On dreams & silliness
Hi, I am back with another Aredvi-takeover-of-the-newsletter. Last time I wrote about sloths and a bunch of you replied in support. I really like that, thank you.
Also, about 120 of you are new subscribers to this newsletter. Welcome, but also kindly brace yourselves.
I dream a lot, and almost always remember them. Vividly. My dreams have taken me places, from worlds entirely made of shadows, to lucid dogging in public streets, and literally getting canceled by God.
I even once applied for a job because a prophetic voice in my dreams told me to do so. And I did get the job, in case you are wondering.
But getting pissed on by my deceased dog on the 2-year anniversary of his passing might win the funniest and most loving dream of mine. I don’t just mean a little splash, I mean imagine a 10-pound sweet old doggo lifting up his leg and soaking you head-to-toe in his golden juice.
It took a while. There was a lot of liquid.
If the prude/germaphobe inside you is cringing, bear with me. This is not about watersports (good stuff though =)) or hygiene. This is a story of grief.
Now, grief is a bitch. But it is also the most transformative bitch I’ve ever met. Since Dexter’s passing, I have found myself grabbed by the balls, thrown into the void, melting into the vast emptiness, and spat out again. And again. And…again.
John Tarrant in his book (1) recites a koan that goes something like this:
Zen master to student: “Bring me the rhinoceros fan.” (The fan was made of rhinoceros horn.)
Student: “It is broken.”
Zen master: “In that case, bring me the rhinoceros.”
I keep thinking about this koan and its invitation for allowing the inconceivable; to hold space for the magic and silliness of existence.
As I was being showered in my dog’s urine, I remember feeling shocked, grossed out, and annoyed. Like da fuck? Why can’t he play nice? Then I woke up.
Drenched in confusion, I recognized the message behind all the feelings: “You are mine, do not worry and let go. Stay humble. It’s a game.”
I started laughing as tears built up in my eyes.
I am never sure how anyone ever processes the death of a loved one. As for me, I have been trying to let everything happen to me (2), the excruciating pain, the expansive love, the soul crushing anger, and the boundless gratitude.
And grateful, I am. To have loved and lost is a gift unlike any. Sounds like horseshit until you have to go through it. How I can feel so loved by my beloved drowning me in pee, I do not know. But perhaps, meeting the inconceivable means all I have to do is stay humble and go for a ride with the incredible silliness of existence.
(1) Bring Me the Rhinoceros: And Other Zen Koans That Will Save Your Life by John Tarrant
(2) Let Everything Happen by Rainer Maria Rilke