Drumbeat Down in the Well

author’s note:

“We experience a dream as real because it is real.”
             -- William Dement


DRUMBEAT DOWN IN THE WELL

When the mower suddenly died that day
I said: “Must be a sign from above!”
and lay myself down on the lawn.

Then as I eased into a half-doze
I detected a pulsing murmur--
perhaps a distant drumbeat

for a ritual dance
of men, women, children--

a tribal circle reaching up
to the circle of the moon:
a celebration I might find
by going where my shadow pointed
as the sun sank in the west.

So I stood up and began to walk
or maybe I only dreamt I did--
in any case
I traced that quiet seductive summons
across a broad savanna
through the starless dark

until I arrived at a well
round as a drum--
its waters reflected a full moon.

I knew I’d reached the source
yet the sound had died down
so I listened down
down into that glowing whole
and as a result
I began to feel the beat
softly echoing up
from a deeper chamber of my heart.

I knew then
I was the ritual circle dancing--
reaching up
even as I listened down.

I understood:
I celebrate this life
every day with every beat--
even when I feel dull gray--even then
I’m still amazed
by this mystery we’re in.

Then
having finally realized the obvious
I returned--
finding my way back
with natural ease
because I was no longer lost.

But though we go back
we never really lose
what we’ve gained, do we?

I can still hear that deep drum--
even now as I mow
this sunny lawn.

Dancing to Raven’s Song: a novel
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2023, Michael R. Patton

Shopping in the Labyrinth

author’s note:

"Time is money."
        -- Anonymous


SHOPPING IN THE LABYRINTH

According to a recurrent dream
I'm traveling through a labyrinth

but unlike those described
in myths and legends
this passageway leads me
through the halls
of an average shopping mall

with countless bright stores
offering every sort of thing
except what I seek.

Not that I know
what that is--I only know
I haven't found it yet.

But I don't feel defeated--
I'm still eager to explore--to see
what waits next door down.

Maybe these dreams show how
I’m gathering information.
Even when I don’t buy what I see
I can find another piece of the puzzle
just by stopping to look

and if I collect enough pieces
I may be able to fill in the spaces--
I may see “the big picture”:
the grand design of this life.

A woman I met on a bus
told me she also shops
in her dreams...maybe
everyone does--maybe
we’re all trying to discover
the beautiful design in
what appears to be chaos.

In any case
this much is obvious:
we were made to shop.

The Truth of the Dream: poetry book
dream steps blog
myth steps blog
you tube channel
© 2022, Michael R. Patton

The Fable of the Woman Who Couldn't Stop Caring

author's note:

As I get to know myself better, I get to know everyone else better as well.


THE FABLE OF THE WOMAN WHO COULDN’T STOP CARING

Hoping to make her life easier
she decided to stop caring--stop
lying in bed late at night
asking, “What is the answer?”

Thus, our heroine embarked
on a life of leisure
and limited her mental pursuits
while repeating this mantra
to herself and others:
I just don’t care anymore.

And to the eye
she did indeed seem more relaxed
in the new somnolence of her days.

However...

in her dreams
she continued to search--

continued
to drive in darkness through heavy fog.

She still strained
to climb those stairs.

She still stared
into that tall shadow
looming on the wall.

In her dreams
she continued
to argue with him
even as his face
slowly became her face.

Knowing dreams don’t lie
she eventually stopped
pretending she didn’t care.

However
she no longer felt defeated--
after comparing her dreams with ours
she knew hope again:

she saw
though many don’t seem to care
the truth is
we’re all struggling to climb the stairs
through shadows and fog
sharing the way
with a menagerie of mirrors.

The Truth of the Dream: poetry ebook
dream steps blog
you tube channel
© 2022, Michael R. Patton

Message to a Rocket Launcher

author's note:

Some say dreams are meaningless.

I say: maybe theirs are.  Not mine.


MESSAGE TO A ROCKET LAUNCHER

When I heard the man claim
he had slept quite well
after launching that long-range attack
I remembered a dream
I can’t forget:

in the scene
I squatted on a desert plain
and from my big bazooka
shot a ball of barb-wire
at an unknown enemy
somewhere over there

and felt quite pleased
a moment later, when
I spied a poof of dust
rising on the horizon.

