The following is Chapter One from The Sorcerer's Dream by Alysa Braceau (Dreamshield). Tomorrow, I will be sharing my review of this book. Don't forget the SPECIAL OFFER - Every time you post a comment on any tour post - you will be entered into a drawing for a $35 Amazon gift card -- so, share your thoughts with us.
26 juni 2004
"Can I help you?" a hurried voice asks from behind the counter. I look up absent-mindedly and order "an Indian soup, two cheese sandwiches, a cappuccino and a glass of water please." I turn around with a full serving tray and see with a quick glance to my right that the terrace is packed. I walk to a table further down the hall with a view of the terrace.
It is one thirty. Rush hour in the spiritual centre located along a canal in Amsterdam. I didn't come here for the Ayurvedic massage, yoga or astrology, but for lunch. Apparently there are several courses going on as the line at the counter has never been this long. People are busy talking to each other, standing in groups spread out in the hall or sitting at one of the tables inside or outside on the terrace where they can enjoy the first rays of summer sunshine.
Distracted I dip my bread in the soup. In a gymnasium, some fifteen kilometers from the ring road I drag myself for the second and last day through the Magical Passes of Carlos Castaneda. I was hoping the magical movements would make me as light as a feather, just like they had done two years ago, and free me of stifling emotions which easily drag me down and free me of my inclination to nag about everything. However, this time I feel no difference at all.
I cannot appreciate the movements. As everyone in the entire room releases graciously I stay invariably behind.
This morning while I was driving my car I had already decided where I was going to have lunch because there are no cafés or restaurants near the gymnasium which is alarming for someone like me, with - you could say - a healthy appetite.
I was quick to remember this spot. They serve a nice vegetarian lunch and besides I enjoy wandering around in the bookstore.
While I eat my soup, four women at the table in front of me are busy talking and laughing. They are most likely of Surinam or Antillean descent. I think they are discussing the workshop they are attending.
My thoughts drift back to my friends Anthonio and Camillo. Two years ago the Magical Passes were held at the RAI Congress Cent, where a few hundred people from all over the world filled the room. After reading the books written by Carlos Castaneda, Florinda Donner and Taisha Abelar I was excited to hear that there would be a workshop in Amsterdam, so I immediately enrolled. During the past years I participated in a whole range of workshops and courses in the field of spiritual and personal development. To mention a few, I did meditation, yoga, healing with precious stones, intuitive development, aura reading, rebirthing and trance dance. The more obscure the better as far as I was concerned. But nothing appealed to me more than the adventures of the sorcerer's apprentices.
Wanting to prepare myself well for the big day, I opened my closet and quickly closed it again. Except for grubby sweatpants I had nothing nice to wear in which I could move freely, so I headed into town where I bought a pair of black capri pants, a modern gunny and a tight red top to make it slightly more exciting. Even though I dragged myself through the original workshop just like today, it had a benevolent effect that time. I wonder why things are different this year.
Perhaps - two years ago - I sought refuge in the vibrating energy of the room or was it my meeting the Mexicans Camillo and Anthonio? Or was it due to the combination of the two? After everyone had settled down on the ground after the first lecture, the Mexicans sat next to me and looked at me curiously. "Are you from here?" they asked, and "Where are you going?" they asked me during the break. I didn't know anybody else and felt relieved to be approached, and before I knew it they introduced me to a group of Mexican friends. After the workshop Camillo, Anthonio and I continued talking on into the wee hours of the morning. Anthonio spoke a few words of English but that did not make any difference as Camillo translated - he had lived and worked in the United States as a teacher for years. I bragged to them about my dreams and they listened and gaped at me when I told them in my best English about meeting sorcerers in lucid dreams. With a slight sense of shame I confessed that they had accurately pointed out my weak spots and said things about me that I would never dare to admit to myself. I remember we were talking about relationships and especially about the problems they had. Camillo sat to my left and Anthonio to my right. Once they started talking about their relationships they never stopped. Camillo was very much in love with his girlfriend, but she did not want a steady relationship. She had told him that a relationship hampers the freedom of a sorcerer. He was hoping she would change her mind, but at heart he felt exactly the same way. Anthonio's relationship problems were the opposite. He wanted his freedom but his girlfriend (he was crazy about her) tugged at him and demanded the next step in their relationship: marriage and children. Gloomily the Mexicans gazed in front of them. They started a discussion and I felt like they were forcing that nonsense about freedom on me. I believed that so-called freedom is an excuse for not wanting or keeping a steady relationship. I said they spoke nonsense and brought myself forward as an example. As a modern western woman I had a relationship and in the meantime was free to do whatever I pleased. To a certain degree of course. I leaned back in my chair and looked at them commiserating. I concluded that we were dealing with a cultural difference because it was written on their faces that they did not understand a word I was saying. At least that is what I thought until they approvingly said: "we follow the witch," toasting their glasses against mine. That night we finished several bottles. Actually they seemed to me like a couple of easy opportunists, but I was flattered that they had called me a witch. It was something they would regret, because that night, they even started smoking. We said our goodbyes in the middle of the night and I could not withhold my tears. Perhaps it was because I had never felt so light-spirited, unconcerned, and especially completely at home. I will miss them terribly.
