The language we create being rooted in our bodies, being expressed into the world through our creations and our experience, runs the risk of falling short if it is too contrived. There is agency that can be developed through practice. But there is urgency that can emerge if we don’t take the necessary time and attention to the process of its cultivation. That urgency will inevitably undermine the effectiveness of our language to communicate to and touch the world around us. We also will not be able to perceive the depth and quality available to us in new experiences and exchanges in the world.

I had a dream last night that has prompted this writing. The images that remain quite vivid, even this morning, but the “lesson” is still unclear. But I think that is the point.

My dream had me on a road trip with no memorable final destination, but I was driving to a particular town in Ireland that evening. It was suggested to stop along the way to meet a character who had been described to me as a great artist and a great builder. I cam upon a modest house in the countryside and was met inside by this character whose reputation had preceded him, and so I was filled with excitement and some expectation about learning great secrets about building and life.

The conversation went in every other direction but the one I was expecting to have. I don’t remember the details of it, and likely some great universal secrets were revealed that I couldn’t hear because I was focused on particular information that was not emerging. I remember feeling a bit impatient, so I finally asked, “Can I see some of your work?”

He reluctantly pulled out a strangely shaped box that was full of loose “pictures”. When I looked more closely, the images were actually printed on dry leaves, and were in no particular order. The photos themselves were not in great focus and I could not make out great detail. But in my dream’s mind something changed. I was captivated by the beauty of these objects, the way that the colors saturated the leaves and was unlike anything I had ever seen before. He had no real interest in them, as well as, no interest in talking about them much either when I prodded about the printing process of these beautiful objects. He offered me tea instead and I politely declined as I was on a road trip and had to “keep going”.

This morning waking up, I wondered what that experience would have been like if I had relaxed and stayed a little longer. What if I had accepted that tea? I was so preoccupied with the expected language of the interaction, I possibly missed a much deeper communication . Are my dreams metaphor? Are they prophecy? Are the just the left over considerations from the day that still need to be played out?

How can I use my practice to listen more quietly and be more receptive to the unexpected language of experience with the unknown?