But then I looked down
and found a wire strung
all the way from my trigger finger
to the distant point of impact.

In frantic desperation
I tried to untie the wire
but those barbs stung my hand--
without thinking, I ran

with that wire trailing after me--
delivering hot jolts of pain
to my finger, arm, body, brain.

Waking in a cold fever
I knew I needed
to understand that nightmare
and though I often miss the obvious
I soon realized its message:

when you try to get rid of the hurt you feel
by putting the hurt on somebody else
you’re connected to the pain
you’ve created for the other.
Thus
you actually hurt worse.

From this dream, we can see
I am still an angry child

but adult enough
to be honest with you now--
hoping

this dream message will awaken
at least one other rocket launcher
to a truth so obvious
it often goes unnoticed:
  when you choose the wrong way
  to deal with your pain
  you only worsen the wound.

Maybe then
having lost his blind innocence
that launcher may stop trying
to punish the other
and instead fight to heal
his wounded self
and in that way help heal
a world filled
with bazookas and barb-wire.

The Truth of the Dream: poetry ebook
you tube channel
© 2022, Michael R. Patton

The Fable of the Man Who Opened His Eyes

author’s note:

I know gravity is necessary.  But some days, there’s just too much.


THE FABLE OF THE MAN WHO OPENED HIS EYES

I once felt so jealous of astronauts--
I should be the one
walking on the Moon!

I wanted to hop from planet
to planet
and soar through
the vast mysterious spaces
of the Universe.

Books and TV programs
instead of satisfying
only stoked my desire.

Blake said:
see a world in a grain of sand.
And yes--once or twice
I was able to see as he saw
however
I would’ve preferred
to have found that grain
in a ring of Saturn.

Finally
to ease my frustration
I shut the door to my room
--I shut my eyes--
and sank into a semi-sleep.

But instead of landing softly
on a bottom cushion
I started to discover worlds
in a universe ever expanding:

even the small debris
--the specks of sand--
contained so much information.

So strange it all seemed--
so wonderfully alien
and yet that menagerie
lived within me.

Years later, and I still
haven’t reached the end
of the bit of human universe
granted to me.
Have my inner voyages
diminished the urge
to dance on planets?

Well, I must admit
I still long to visit Saturn

but if asked to pick
I guess I’d still choose
to know my own space.

Common Courage: poetry ebook
© 2021, Michael R. Patton

What the Dream Told Me about Flying Blindly

author's note:

I subscribe to the theory that a dream won’t tell you what you already know.


WHAT THE DREAM TOLD ME ABOUT FLYING BLINDLY

In the dream, I’m flying
but I feel so weak
because I can’t believe I can fly

and feel so scared:
I’m blinded by cloud--
any moment, I could slam
into the flat slab of a cliff.

Some claim dreams
are just nonsense.
But I know the feeling
in this dream to be true.

Yet I wonder:
why do I need a dream
to tell me to be cautious?--
after all, I already am.

And if the dream means
to convince me
I can do what I don’t believe I can,
it hasn’t.

No, I think
the dream came to say:
despite your fright
you can still enjoy this flight
--what a thrill it is!--
you can use that energy
to lighten the doubt
weighing on your wings.

© 2021, Michael R. Patton
The Truth of the Dream: poetry ebook

Growth

author’s note:

A poem of encouragement for these dire times…

…but not a poem of false hope.


GROWTH

Years ago in a dream
I collapsed by a creek
and in the sliding water saw
squiggles of my gray hair
drifting away

leaving me
with a bald pink scalp

which suddenly sprouted
a cover of baby fuzz.

Shocked, I awoke--
afraid for myself

but then I realized
I’d witnessed a rebirth!

Thus encouraged
I continued my work of change
with renewed enthusiasm.

But though I’ve toiled for years since
I see little gain--
I’m still so far from
the one I hope to become:
the calm wise lion
with flowing golden mane--

no,
I’m still too much the cub
spun by sudden storms of emotion.