Bitterly I realize that this weekend's workshop stands in sharp contrast to last years', if only for the fact that I miss my Mexican friends. I take a bite of my sandwich to comfort myself. Maybe I will see them at a next workshop in Mexico City. Another voice tells me "no." Enough is enough. I need to put energy into my family and my work. At present, two months after my maternity leave, I am finally getting the hang of things at a publishing company with career opportunities.
Suddenly I look towards my right. A dark man moves slowly passed me wearing an Indian headdress and starts a conversation at a table in front of me. An incredible show-off, probably hoping to attract women wearing that headdress.
However, the calm look in his eyes and his unobstructed way of talking to the women around him contradicts my first thought about him immediately. Shortly after, the dark man slowly walks passed and gives me an open look with his kind dark brown eyes. He is a heavy built man approximately in his mid-fifties, wearing his dark strait hair in a long pony tail. As I eat my soup, I look back at him just as openly. A few minutes later the feathered headdress passes my table once again, towards the ladies, who await him longingly. I am quietly starting to become curious and begin to wonder what kind of workshop he gives. As he talks to them he looks regularly my way as if he knows me from somewhere but does not remember from where. At the same slow pace he walks back and once again we look at each other openly. I become more curious by the minute, no, I mean every second. I want, or rather, I need to know who this man is, where he comes from and especially what he is doing here. As he walks passed once more I don't think I can stand it any longer. My question "What do you teach?" pulls him towards me. The man stops abruptly and walks towards me cautiously.
"I teach people to heal themselves," he says. His voice sounds warm and sympathetic.
"Okay," is the only answer I can think of as another question pops up in my mind. But the question is not necessary as he starts talking himself. He says he is a medicine-man and with the help of drums he is capable of bringing people into a healing state "Sounds interesting," I try to encourage him, because I have always been very interested in everything concerning healing. "The rhythm of the drums produce theta-waves in the brain which activate the self-healing powers," he explains. His head turns to the right to the open door on the other end of the hall where people trickle out, to indicate where it is taking place. "Where are you from actually?" I ask him most sympathetically. I am used to turning a man inside out with questions and if you do it in a nice way it is not necessarily annoying. The man tells me he comes from North-America and he curiously asks me in turn: "Have you ever participated in Indian rituals or ceremonies?"
"You mean shamanism?," I ask. He shrugs and looks as if he is saying "give it a name you like." I stare in front of me and go into a kind of trance in an effort to dig into my memory.
I am playing for time and tell him that I have done so many things and I recollect that shamanism was also one of them. I tell him about the trance journey experiment I made, combined with the modern psychotherapeutic techniques which made me find my lost soul again, or at least part of it.
