I'm hooked
Do you ever have visions? Do you ever dream dreams? Does the world around you ever stop for a second, and you see through it? You see how crazy all of this is—that the world exists and carries on without stopping altogether. What’s the battery like—the one that keeps things going? Where are the controls? What kind of oil is required to keep it running smoothly? And how do we get so easily distracted from how crazy all of this is by the need to, like, go to the bathroom?
Do you ever have visions?
Do you ever dream dreams?
Sometimes, suddenly, I see my children grown, their feet reaching to the end of the bed, and my older self remembering them small. The older me looks back at the present me and thinks, “One more hug.” And then the present me who still has the little kid hugs available starts crying on behalf of the older me.
I was at the top of a really high staircase one time in Scotland, looking down over the little town below with its pretty bridges and river and crooked pathways, and suddenly, I was eighty years old, thanking my younger self for stopping there on that top step and breathing every bit of that scene in, for wasting the money to get there, for going to the trouble of climbing the staircase, for building up memories for the quiet years when I can’t make many anymore.
There have been lots of moments like that. Are they visions? I think they might just be part of the human mind processing time, space, and the mystery of existence.
Like this morning, when I was sitting on the back row in the seminary chapel. Someone was speaking. Another person was preparing to sing. Nothing stood out as different from the expected routine.
It had already been a long day. It’s possible I could have started to nod off a little during a quieter part of the service, but I don’t remember my head falling.
What I do remember is leaving the room for half a second. I saw a scene of myself, standing on a dirt road. There was no vegetation anywhere. Just a road and desert wilderness on every side. Ahead of that me on the road, was Jesus.
Except for I couldn’t move toward him because deep within my back were three large hooks, each big enough to catch some large ocean monster. Connected to the hooks were chains as big around as tree limbs. The chains were taut, perfectly horizontal with the ground, and they stretched behind me so far down the road that they got smaller and smaller until they were completely out of sight, attached somewhere far in the past. Though the hooks looked heavy, the wounds in my back weren’t fresh. My body had grown in around them, like the trunk of a tree will do to a section of barbed wire fence. Everything was still. I wasn’t struggling. I was just looking down the way at Jesus.
Then I was back in the chapel again.
All I said in my mind was, “Okay. Okay.”
But my heart flooded with understanding.
Now. Don’t you go getting yourself into a tizzy about any of this. I'm a creative, not a self-proclaimed prophet. Some of us creatives think like this all the time. Our brains go in and out of stories, possibilities, images—in fact, many of us interpret whatever we’re hearing or feeling by painting an elaborate picture in our heads or on a canvas or through a story. Whenever Jo talks to me about something complicated, I have to repeat it back to him as an image. When I explain things in class, I explain them in pictures or stories. Everything is allegory. Just like me on the dirt road.
Do you ever have visions?
Do you ever dream dreams?
Sometimes, suddenly, I see my children grown, their feet reaching to the end of the bed, and my older self remembering them small. The older me looks back at the present me and thinks, “One more hug.” And then the present me who still has the little kid hugs available starts crying on behalf of the older me.
I was at the top of a really high staircase one time in Scotland, looking down over the little town below with its pretty bridges and river and crooked pathways, and suddenly, I was eighty years old, thanking my younger self for stopping there on that top step and breathing every bit of that scene in, for wasting the money to get there, for going to the trouble of climbing the staircase, for building up memories for the quiet years when I can’t make many anymore.
There have been lots of moments like that. Are they visions? I think they might just be part of the human mind processing time, space, and the mystery of existence.
Like this morning, when I was sitting on the back row in the seminary chapel. Someone was speaking. Another person was preparing to sing. Nothing stood out as different from the expected routine.
It had already been a long day. It’s possible I could have started to nod off a little during a quieter part of the service, but I don’t remember my head falling.
What I do remember is leaving the room for half a second. I saw a scene of myself, standing on a dirt road. There was no vegetation anywhere. Just a road and desert wilderness on every side. Ahead of that me on the road, was Jesus.
Except for I couldn’t move toward him because deep within my back were three large hooks, each big enough to catch some large ocean monster. Connected to the hooks were chains as big around as tree limbs. The chains were taut, perfectly horizontal with the ground, and they stretched behind me so far down the road that they got smaller and smaller until they were completely out of sight, attached somewhere far in the past. Though the hooks looked heavy, the wounds in my back weren’t fresh. My body had grown in around them, like the trunk of a tree will do to a section of barbed wire fence. Everything was still. I wasn’t struggling. I was just looking down the way at Jesus.
Then I was back in the chapel again.
All I said in my mind was, “Okay. Okay.”
But my heart flooded with understanding.
Now. Don’t you go getting yourself into a tizzy about any of this. I'm a creative, not a self-proclaimed prophet. Some of us creatives think like this all the time. Our brains go in and out of stories, possibilities, images—in fact, many of us interpret whatever we’re hearing or feeling by painting an elaborate picture in our heads or on a canvas or through a story. Whenever Jo talks to me about something complicated, I have to repeat it back to him as an image. When I explain things in class, I explain them in pictures or stories. Everything is allegory. Just like me on the dirt road.
What’s different about explaining something in class and having a little bit of a vision, for lack of a less crazy word, is that nothing seems to prompt it. It just appears there, uninvited. Could mean nothing. Could mean everything. Could be a remnant of some forgotten piece of a poem, some corner of a painting once seen in a museum, an abundant lack of sleep, or, as Scrooge so wisely put it, “a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato.”
As a person with lifelong stomach problems, I can tell you, it's usually the cheese.