However
I was heartened recently
by another dream:
a woman on the path
lowered her bucket so I could see
a watery reflection:

above my blank confused face
a standing field of wild hair
shimmied in the wind--
the stalks pale-yellow, but
I did detect a richer shade
peeking out at the roots.

So apparently
despite my flaws
I’m able to grow gold.

But of course--

look at all the gold
spun by our flawed world.

© 2020, Michael R. Patton
poet, heal thyself: ebook

Blessed Suffocation

author's note:

Some claim dreams are meaningless...

Maybe their dreams are.  Mine aren't.


BLESSED SUFFOCATION

In the dream I could not breathe

for one full year!--

as I held to a stiff chair
at the bottom of a murky lake.

To survive this test of endurance
I needed to claw down deep
into my lungs
just to dredge up
a few molecules of oxygen
hidden in storage.

Years later, when I think of this dream
I again experience
the frightening sense
of suffocation--
the tightness in my chest--
the feeling of imprisonment.

Good to remember my strength.

I believe
the wise one within
leads us into trials of adversity
so that we will expand
our capacity.

I believe
that interior puppeteer
gave me the dream
so that I might realize
the benefit of my hardship
then fight for life
instead of crying.

Some will scoff at these ideas--
they'll state flatly:
no "deep self" enacts a grand plan.

Nonetheless, I'd guess
we'd at least share this one belief:

through such painful tests
people grow.

© 2019, Michael R. Patton
the truth of the dream: poetry ebook

Spinning & Turning

author's note:

With regret, I cut these lines from the poem below:

"as any witch who sweeps at night
  would tell you:
  change often goes unnoticed."


SPINNING & TURNING

A year or so ago
I awoke from a dream
of a cock crowing on a rooftop--
silhouetted distinctly
by the pink-gold of a rising sun

which I believed symbolized
the arrival of a glorious new life
after decades of hard labor.

But when the weeks passed
and I continued to spin
without appearing to turn
I began to doubt again--

what more could I do
to shatter whatever invisible barrier
blocked my forward progress?--

perhaps something new
would bring in the new

so I began a slew
of fresh healthy activities:

I chanted along
with a recording of monks

and wrote daily in a dream journal--
analyzing scenes of mirrors and fog.

I surreptitiously laid
a stone walkway
in our city park--
a monument to the many strong people
working in the shadows
for the good of all.

I rearranged my files
then rearranged the rearrangement--

signaling to
the powers that be
(maybe outside, maybe within me)
that I was quite ready
for the disruption
of a new beginning.

But despite all I did
I still seemed to spin
without turning

so I again darkened with doubt

until a dream showed
pink-gold sunrays
erasing the gray
of a skylight above me.

Waking in joy
I then began to crow--
finally I understood:

though the mornings
may seem the same
I am turning my world.

© 2018, Michael R. Patton
searching for my best beliefs: poetry ebook

The Good Fight

dear reader:

Allow me to repeat myself:

At my death, I hope someone will say: "He fought the good fight."


THE GOOD FIGHT

In the dream, I knelt down

into a circle of light
found on the floor
of a dusty dark tunnel

and in an instant
an upswell of energy
saturated me--a sensation
both buoyant and dense--

my whole being hummed
with the grand expansion

yet at the same time
I felt diminished
by a power so great:
consumed--overwhelmed

I soon woke in fear

and immediately lost the feeling

then cursed my weakness

as I often do
when I give in
to lower instinct
and reject what
my higher instinct desires.

However
I didn't lose completely:

whenever I remember
that underground light
I can sense (just vaguely)
that force of peace
within me--

within me
yet frightfully foreign:

I doubt I could ever
live with that mysterious intensity
for more than
the occasional moment.

But no matter--
a recent dream shows me
determined to return--
fighting

through a dusty storm wind
toward a dim distant light

and though I feel so weak

the exhilaration spurs me on.