A tall, middle-aged, strawberry blond woman signals towards the Indian. She is wearing traditional North-American clothes. She is standing at a table a few yards in front of the door and gives me a friendly nod. She is surrounded by a few people. I think they would like to pay, perhaps he has the change. The dark medicine man excuses himself and walks towards her. I quickly stuff my sandwich down my throat and hope he will return as soon as possible. As he walks towards me I wash it down with lukewarm cappuccino. The Indian continues the conversation where he left off. He tells me he gives teachings in original shamanism and goes into the subject of an upcoming event. "If you are interested there is going to be a weeklong festival in July where shamans from all parts of the world exchange knowledge. There will also be healing rituals." That sounds wonderful. However, camping out for a whole week in a primitive Native American lodge, hanging around in casual clothes, standing in line for a cold shower and going to filthy bathrooms, is not for me. I look disappointed and tell him: "Too bad that's right in the middle of my vacation." He puts his hand in his pocket, rattles the coins, looks towards the strawberry blond woman and nods. He has to finish the conversation and says: "We also have a small, exclusive group of people to whom we teach more in-depth knowledge, but that is not until somewhere in September or October." Small and exclusive, that suits me much better. I eagerly ask him for more information. He writes down my address and promises to send me a flyer and hands me a yellow-brown business card with the words "Running Deer" on it and underneath in small letters Vidar, his Western name. He puts the address information in brackets, and tells me he will be moving soon. Three-quarters of an hour later I continue the Magical Passes with renewed energy and meet a kind, big man from Colorado, teddy bear-like, with whom I dance the tempestuous northern and sensible southern wind.
31 August 2004
Vidar throws the door open of his working-class house built in the thirties and located in the middle of a decent neighborhood. "Come on in," he says with a huge smile. A smile that instantly puts me on my guard. As soon as I got out of the car I smelled a stuffy cocoa scent coming from the industrial estate only a stone's throw away. I doubted whether I was at the right address because it did not seem like anyone was living here. This was due to the silence that surrounded it, and the cobwebs dangling from the door-post, but especially because of the closed curtains with a faded flower print. Reluctantly I step across the threshold. I had been looking forward to this moment for three months.
Two weeks after our meeting I still had no information, and hadn't received any flyer. Nothing. So I called him up to see what had become of it. I didn't need to introduce myself again because he knew immediately who I was. "I cannot believe you've gotten a hold of me!, he said surprised. "Why?," I asked in my turn surprisingly. He pointed out the time of day, it is two o'clock in the afternoon, and he said most people try to get a hold of him early in the morning or at the end of the afternoon.
"Oh, of course," I answered him guiltily and asked him about the flyer without beating about the bush. "It isn't finished yet, you have to be patient," he said. His friendly and natural way of making conversation immediately put me at ease and I wanted to fire a question at him but he already started himself. "I have seen many extraordinary qualities in you." "What kind of qualities?" I jumped up and pressed the phone as close to my ear as possible. He called them psychic and healing qualities and mentioned the course with the exclusive group of apprentices and roughly stated that my qualities or gifts could be enlightened in rituals and ceremonies.
This is where I needed to be.
The sun broke through, ropes were casted off, the rusty flood gates were opened and as far as I could see, I was sailing towards a new horizon. In short, I was exulting inside, even when he slightly backed out, saying "After healing your Self you might also be able to heal others." The "Self healing" sounded like an endless road, but I was not going to be discouraged. I felt a sense of recognition in everything he said and I told him that for many years now, whenever I felt pain or discomfort I would practice sending healing energy to myself. I had read many books about everything dealing with curing, healing, laying on of hands and magnetizing and had hoped silently and loudly for a day like this.
He never stopped talking and apologized for the amount of information given on the phone. "Oh, never mind," I told him immediately and encouraged him to continue and I tried to absorb all his words. He talked as if it were about a regular training program and I heard him say: "With the help of the medicine wheel you will become acquainted with your totems, your special place of knowledge and your personal medicine." My thoughts ran away with me. Somewhere in the distance I heard him say that I was going to find two rings in a dream and that is where I lost the thread. Or no, I heard him add: "At a later stage you will have visions and medicine dreams." Normally I would want to break the silence that followed, but I was speechless. I heard a sigh and felt he was starting to end the conversation. I asked if I could meet him in person without sounding too eager. He consented! Then I started to breathe again. He promised to call me after the summer holiday.
