is no exception…
I’m watching a crew of adolescents scrambling around the deck of a tall ship, one of those galleons from the 19th century. I sense in them a high-pitched terror fueled by darkening skies, torrential rains and mammoth ocean swells. They are yelling at the storm and each other indiscriminately. No one seems to be listening to anyone else.
Suddenly a man, a lone adult, stands among them. He explains that he cannot help them, only they can help themselves. He says it’s now or never, this is the moment they learn to dig deep and marshal their group’s will to survive such a ‘perfect storm.’
Every young crew member pleads with him to take command of the ship and save them. They grasp at his jacket. They cry and wail. They collapse around him. Their behavior seems to strengthens the man’s resolve to put the power to save them squarely in their own hands. Yet beneath his clear words and steely countenance, he is considering the real possibility they may not make it. As he turns to walk away, he looks heavy and full of despair.
At the end of the dream, I am looking down at the ship from several hundred feet above. The ship is moving forward with a steady tack. Just behind it is a massive whirlpool, a dark vortex whose centripetal force they have just outpaced. I can no longer see the crew from such a distance, but there is a sense they have pulled themselves together and are focused only on the path ahead. They seem to have no awareness of the gyre of death nipping at their heels. The ocean is now a becalmed version of herself, nary a ripple in sight, yet the ship moves quickly along as if propelled by a much animated wind. End of scene.
I decide to call in my favorite seasoned experts of inquiry. Fireside and settled into his high-backed chair after a long pull from his pipe, Sherlock asks, “Please explain the symbolism of this dream, my dear Watson.”
“Well…,” the doctor quietly intones, “we are all the terrified adolescent crew running around with our hair on fire. The raging storm is the chaos of the world, both in and around us, felt by many these days as a ‘perfect storm.’ We’ve lost our heads and our courage, and are left with only our most manic thoughts and compulsive behaviors. Instead of circling up to hold hands, calm our nervous systems, and cool our tempers, we’re yelling at the storm and each other. Worse, we’re still looking around for someone, anyone, in a position of authority to save us.”
“The adult shows up just long enough to ‘tell us what time it is.’ He says it’s time to grow up, collect ourselves and deal with our individual psychic and spiritual chaos so we can collectively navigate our way through. This representative of outer authority of all forms – elected officials, the security apparatus, credentialed experts, our metaphorical moms and dads who all seek to create certainty for us in an uncertain world -- proclaims that this taking of responsibility is inevitable.
In fact, it is probably our species’ long-overdue initiation as passage into adulthood. He is afraid we aren’t up to the task, that we have let fear get the best of us, and the swirling gyre will most likely overcome our ship.”
Dr. Watson’s voice intensifies, and with a building baritone, explains, “This yelling we’re doing, at the storm and at each other, this gnashing of teeth, is the brutal othering and dehumanizing, expressed but unclaimed, by all segments and sides of the political spectrum. It’s the cancel culture that fills every nook and cranny of the airwaves and pollutes our relationships. It’s the constant fixation on gaining ground and controlling the message always to one’s advantage. All of this, and so much more, is the fastest way to sink any ship as it so obviously undermines the cohesion of a crew that so desperately needs each other.”
“The desperate pleading of the crew represents our refusal to take responsibility for ourselves. We have outsourced the stewardship of our physical, mental, emotional and spiritual needs for far too long. We rely on doctors to diagnose our ailments and prescribe atomistic solutions, lawyers to resolve our conflicts, priests to absolve us of our sins, governments to keep us safe, dispense with our wastes, and make all the ‘trains run on time,’ corporations to keep us entertained, with access to anything we want whenever we want it, and mythical relationships that will mirror back to us only what we want to see.”
“We’ve given the authorities outside us permission, and all the power, to make life comfortable, to promise us less suffering through quick fixes, relentless optimization programs, drugs that numb, the marshaling of minions to deal with our excess. We’ve asked our intimate others to do our emotional laundry. And we expect everyone, especially the people around us with more positional authority, to carry our shadows so we can name the villains ‘out there’ vs. the villains lurking ‘in here.’”
“The bitterest pill of all,” Dr. Watson exhorts, now gripping his chair and speaking with great urgency, “is the escalating danger of handing over so much power and responsibility to others. First and foremost, these outer authorities are not us, and will never know what is in highest alignment with our hearts, bodies and minds. They do, however, know what is best, and what is required, for their continued survival including maintaining their concentration of power. Increasingly, and without any obvious remedy, the Venn diagram of their interests and ours yields an ever narrowing overlap.”
“Equally threatening, is the truth that these behemoths we’ve created to manage all the hard stuff and make life easy are crumbling under their own weight. There is now an unbearable surfeit of toxic bureaucracies, perverse incentives and deeply corrupt abuses of power that have poisoned the unwieldy institutions we depend on for just about everything though still, even now, we cling to the idea that they will save us!” Dr. Watson is now standing up, speaking his last few words at full throttle.
“I see you are shaken, Dr. Watson.”
Sherlock extends a warm hand and they meet each other’s gaze for a deep pocket of time. As Dr. Watson’s analysis reverberates through the air, they sit together in uneasy silence.
Finally Sherlock remembers the last scene of the dream. “Dear Watson, what make you of the final scene, the one from above with the ship sailing safely away from the gyre of fear that threatens to engulf them? As we followed the trail of this dark, mysterious tale, it seems we have forgotten the possibility for redemption my friend.”
“Perhaps you, sir, can speak to that,” Dr. Watson asks. “For I believe I need your courage and wise insight to see ahead.”
“Well…” Sherlock begins. “Notice that the torrid, frothy sea quieted upon the crew members choice to band together once and for all. So perhaps the ‘perfect storm’ is directly dependent upon the weather inside us. If we can accept the man’s injunction to gather ourselves and accept his invitation to initiation, we can begin the process of true self-governance – that is, the demanding, but liberating, inner journey of taking full responsibility for ourselves, our health, our thoughts, our needs, and most importantly, our projections as a starting point to relationship with the outer world.”
“Perhaps only then, Dr. Watson, will we finally be able to hear one another so that we can authentically and inclusively collaborate on the sailing of this great ship that holds us. I wager this great ship is, in fact, the Great Mother Ship, our beloved planet earth, who has wisdom to guide us on how to sail well and strong. Somehow, and most strangely, we forgot that she has always been our preeminent partner on this grand voyage on the high seas. How else could we make it on such an epic adventure without listening to the knowing voice of the vessel that carries us? She needs us and we her! Don’t you see dear Watson, the vortex is already receding!?!
Silence again, but this time, shimmering with heartbreak and longing.
“Thank you Mr. Holmes. You have found the trail and finished the tale. As you were speaking, I caught sight of an albatross riding the thermals just above the ship. He carries a seed of nascent hope.”
“Ah yes, I see him too,” says Mr. Holmes. “Together let’s imagine where he might be taking us. But first let me refill this pipe and add another log to the fire. Another great mystery awaits!”