© 2018, Michael R. Patton
my war for peace: poetry ebook

My Better World

author's note:

“We experience a dream as real because it is real.”
              -- Dr. William C. Dement


MY BETTER WORLD

The excited uncertainty
of crossing a stone bridge in dark fog

ended
before I'd reached the end--ended
with the alarm of morning

and as I began my usual routine
the intensity faded
and I forgot the dream

until that afternoon:

while waiting to cross a city street
I suddenly recalled the night bridge
hidden and revealed and hidden
by the tease of shifting clouds

and as the feeling returned
my day world of blatant sunlight
became as real as that dream:

the traffic light warning me...
the bleached grey fence...
a vacant lot overgrown with weeds--
all seemed strangely alive

and I felt myself to be
an alien spirit
discovering a wonderland

then the light changed
and as my attention shifted
that sense of intensity faded:

once again I was
a lowly armadillo
grubbing along the asphalt.

However
that feeling of living
in a grander world
is not lost, only asleep

and sometimes
stirs from slumber
to end my daydream.

I then remember
I am more than a mere
creature of survival.

© 2018, Michael R. Patton
what I learned while alone: poetry ebook

How Beauty Came from Pain

author's note:

It is apparently more important to nature that one should have consciousness, understanding, than to avoid suffering.
            -- C.G. Jung


HOW BEAUTY CAME FROM PAIN

In the dream
beauty came from pain

as I watched you
embrace the tree--
a lover finding the lover
who knows her need:

to be healed
so she could heal others
in pain.

A symbiotic relationship
working by osmosis:

as you healed yourself
with the tree’s love
you fed the tree with your love

and so your eyes gleamed
on one of its emerald leaves

but many eyes appeared on the leaves above

next time
I hope to see mine

so I've renewed my vow
to open and embrace

despite the slow pain of surrender...

© 2018, Michael R. Patton
finding Beauty: poetry ebook

Many New Dawns

author's note:

Reality...what a concept!
      -- Robin Williams


MANY NEW DAWNS

I awoke to the morning sun
as if struck by lightning

then woke again--

shocked
as I realized
my first awakening
had been a dream.

I pinched myself then
to be certain of my reality

then woke again

but this time
to the actual physical world

though a philosopher might ask
can you be sure?

To that I'd reply:
maybe not--but
I’m pretty sure I know
what the dream says
which is:

enlightenment doesn't happen
in one final lightning moment
but with many awakenings--
many new dawns.

And I say:
we are never done--
not even after
we've gone beyond.

© 2018, Michael R. Patton
searching for my best beliefs: poetry ebook

Meeting the Wounded Woman

author's note:

Highly recommended: The Fisher King and the Handless Maiden, by Robert A. Johnson.


MEETING THE WOUNDED WOMAN

After waking from the sight
of a wounded woman
knee-deep in a dark swamp...

I remembered what I'd read:

the "she" a man meets
in his dream
lives within him.

But though still alive
my receptive side
obviously didn't feel so well--
after all, she'd lost a hand.

But how and when?--
I did not know...

however as I pondered
the blank shock
in her blue eyes
I began to feel
what she must have felt
during whatever crime
caused the loss--
what she still feels
in the long aftermath:

horror at a savagery both rabid
and casual--
stunned confusion
at an injustice unpunished.

I could feel
the frozen fire
of her righteous anger

but also sensed
warm moist ashes of grief
beneath that ice.

I then understood why
a violent dream may follow
a routine mundane day:

if forced to confront
our deep wounds
during the waking hours
how could we complete transactions
or work with movable parts?

But we don’t occasionally confront
and deal with that truth
those wounds may kill us.

So, I need my horrific dreams--
painful though the awakening may be
I need to dream of a woman
missing a hand.

I can shelf that secret
in the back room
while I'm totaling receipts

then afterward
return to learning
how to heal the life
that gives me life.

Progress is slow, of necessity
but when I feel discouraged
I think of the green lizard dream:

how the little fellow sang with joy
because he'd finally managed
to grow his tail back--

he sang of sensitivity regained
he sang of better balance--
such fun, being functional!

That regeneration
must've cost a lot of energy
but what a return--
his song sounded so strong!

© 2018, Michael R. Patton
what I learned while alone: poetry ebook

Living in a Dream

author's note:

I think I hold the world's record for daydreaming.


LIVING IN A DREAM

In the dream
I bit into an apple

like the apple
I bit into
last Sunday
as I sat, daydreaming
beneath a droopy tree.