"After the holiday," turned out to be a wide notion. My patience was severely put to the test. It was not until the summer was almost over when the phone rang. Finally! A clear voice announced: "Good afternoon, this is Running Deer speaking." My heart began beating faster. I had almost given up hope. After exchanging formalities he asked if we could meet and explicitly mentioned the goal of the appointment. He literally said: "It is my task to explain to you the difference between modern and traditional shamanism." Before hanging up I asked about the price of the consultation. "Nothing at all," he answered. "It is part of my mission."
Now I hand Vidar my jacket in the hall before he opens the dividing door to the living room. He drapes my jacket neatly across a coat hanger and hangs it on the coat rack. An uncertain tension rushes through my body. I am excited and curious, but also on guard since I am with a man I do not know in unknown surroundings. Cardboard boxes are scattered all over the place and it looks as if he moved only yesterday. In the middle lies a deerskin and next to it its antlers. To the right, just passed the hallway I can see the wood timbered stair case. I look at the closed curtains behind me once more, showing only a small strip of dusk. Drawn curtains. I am worried. Is he hiding something from the neighborhood? My host walks to the kitchen just passed the stairway, excuses himself as he starts stirring in a pan on the stove. "I am cooking chai tea," he explains as he turns towards me. I feel sorry for him as I watch him make the tea so primitively. Presumably the poor Indian has no money to buy a teapot, because if you look closely he does not even have a couch. With my hand I lean on the arm rest of the chair at the head of the dinner table. The other end of the pinewood table is stacked with piles of paper, magazines, books and junk. A real male household I conclude.
I look around. The small bar in between the kitchen and the living room is also packed with stuff. "Have you just moved in?" I try not to sound too curious. I wouldn't mind knowing whether he is married and if he has children. I guess he just got a divorce and subsequently, the next question occurs to me: why? Was he banned by his wife because she was fed up with him chasing women? Prove me wrong, but I believe he is a big charmer. By the way, he does not stand a chance with me, because he is too small and too old. He mumbles something inaudible from behind the stove, sounding reserved. I better not ask any further, that would be overbearing. It is probably unusual in his culture to ask personal questions. As he stirs in the pan I observe everything in detail and look towards the backyard which is at least 15 meters long, surrounded by high trees and covered in grass which urgently needs to be mown according to Dutch standards.
A gentle breeze blows through the green branches. At the far end, right against the fencing there is a small wooden shed painted in typical Dutch style: dark green with white window frames. It looks well kept. I look back around the living room nervously. A firm hit over the head would do it if he would start to harass me. I ease my thoughts by thinking there are men who do not have an ulterior motive, but to be quite honest I have never met them, apart from my Mexican friends.
Opposite the stairway there is a burgundy-red cabinet, approximately 5 feet long, stacked with piles of paper, magazines and cd's. I walk across and read the titles. From the corner of my eye I watch my host turn down the gas and reach over to the right to get two mugs from a cupboard above the kitchen sink. I look further. On the wall above the cabinet I see a pouch with two long grey feathers sticking out and two shorter brown-white feathers. Vidar comes towards me and then stays standing next to me with his arms crossed looking like a salesman lacking interest. "That's nice," I say. "It is a spirit knife," he replies. He points at the two long grey feathers "these come from a heron, the brown ones come from a hawk and an owl, the grip was made from deer antler and the pouch from deerskin." He explains "Items of medicine like the spirit knife are made after they have been seen in a vision. The knife is used by medicine men like myself who use the deer's spirit to heal: you can cut open the ethereal body and remove the negative energy." Without stopping he continues and tells me that animals sacrifice themselves to serve humankind. "Just like the prehistoric hunters I received a vision and saw where I could meet the deer. I met him at the pre-arranged time and location and that is where the deer sacrificed himself without hesitation. I roasted the meat, after taking off his skin and his antlers," he says while pointing at the deerskin in the middle of the room. "In a following vision I met the deer once more. I was surprised to see him and asked him: 'What are you doing here, I killed you.' 'No,' he answered, 'I am not dead, I have given up my material form and passed on the knowledge of the deer medicine to help man heal.'" He explains: "Medicine men receive information about healing through visions and medicine dreams. To achieve this, ordinary dreams need to be inactivated." I nod interested but I actually do not understand how that is possible, inactivating dreams. I would rather not. I am actually glad that I have them.
