Bloganuary writing prompt
What's your dream job?
I sat a long time with this one, maybe out of a little superstition, because articulating such things is a prayer, is it not? Dream questions require dream answers, and writing is the process I trust most to open that door. Several times, answers have come to prayers I didn't dare utter aloud, preceded by some kind of "pregnancy dream", some kind of get-ready clue from the world of the unconscious that change was on the way.
So I take this process seriously.
"Though I do not believe a plant will spring up where no seed has been, I have great faith in a seed. Convince me that you have a seed there and I'm prepared to expect wonders."
-Thoreau
First, let me tinker with the wording of the question, dropping the word "job", which to me is something like "chore" or individual thing done and finished. You can do jobs in dreamy ways, and much of my practice does play with shifting into meta perspective in the middle of an act-->but, in getting at the heart of this intention, I'm more inspired by calling, or path, or even just work.
The work of my dreams cares for me back, responds and plays
and adapts with the seasons, and is really good for this body to do.
It isn't fueled by anxiety, and can afford lots of time
for quiet musing and nature.
As I tease it out, this work seems less what than who: there's community.
An Exercise:
It's hard to conceptualize what one would do if given everything they could wish for. We may think our wishes and dreams are enormous, but if pressed to spell them out, usually find them simple. I know this because of an exercise I did years ago, where every day for (if I remember correctly) a month, I doubled a small amount of money and, on paper, spent it.
What I found was that my actual needs were met much quicker than expected; they were a drop in an ocean. I soon began to create rich and complex settings and experiences with and for others, just to be together, fostering opportunities for community and creativity that naturally spilled out into the so-called world.
Charity wasn't an aim, but an overflow, because the rules of the exercise were constrained around merely giving things away, which stopped me from letting the exercise get too serious.
The main thing the game accomplished was getting to see myself. Where was my actual body in all this? What was I actually doing? The one spending was me, but an unlimited me; she could have kept rolling along, doubling and doubling like a crazy Katamari. But where was the avatar of me situated? She was simply available and open, aware of a larger resource bank to be drawn upon, as Jung would say, connected to the infinite.
Little Duck
Now we are going to take a look at something special
It is a duck riding the ocean
a hundred feet beyond the surf,
and he cuddles in the swells.
There is a big heaving in the Atlantic.
And he is part of it.
He can rest while the Atlantic heaves,
because he rests in the Atlantic.
Probably he doesn't know how large the ocean is.
And neither do you.
But he realises it.
And what does he do, I ask you.
He sits down in it.
He reposes in the immediate as if it were infinity; which it is.
That is religion, and the duck has it.
--Donald Babcock
This version is from the film "How to Cook Your Life" based on 'Dogen's Instructions to the Tenzo' http://www.wwzc.org/translations/tenzokyokun.htm
What I'm describing is getting to live in community and service in a rich, open-ended way that allows for rest when it's needed. I deeply want that, and have that in components. In my dream, components are less of a thing. Everything is flow.
Last part. Tangible example:
A few months ago I was planning a time of retreat and deeper practice, when a friend connected me with what seemed a wonderful opportunity to pay less for lodging in exchange for cooking for the Lama who would be teaching. But when further details were given, I knew I wasn't ready. I could and would love to help, but wouldn't be confident to take the lead.
[For background, this wasn't a community I had familiarity with, and my friend wouldn't be attending. Although I've taken Indian cooking classes in efforts to eventually keep a healthy vegan diet, the circle I've shared my cooking with is very small.]
I decided to visit my daughter in Seattle instead, but the excitement I felt for the brief moment in between the idea of the opportunity, and accepting that it wasn't meant to be (the connection stopped answering my correspondence when I wasn't a fit for the main role), confirmed the kind of contentment I might find in that kind of role. Of course, I'd never want to define it exactly.
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