LIFE: A DREAM, OR REALITY?
I’m confused - confused about the nature of “reality.”
I’m listening to the film maker, Roger Avary on Rick Rubin’s podcast, and he’s talking about “creating your own reality.” He says he subscribes to the S.P.E.C. method: “select it, project it, expect it, and collect it” — as a way to manifest his chosen reality. The term was originally coined by a 1950s housewife, Helen Hadsell, “The Contest Queen”, who used it to win over 5,000 contests.
Avary, who spent time in jail for killing someone while drunk driving, was relating the harsh tale, describing how he had lost everything, but, then had an epiphany of deep gratitude upon his release, whereby he vowed to reorder his priorities.
I know the Stoics say that “you can’t control what happens to you; all you can control is how you react to those things.” Is this an example of creating your own reality, or of simply accepting the fact that life is chaotic, random, and painful?
Without being aware of it, I also have practiced the SPEC method of visualization to manifest reality, specifically in regards to my vision of eventual success that propelled me through the roller coaster of a 3 decades-long professional life. But, then, I walked away after a couple of busy years, because the image that had sustained me had suddenly vanished. I decided to stop beating myself up waiting for the big win to happen, and began living for my family rather than to gratify my own ego. In Buddhist terms, I freed myself by stopping “wanting” it, and, in fact, the appeal of whatever that “success” would look like became moot.
But, doubts remain. So, to clear up the confusion, I’ll consult the oracle on whether of not it’s preferable that one should accept that we are simply observers in a senseless dreamscape, or, to believe that one can create one’s own reality?
HEXAGRAM 40: LIBERATION, with moving lines 1,5 & 6
HEXAGRAM 10: AUDACITY
DREAM:
I was awakened from this morning’s sleep with a mini-nightmare.
I heard groaning, so I investigated the source of the sound. As I turned the corner into the kitchen, I see two legs with moccasins (like mine) on their feet. There was a woman face down on the floor with puddles of something (vomit? Blood?) Around her head.
The old woman was dying, in the last moments of life, and a number of people were sitting around, basically ignoring the old ladies situation.
I became upset, (but of course, I wasn’t relating to her either) - and, I said to one younger woman who looked like my wife’s friend, Susan, “I wish Chemayne were here, she’d minister to the dying woman. She was too good to live!” And I woke up weeping.