I grant his invitation to take a place at the head of the table. The feeling of tension and excitement increases by the minute. I am curious to know what he has to say. Vidar reheats the tea for a few seconds before turning it off and pours the steaming tea in the mugs. I look at the kitchen sink which is packed with bottles of red wine to the left. They are trying to seduce me with their calling. I would not mind a glass of wine, it would taste good, too good actually. It would relax me immediately. To the right of the sink are many pots of vitamins and other kinds of pills and powders.
He places a mug of hot chai tea in front of me on the table and asks whether I would like a piece of apple pie. I turn down the offer even though apple pie is my favorite. My host makes himself comfortable, blows the hot vapor away from his cup with an elongated breath and asks me what brought me to the place where we met. I tell him about the Magical Passes a few kilometers down the road, the absence of a good place to lunch nearby and my desire for a nice vegetarian lunch. A huge smile appears on his face. Then he asks me what appeals to me in Castaneda's work. "Its accessibility," I call out spontaneously. But as soon as I say it, I realize that his work is far from accessible. When I read The Art of Dreaming I understood less than half of it, but I was hooked as it unleashed my imagination. Just before going off to sleep I read a few pages and as soon as I slept I was dragged into his world and received lucid conscious dreams without having to do anything. It gave me a rush, it was addictive and I wanted to read more. Automatically I read one book after another. All of them were beautiful, but they hardly had the interactive effect of The Art of Dreaming and I kept dreaming that one day I would meet a Don Juan.
I return to the subject of accessibility and philosophize: "His books display a desire to learn and show his vulnerable side." Vidar's encouraging smile stimulates me to demonstrate more of my intellectual side. "Carlos shares his fears, doubts and uncertainty which make him human, since he does not pose as a weighty spiritual apprentice, but as an ordinary human being with all his shortcomings. That is what I mean by accessibility." Vidar carefully takes the talking stick out of my hands and expresses himself cautiously: "...do you feel resistance in your life...as if you were held back?" I take some time to reflect, but in fact I could answer him with a straightforward "yes." "I feel I have great difficulties achieving anything," I say, and hope not to sound too wretched. Vidar nods understandably. You could call it resistance, I think gloomily. Dissatisfied I look back on a bumpy career. Sometimes, when I wonder what unknown power is responsible for all of this, the voice of my conscience says I have little patience, I quickly lose interest and lack stamina, I have difficulty adjusting, do not like rules and do not feel like playing up to anyone. In short, I am standing in my own way with my own resistance.
"Have you ever had the feeling you could fly away, escape?"
"Oh yes," I say eagerly "I allow my energy body, or whatever it's called, to fly away into space. I give it wings and make triple somersaults backwards and forwards, high in the sky. I think it is my way to release energy," which would explain these circus acts of my energy body.
"But why do you want to know about my resistance?"
"A human being becomes resilient through experience and the way he has been raised." He declares: "You may have become hardened as you resisted pain and disappointment or it could be that you were raised according to certain convictions which keep you from learning anything. The resistance keeps you from following the path to your eternal Self. For that reason it is imperative you get rid of your resistance."
Returning to our conversation on Carlos Castaneda he says: "You've read his books, then you must also know that Castaneda's sorcerer's tradition is also known as first rule of knowledge, coming from the Toltecs and Aztecs." I nod. "But there is also a second line," he continues. "Originally there was only one sorcerer's line, but because hunters covered great distances during the ice age, and due to the origination of land bridges, this original line split into two tribes. The second line is the North American tradition in which I have been raised," he says without hesitation.
