The Washington Post accompanied by a cup of Joe these days can cast an aura of noxious negativity that permeates one’s day; spiritual work must balance this practice of staying informed. I put my Post aside and settle in for meditation. The sun escapes a thick bank of clouds momentarily blinding me. I close my eyes and follow my breath. It draws me into an extraordinary lucid dream.

Dream

The brilliant orange orb pulsates behind my eyelids, approaching and withdrawing, approaching and withdrawing, morphing into a red crab whose legs gyrate aimlessly in elusive air, while iridescent green claws pull it forward by stabbing furtively into earth. Exit stage right.

Enter: an eye moving slowly across the horizon of my inner eye. It is shut tightly and encircled by a wreath of rich long lashes. The eye moves in closer as if pulled by an invisible but powerful magnet. Enlarging as it moves, it opens and closes in some predetermined rhythm until the horizon swallows it and spits it out as a bright white light.

From this light two inchoate inhabitants, a naked woman and man, tumble out and spin rapidly downward leaving a trail of brilliant sparks in their path.

A new aura of peace replaces the noxious aura of negativity.