Swimming in the Night

A dream last night, of swimming. Was out in the large lake of childhood's summer cottage. And was swimming out far, in daylight, farther than ever had in those actual days. There was a huge net, and nothing could have gotten entangled in it, but saw it and stayed clear. It thought it should bring the net back to shore, as it could cause serious problems for motor boats, skiers, and those wanting to fish.

But nothing could not at all drag the nets in the water, while swimming. No energy, not the strength. Nets are deceptively heavy, even though this one had huge gaps, maybe six inches, in its netting. It was made of rope, though, and when wet (even when dry) is very heavy. It was a huge net.

Nothing could hear its dad speaking to it, and it was the talk of the dad when he was aged and of earth. It was when he was disengaging from earth, and the talk was that nonsensical talk of one who is detaching from one world and entering another. Nothing could see how silly, in a way, but a process, is that time for those whose minds are not totally with one world, slipping away, yet loving and forcing themselves to act interested in what is going on. This encounter had its good point.

There also was a woman who is very much in the temporal Protestant world, and she is very chatty. Very active. Wore out nothing all the more to listen and observe. (This scene was before swimming in the lake, however.) And nothing's attitude with the woman was of love and admiration, but it knew distinctly that it was not in this woman's world. Must not be. Not at all. Black and white definite.

Yes, nothing was swimming freely out into the deep waters. The net could have been quite a foil, but it wasn't. Nothing did not feel pain when swimming out there, but was refreshed and thankful. But it felt some responsibility to try to get the net back to shore. That is not for nothing to do, however. It will take someone from the land to come out and haul it back. Strong people of the land, of the temporal world. Maybe even a motor boat to help drag it through the waters, or several hands to pull it into a large boat. Nothing must keep swimming past the entanglements of that world. Continue out into the deep.

Awoke this morning with more pain again, and held the Rosary. The pain is that sickening pain that affects body and more. It is just in there. A relapse of sorts. What had nothing done? It had gone to Adoration, and that was like the swim in the lake. As nothing left the chapel, the one priest who was looking over something for nothing, followed it out and asked if nothing had been expecting a phone call. Nothing had stopped expecting a phone call, and didn't need an answer anymore. The answers were coming from within, or that without or wherever these kinds of answers derive. Yet nothing listened as he said he had felt God wanted him to wait to say anything. (And nothing had deduced this with the three it had called out to for answers, for help in whatever this is.) He asked some questions and got the gist. Nothing explained some. That was enough, and it was exhausting; that is why nothing is not going to go through the whole thing again with other priests.)

Part of this process is for that purpose. A detaching from much. And when one is called to detach, there is movement to something else that is not attached but is. God. This feels like a death if nothing views it as such, and has mentioned "dying." But now nothing sees it is a birth. And like the embryo that grows and comes to a point in which the mother can no longer carry it, the baby is naturally forced to be expelled. So this experience now, of nothing's and anyone's, is the pain of the infant being born, expelled from one womb and out into a world that is unknown.

The mother suffers, also, but is quite relieved and jubilant in the birth and baby. The baby is struggling to adapt.

Another image is that of getting ready to be born out of this world womb and into the next, or another, if one is still embodied. Such as the expulsion of one from the temporal Catholic world to the mystical Catholic world. Like the baby, perhaps the one felt it was content with its present womb world. But unbeknownst, it had grown, and the mother world's body is not able to carry it longer. So God's natural birthing process begins, and one way or another, that baby is out of that womb world and into another world.

If considering it as a death rather than a birth, the levels of grieving can set in. Nothing has sensed a touch of anger or resistance in leaving the TCW to what it now sees more clearly. When it does not struggle or look back to shore, it does far better, and the pain seems to ease. It can breathe easier. All is open before it. No entangling nets, and if there are, it sees them, clearly. All is clear.

That is what it told the confessor the other morning, that everything is becoming quite clear. He wanted to know what. Nothing just said some things are, and tossed out a couple of vague categories. No, it isn't that nothing sees clearly into particular lives of others; it has no interest in that mucky yuck. It sees souls, but it isn't interested in anything that is not what God wants it to see. So, don't worry--nothing does not want to see any more into the nets and feel as if it must untangle them or drag them ashore to the TCW.

There is a kind of frustration, though, and maybe a bit of an edgy snap, to the letting go of the ropes. Nets can be protective, also, as in safety nets. But these were not buoy lines; they were nets floating under the surface and loosely extending down, then up, and would entangle, not taut. That is how the nets of the world usually are, and souls don't take them very seriously.

Come to think of it, nothing never saw itself swimming back to shore. It is still out there, and so will re-enter that lake and continue swimming out into the deep, freely.

As for writing blogs, it has (thanks to someone who wrote and expressed in a word or two what nothing was struggling to express in many) realized that it cannot and will not write blogs that are facades of its soul life. But there is yet discernment in God's will, for to reveal one's soul life and experiences exposes that intimacy of the soul in God.

And there comes a time when even writing can be like the nets wafting under water, for while not like a harpoon in doing violence, they can become a snare and suck a soul down and away from freely swimming out into the new sphere of fresh water and air.

Nothing has detached from some major aspects of the TCW and now must not struggle against unknown-yet aspects of the MCW. That means possibly relinquishing some remaining minor involvements in the TCW, good as they are, as there are many others in the TCW who can do these things as well or better. That is their world, where they are willed by God to be, thanks be to God. It is ever so necessary, the TCW. And souls can be very deep in the TCW, very deep, and that is good, but it is just different than the MCW. It is just different. And if one is born out of that world into another, it is certain death to mother and babe to remain in the womb beyond one's gestation period.

When out in the deep waters of where God wants the soul to be, one must swim embryonically alone and watch out for nets that hinder its movement.