He adds without much ceremony that we both come from the same spiritual family and that his assignment is to lead me into the teachings of the totality. The expression on my face varies from surprise to disbelief and back again. I feel like I am dreaming. Do I hear what he is saying? A deep-rooted desire tucked away somewhere becomes reality, but it seems too good to be true. He says again: "You know Castaneda's books, then you also know that sorcerers discover and train successors." Vidar takes a piece of paper and draws three lines forming a Greek Y. He points at the vertical line and says: "That is the original tribe and the two lines going up symbolize the two lines of sorcerers." Explicitly he says: "You cannot compare the two traditions because there are different teaching methods. The tradition of the first line uses fear and terror as a teaching method, whilst the tradition of the second line is the way of monumental beauty."
Without humility he goes on to say: "I am an experienced teacher and am capable of leading you towards the totality within two-and-a-half years." He releases a deep sigh: "You have no idea how much luck you have had to have met a benefactor like myself," and determines that I must have crossed his path to finish off my personal medicine wheel. I stare at him with amazement. "Your arrival is to accomplish your life's mission, to complete your personal medicine wheel. You have taken up the Way to find or become the totality. That is your spiritual goal," continuing: "As soon as you have obtained sufficient knowledge, you will meet the source of your knowledge, someone like me to bring it to an end." I sense no doubt in his voice when he says: "You are capable of crossing that finish line, recognizing yourself in your totality." I smile at him politely, but I haven't got the faintest idea where this is leading to.
"Desire is the technique to reach that goal," he continues.
Hey, hang on, "desire"? Is that what he just said? I look at him disapprovingly and wonder if he wants to have sex after all. He does not give in. Perhaps he means a different kind of desire. Without reserve he explains that beauty is a clue in finding the apprentice who will be educated to become a person of knowledge. Even though I would love to extensively wallow in his compliment I decide not to let it distract me too much. It would not be the first time I've had my judgment clouded.
As he looks down meaningful he declares: "During the past thirty years I have trained five groups of sorcerers, but I had never expected a sixth one to show up."
Do I hear compassion in his voice, are those tears in his eyes?
"You are the sixth in line and currently the only one in the group." He mumbles: "If only you knew how special our encounter is, it is a chance in a million!" and he stares at the table emotionally. I feel the urge to hug him but my distant nature holds me back. The knife is put to my throat: Tell me: is he a dangerous lunatic or is he speaking the truth. I blink my eyes nervously.
"You do not have anymore apprentices like me?"
"There is a possibility a stalker will join our group, but until then you will have to put up with me," and he gives me a kindhearted look.
There is a tense silence as if the invisible world is listening in. There is great esteem in his voice when he finally asks me: "Officially I must ask you if you are prepared to enter into the apprenticeship of the totality." My heart is in my mouth. I do not doubt for one second but I let the answer drift for a moment, not wanting to sound too eager.
I clear my throat and without sounding too formal I say: "I want to do this for myself and for my family."
He laughs. Amused.
A burst of energy shoots out of me and kisses him on the cheek. It startles me. This made me blush and I wonder if he noticed anything as he is gazing out of the window with a faint smile on his face. It looks like I have given him the go-ahead as he turns towards me and says: "You need to be in good physical condition to reach the totality."
"Good physical condition," I repeat after I have cooled down a bit, "sounds like I am going on a survival trip." Vidar smiles reserved. Outside a white cat pricks up his ears. "Whatever you will become after your training depends on your talents and your predilection, which means that your spiritual family will decide what your life's mission will be."
I am trying to catch the eye of the future but all I can see is a grey twilight zone.
With an unaltered determination he continues "You will reach the totality by dreaming."
I interrupt him immediately. "How do you know I am a dreamer? I might be a stalker." Through Castaneda's books I know that the world is divided in dreamers and stalkers, but why am I one or the other and not both? I fear he might be overlooking something valid.
"You told me how much you dream, and that's says a great deal, your dreams are ready-made." That sounds reasonable. For the brief period that I am here, I have told him about my active dream-life and the fact that I have written down all my dreams in notebooks for at least fifteen years. In the past few years I noticed their development into conscious dreams. It has given me an enormous rush to realize I could direct them and I always look forward to the next experience. I love my dreams and never want to lose them again. Shyly I tell him about the dreams that kept me busy these past years. In those dreams I am seduced by dark men, dragged to their cave where they make love to me, after which they are determined to marry me. Quite a shock when you wake up the next morning beside your own husband.