But in case it’s not, I always try to have a little think about the image and see what I can discover. I didn’t have to think hard about this one. It’s probably obvious to you, too: Things are holding me back. It’s not that I'm not on the path, not facing the right direction, not in the presence of the God that I believe in. I'm just...held back.
“Holding you back from what?” you may ask. "Where are you supposed to be moving to, exactly?"
Heaven. In The Great Divorce sense of the word, I mean. A great allegory! Remember when the narrator discovers that, "to those who stay here, it will have been Heaven from the first...but to those who remain there they will have been [in] Hell even from the beginning." That's the kind of thing I'm going for in life--that following the example Jesus lived is the way to live like we're in heaven already. Practically speaking, I'm talking about kindness being my vibe. I mean peace in one’s heart for having done right by the people, places, and things one is privileged enough to be involved with. I mean loving your neighbor (and therefore God).
As a person with lifelong stomach problems, I can tell you, it's usually the cheese.
But in case it’s not, I always try to have a little think about the image and see what I can discover. I didn’t have to think hard about this one. It’s probably obvious to you, too: Things are holding me back. It’s not that I'm not on the path, not facing the right direction, not in the presence of the God that I believe in. I'm just...held back.
“Holding you back from what?” you may ask. "Where are you supposed to be moving to, exactly?"
Heaven. In The Great Divorce sense of the word, I mean. A great allegory! Remember when the narrator discovers that, "to those who stay here, it will have been Heaven from the first...but to those who remain there they will have been [in] Hell even from the beginning." That's the kind of thing I'm going for in life--that following the example Jesus lived is the way to live like we're in heaven already. Practically speaking, I'm talking about kindness being my vibe. I mean peace in one’s heart for having done right by the people, places, and things one is privileged enough to be involved with. I mean loving your neighbor (and therefore God).
There’s another quote I saw recently that was attributed to C.S. Lewis. I can’t find the original text, so I'll have to check when I get my hands on a book of his letters. But the quote inspired me nonetheless: “When I have learned to love God better than my earthly dearest, I shall love my earthly dearest better than I do now.” It sounds like a giving up, but it isn't. That's not the right interpretation. That's only the interpretation if you think "love God" means turn your back on all the responsibilities, opportunities, skills, and gifts in your life. It doesn't. Love God does not mean that. It means love your neighbor. Serve your neighbor. Serve your community. Help the down and out. That's the physical manifestation of loving God. So that's why the quote is so great, because both sides are talking about the exact same action, not a cause and effect relationship.
But perhaps there is another kind of earthly dearest that isn't to do with the quote. Because my earthly dearest aren't just my kids, my family, my job, and my community. The phrase also brings to mind the concept of: whatever has mastery over you. Whatever you give allegiance to through your actions. I don't mean your health or your family or just normal stuff that needs time and care. I mean the thing you bow to. The thing I bow to. The thing that gets first consideration when I decide how to behave in any given situation. My other earthly dearest. The ones that hook me. The ones that I sometimes willingly choose to remain hooked to in spite of their poisons.
I think that God and I, in some aspects of life, are at a sort of stalemate until I deal with those. And I believe that’s what the image was about, whether it was simply my brain’s way of putting a picture to recent inner struggles, a real message from beyond, or a mix of both. And in all absolute honesty, I think this can apply to anyone, whether they are a believer or not, if they want to live a better life. I call a better life loving God. But letting go of our comfort poisons is just good medicine in general.
So what are these chains, these hooks, these things with mastery over me? My guess is that the strongest fetter is fear. It's a bit like poor Much-Afraid in the old classic, Hinds' Feet on High Places. Sometime, I’ll write about fear and how it grips even my smallest habits and superstitions, but for now, just believe me. It’s a heavy hook set deep in the bone. Removal is bound to hurt.
So what are these chains, these hooks, these things with mastery over me? My guess is that the strongest fetter is fear. It's a bit like poor Much-Afraid in the old classic, Hinds' Feet on High Places. Sometime, I’ll write about fear and how it grips even my smallest habits and superstitions, but for now, just believe me. It’s a heavy hook set deep in the bone. Removal is bound to hurt.
The second is pride & prejudice. I have a deep need to be admired and loved, but no matter how much admiration or love I receive from others, I never believe it because of my own prejudice toward myself. But it's a fickle fetter that's already beginning to develop holes and chips. I think it may not last much longer, or maybe I'll soon be able to walk forward and drag whatever remnants of it keep it hanging there in my spine. Being cared about, encouraged, and built up by so many kind people has weakened it significantly.
The third is melancholia. Within every scared animal that struggles to absorb love, you can find a series of switches in a master fuse box at the end of a dim hallway deep within the mind. If certain things happen in their life, the breaker can be blown, and the whole place goes dark. There is a sense that this hook will always remain, but I can walk forward when the chain has been retracted for a time, and I know ways to keep it at bay if I'm diligent.
The third is melancholia. Within every scared animal that struggles to absorb love, you can find a series of switches in a master fuse box at the end of a dim hallway deep within the mind. If certain things happen in their life, the breaker can be blown, and the whole place goes dark. There is a sense that this hook will always remain, but I can walk forward when the chain has been retracted for a time, and I know ways to keep it at bay if I'm diligent.
When I caught my breath, I stood up for the next song. We all walked to the front and someone placed oil on my forehead in the shape of a cross and prayed a blessing. We took communion. We received the benediction. Then I drove home from school, pondering all those things in my heart.
Fear itself stops me. The threat of that breaker tripping stops me. The thought that I'm kidding myself that I count for anything--stops me. But occasionally, the veil opens, and seasons change, and heaven seems really possible.
Sometimes I have visions. Sometimes, I dream dreams.