However
my dream apple
seemed much more intense
than my day apple--

maybe the dream came to wake me

with this message:

see what you miss
when you lazily ignore
just how incredible
your mundane life is.

I must not forget:
we live in a dream.

© 2018, Michael R. Patton
what I learned while alone: poetry ebook

What I Discovered at the Sleep Lab

author's note:

Peace: always a work-in-progress.


WHAT I DISCOVERED AT THE SLEEP LAB

In our studies at the sleep lab
the quietest test subjects
often report
such loud dreams.

For instance:
the muted woman
who told us how she'd fought
to keep herself intact
as she spun up inside
a crazy gray tornado:

she described her struggle
with an elation absent later
when she awoke from seeing
a white dove perched
on her sunny window sill.

I wanted to say to her:
ironic, isn't it?--you're
more excited by the war
than by the peace you've earned.

But no, I did not--
we're only allowed to make
some marks on a chart.

However
that evening I again sounded off
over drinks with my associates--
abandoning my science for the moment
to repeat with certainty this belief:

the dreams we record are proof
that all lives--
  even those so common
  even those so low
  even those so quiet
hold the highest goal.

© 2018, Michael R. Patton
my war for peace: poetry ebook

Old Hope Reborn

author's note:

Whoever invented the alarm clock must've hated dreams.


OLD HOPE REBORN

In the dream...

my shoulders slumped
in sad humility

as I looked down at
my footprints in the dust
and saw such chaos--
just a roundabout mess of steps.

I could see no gain
in that circle of clutter--
no, only loss.

But then a voice
(maybe within, maybe without)
said:

you're a labyrinth within a labyrinth.

So I checked again
and lo!--
I began to see a design...`

a pattern too soon shattered
by the dull drill of my alarm.

But though I can't recall
the truth I saw
at least, I again believe
a plan exists
for me...for all of us:

so again I have hope--

perhaps foolishly so
but oh--
I enjoy being young again.

© 2018, Michael R. Patton searching for my best beliefs: poetry ebook

Light from a Dark Dream

author's note:

No such thing as a bad dream!


LIGHT FROM A DARK DREAM

As I struggled to navigate
the dark labyrinth
of that dream...

what a shock when
the thin guiding thread broke
and soon after that
my small lamp blew out

then in the smoky fog
I tried to find my way
with careful fingertips

but my sense of touch
had dulled.

What a blessing that dream!--
because...

when I awoke to its light
I began to see again.

© 2018, Michael R. Patton
my war for peace: poetry ebook

Return to Center

author's note:

“I was asleep but my heart stayed awake.”
    -- from Song of Songs (trans. Ariel & Chana Bloch)


RETURN TO CENTER

In the dream...

a waterdrop
from a towering redwood tree
created the single ring of a ripple
in the center
of a pond's black mirror:

the ripple spread--
expanding
into a silver wave rising--
gaining momentum

until it met
those rocks along the shore:

a crash, but not destruction
just a loud bounce:

the ripple quickly
put its ring back together
then began the return--
a return to center--

diminishing down
to a wee circle
then down
to a single still point...

a point that sat in ideal peace

only for a moment, I'll admit
but that moment was enough

for me to renew
before I went forth once more
to sound myself
against those rocks.

© 2018, Michael R. Patton
listening to silence: poetry ebook

dUNKED

Up from the bottom
  of an old pond,
  that duckling
has seen something strange.
     -- Joso (trans. Beilenson/Behn)


dUNKED

In those ocean dreams...

I want to bob on the top
of the water like a buoy
even though I know
if I don't dive down
I will be dunked

dunked again:

drawn down
by some force of nature--down
to dark depths
where faces float like jellyfish:

they seem so foreign
and yet I'm told
they're all a part of me--

even the women
even the animals
even the machines.

Occasionally I’ll witness
a face so luminous--
I burst to the surface with joy

but more often I'm greeted
by something much dimmer:
maybe a blank-eyed robot
or a drooling dog.

So next time I find myself
bobbing at the top
I may again resist
when I feel
that downward pull...

even though I know
I'll be dunked if I do

yes--dunked again.

© 2018, Michael R. Patton
what I learned while alone: poetry ebook