Vidar explains that there are four practices that guide the apprentice into the totality, summing up: the art of dreaming, stalking, hunting and the art of the warrior. "Gradually you will learn to master all of them, but because you are a dreamer the art of dreaming is the most important one for you. On the way to the totality you will learn to master your dreaming, which means that ordinary dreams will come to a halt and will be replaced by the dreaming of the spirit. Ordinary dreams come to a stop and disappear because they are primitive and take up too much energy . As you master your dreaming, you will have dreams of medicine and visions that guide you into the totality." He explains: "When you start dreaming, you become conscious of your dream body. The totality creates a dream body to travel from this reality," knocking on the table, "which is the first reality, into the second reality." Vidar offers me a notebook and I neatly write everything down. He quickly checks me out to see whether it all makes sense to me. I try to look as neutral as possible and then I look downwards, pretending to be aloof, because the expression on my face never lies. Besides, from experience I know I need more time to absorb all the information and this is all theory and I prefer to put things in practice.
Vidar is quite unconcerned and continues. "The Algonquin-Indians sorcerer's of old believed that the Big Bang was not an instant but a twofold event, the result of the first and subsequently the second reality." He declares "the second reality reflects the first reality," drawing a circle on a notepad with a line in the middle. "The characteristics of the totality is twofold," instructing: "The Totality consists of the first and the second reality. The first is created by the creative energy of the first reality and the second by the creative energy of the second reality." He draws another circle and places a dot in the middle. "The dot is the totality of the Self.
Your dreaming creates the first reality as well turning around your totality. With your dream body and your intention, which is the energy used to create, you will not only travel from the first into the second reality, but you will also reach the totality of the self. Creating and dreaming are one and the same and both are created by the creative energy of your intention." My teacher then tells me that both realities are created by the totality and that the totality is dreaming. "The first rule of the first reality is fixation which means that one believes that this is the only reality, but the space outside the circle represents the boundless second reality. The shamans of old discovered that to balance things out a second reality exists, a reality which is not fixed."
He grabs his mug and says: "We have fixated the mug, but through the shift of the assemblage point it changes into a very random thing." He concludes: "To reach the totality you need to stop or dismantle this reality by manipulating the assemblage point, a small shift is all that is needed."
He looks at me again. I apologize, in case he hadn't noticed it I tell him I need more time to comprehend it all. "You will learn by experience," he reassures me "and that means that you will find out what the truth is and that I am right."
A subtle nod of the head tells me that it is enough for tonight and he invites me to come back in ten days and asks me to find a stone to be used in the first dream exercise. "Take any kind of stone and study it in detail, you need to know it inside out, every line, every dent, every outline. Let your inner eye - between your eyebrows - visualize the stone," pointing with his finger to his forehead. "Aim to find the stone," he continues. "With this exercise you create your dream body, a double, an extension of yourself. You can never break away from it. With your dream body you will be able to travel into the second reality." I put my pen down. My head is spinning from the amount of information and in the meantime I am spun to and fro between what my mind shouts and my heart whispers. My mind gets the worst of it. What a night! My desire for knowledge has come true, everything is coming together. I yawn deeply and look at my watch. Midnight. Time has flown past. An uncontrollable flashback takes my mind back to the eight months prior to meeting Vidar. I get up to leave and tell him I was driven by a powerful energy, like a gust of wind pushing me forward and urging me to undertake all kinds of things but I did not really know what I was looking for. Carefully I tell him the wind stopped blowing the moment I met him, I felt at peace.
I drive back home in a state of arousal, it feels like I am in love, but quickly I put that thought aside. Impossible, he could be my father.
We invite you to join s on the virtual tour for The Sorcerer’s Dream by Alysa Braceau (Dreamshield). The full schedule can be seen at http://bookpromotionservices.com/2010/05/03/sorcerers-dream . You can learn much more about Dreamshield and her work on her website – http://www.dreamshield.nl/ . The book can be ordered on Amazon – http://www.amazon.com/Sorcerers-Dream-Dreamshield-Alysa-Braceau/dp/1609101561 .