My husband called from Arizona, where he was at an art show, to tell me about his dream.
“I was in a tiny bed,” he said. “It was uncomfortable and I was struggling to sleep. Someone came along and said, ‘You can have a bigger bed or you can have a softer bed. But you can’t have both.'”
I had just pulled in to Enterprise Park to walk my dogs, Theo and Jada. Already there was tremendous pre-walk canine joy, so I couldn’t sit in the car and talk about the dream. But questions hung in the air: Who was the “someone” who gave my husband the ultimatum? Was it his subconscious? His superego? Was it a message from beyond? Did it even matter, or was it just worthless dream chatter?
I thought about guru Eckhart Tolle’s blockbuster moment of realization when, depressed and thinking, “I can’t live with myself any longer,” it came to him that “I” and “myself” were not one and the same – that our thoughts are nothing more than transparent overlays, underneath which lies – us.
The first time I read this, it brought to mind my sister’s old biology book that detailed, in vibrant color and on clear transparent film, the circulatory system of the frog. You could lift up the film and study the frog’s heart and veins apart from the rest of his body, or you could lay the page over the outline of the frog and see how it all fit in. Recalling this multi-layered frog made visible for me the idea of thoughts superimposed on our “real” self. Still, I’m the first to admit I hardly know myself without my ruminations.