Choosing To Channel

            I dreamt I was an emperor penguin.   From beneath a flab layer my egg slipped, skidded across the ice, and cracked.  No life would emerge from the split shell.  With a piercing lament I glanced at my partner in distress, conveying my sorrow and shame.  What does one Google for a dream interpretation such as this?  Miscarriage seemed most fitting, which (according to Aunty Flo) signified that things didn’t go according to plan.  In spring, I laid an egg for a summer that included wearing matching Mexican ponchos as he and I traipsed, hand and hand through an electrified forest.  Instead, I use my beloved souvenir as a blanket, cocooning myself in post-Kundalini savasana. 

But while beneath my burial shroud, deep in relaxation, I recalled another dream from last night: breaking open cellulose capsules and scooping heaps of MDMA crystals, as a toddler might with a pail at the beach.  This dream interpretation was self-evident: I was inundated in ecstasy, the dreamt drugs as plentiful as the sands of the Sahara.  (I didn’t bother asking Flo, presuming that she didn’t know of my good friend Molly).  I concluded that, although this plan never came into fruition, my life was still overflowing with bliss.  With the unforeseen plot twist (i.e. breakup), I forced myself to pause, focus on foundation, tend to my soil.  Despite my desiccated heart, I planted seeds of self-love, nourished their flourishing, and (remarkably) cultivated joy.

Now on the first day of autumn I lay another egg, without hatching a plan.  It’s a vision, a trust that, as we catapult toward the black hole holding the Milky Way in place, the universe will continue to unfurl as it must in my miniscule life.  What else can I do? Certainly not continue to plan.  My father says that if you want to make God laugh, make a plan.  Well the heavens have rung with laughter, while my soul was wrung of its assumptions of the future.   Eventually I hearkened to the universe’s chuckle, a listless smile splaying across my tear streaked cheeks although it felt as if Shiva was dancing on the remnants of my broken eggshell-heart with steel toed boots.

Here lies my liberation: in choosing to go with God’s plan, the universe’s unfolding, the current of the Tao, despite my ego’s clutching and clenching.  My options are few; my choice is to channel the unbounded love that surrounds all life.