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Author Topic: Damaged with little chance of Healing  (Read 2706 times)

horizen

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Damaged with little chance of Healing
« on: June 13, 2012, 02:54:21 AM »
After praying for God's help to heal and overcome trauma's which have broken me and kept me stuck, I recieved this dream:
I'm in a place I haven't been in a long, long time.  It's my childhood bedroom.  I see my young hand. Suddenly it is pierced by a long sharp needle-like silver object.  It goes all the way through my finger.  A sharp, deep, intense pain.  Initially, I'd thought it was just a needle, and would only pierce the top layers of my skin but it went all the way through and out the other side of my finger.  I didn't intitally realize a needle could be used in such a dangerous, harmful way.  I removed it.  However, this is when I realize just how deep the stab was.  Once I removed it I saw that my finger was completely sliced through so that it had cut off the top portion of my finger.  Completely unattached.  Totally severed.  I tried to place it back on, joining it back to my finger, but it was a superficial "keeping it together."  It was for appearances only so it could look like I had a whole finger and a "normal" hand.  The truth was they were no longer attached.  The truth was I had half a finger.  I was amputated. A clear severing, not even dangling by a thread.  No fibers were attached.  Part of my hand was completely cut off from itself.   Yet I put the top of my finger back onto the rest of the finger from which it had been severed and willed, prayed for it to gel and reattached somehow.  But it just wasn't working.  Not even on a minute cellular level.  No physical healing. No magical healing.  The parts of my hand were not reuniting.  I asked God, or whatever higher presense was there with me "What can be done to get this healed?  I can't just leave it like this. Tell me what to do, who to go to for help. There must be a specialist, a surgeon with the skills to heal this?"
I can't be expected to continue to go through the rest of my life carrying around a raw peice of meat and passing it off as my finger.  Or worse, walking around with no finger, just a bloody stub.  I've been at this for years, surely something can be done, if not medicine, then prayer, help from above if no help is to be found on earth.  The answer I received was an unsatisfying and unconvincing "Maybe with time it will heal."
Although I am dreaming I know this dream is an answer to my prayer, an answer to my call for help in healing damage from years of abuse and conditioning, a sort of brainwashing.  It was very unsatisfying to hear "maybe" it will heal with time.  When I'd already been languishing unhealed for years.  I was very clear in my prayer.  If there was something I could do to move on from it, if there was anything that could be done on this earth, and if not then an appeal to spiritual help.  The answer was there was nothing I could do, nor any other person, nor even God.  Just wait some more, and MAYBE time will heal it.  Since this voice was from higher source, it was disheartening.  I took it to mean I am meant to go through life damaged.  Like it's my life contract to simply live with crippling damage. 
The dream so accurately reflected back to me my real life situation:  being damaged, then separated from myself spirutally, personality-wise, no longer whole; and my masking this damage (placing the severed half of my finger back onto it's other half, tying it together, gluing it together...all superficial, for appearances only. Once I stopped holding them together they fell apart).  In life, I hide my damage.  If all the preceeding aspects of the dream were true to form, then why not the words from above?  In other words, there's nothing that can be done about the damage.  There's iffy chance I'll ever be whole again, but maybe with time, maybe there's a chance it will heal with time.  I've had plenty of time.  Time seems so passive, so ...out of my hands.  So disempowering.  Yet I asked for the answer to my question and I received it.

horizen

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Re: Damaged with little chance of Healing
« Reply #1 on: June 13, 2012, 03:35:42 AM »
I should note that hands (and fingers) symbolize to me the tools and means with which we get through life.  It is with our hands that we work, heal, write, do any number of activities that most of us take for granted if we have whole working hands.  We use our hands to feed ourselves, dress ourselves, garden, to reach out to others, to hold hands.  Our hands are invaluable for us to get through life.  Without them we will have a tough time indeed.  This is what hands represent to me; they are the means through which we achieve things.  Hands heal, kill, comfort, hands work, pray etc.  Hands represent activity and a means through which we achieve things, do things on so many levels.  My severed finger felt to me like a loss of ability to do all those things.  It felt like a crippling, an inability to actively get through life because I don't have the tools (hands) to take action.  As if my abilities were cut off just as thoroughly as my hand was.  A non functioning hand meant a non functioning life.  A superficial life where I can only make it appear for appearances sake as though I was normal.  Hence my attempts to place my severed fingertop back onto it's counterpart.  But it wouldn't stay, it wasn't real.  Appearances aside, I am damaged, cut off, not whole, with little hope of ever being so.

Tony Crisp

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Re: Damaged with little chance of Healing
« Reply #2 on: June 13, 2012, 10:08:24 AM »
Dear Horizen – I wish I had a truly magical way of communicating something that appears so easy when it happens and you are healed, but it impossible to describe unless it is experienced.

You are obviously getting near to healing – Yes, maybe time will and can heal. But let me communicate something – at least I will try.

The first time I was trying to find healing/God was as follows, and it came soon after seeling help form dreams.

I had a dream that has been my teacher ever since. In it I was on moorland with my dog, and was leading a group of people in our common search for God. I didn’t know where this search should take us, but was walking along hoping to find the way. We came to a barbed wire fence, and on the other side a rabbit sat. I immediately sent my dog after it, as in the other dreams, to catch it. But as my dog caught it the rabbit bit him and he stood back respectfully. Now instead of a rabbit what confronted me was a magnificent hare, pink in colour. It looked straight at me and spoke, asking me where I was going. I said we were looking for God. The hare said that it would be best if I returned to my home and got on with everyday life. This really enraged me. I had read so many books each authoritatively saying what the real truth was about finding spiritual awareness, but each different to the other, or criticising the other. So I said angrily that the hare was just another of these damned authorities telling me what to do.

The hare looked at me for a moment then completely disappeared. After about five seconds it reappeared. I felt it had done this to show me that it had full control over itself, and in fact I was deeply impressed, accepting it as a master. It then said very gently something like, “What you are looking for is yourself. You cannot find this by a frantic search. You can only find it by allowing yourself to grow. Then what you seek will emerge into your experience. Do this in your everyday life”.

This seemed like smack in the face, after I was spending hours each day meditating and trying all I could to grow, to say just get on with your daily life. It was terrible to learn to drop all the ‘disciplines’ I was using. It took me years. Then after that period when I was in torturous pain I had another dream. This pain I had been working on for years without result.

I dreamt I was up a very large tree in the grounds of a university. A great branch ran out over the grounds and a car park. I was at the end of this branch with a bag in my left hand and a woman’s head in my right. The head was dismembered and skinned. The bag held the rest of the dismembered body.

I threw the head down in front of a man walking across the car park. He was an intelligent, respectable, schoolteacher or professor type. He was very shocked and poked at the head. At first he thought it was plastic, but then he saw the reality of it. An eye came out, then the brains. He realised the thing he had been holding at bay - this must mean a murder had taken place. He went off to call the police. I began to work my way back along the branch, feeling there was no way of tracing the head to me. But I realised that each move was leaving clues, everything I had done had left traces to my involvement.

I explored this dream with two members of a dream group I had led. At first I couldn’t get into it deeply. I felt a fear when I thought of the police coming to investigate the crime. In short I felt guilty. Then I went through the track of leaving my wife - staying with my wife - going away - back to the beginning - conflict. No way out!

Then I looked at the head. Wendy had been saying I was a masochistic. I just felt such labels didn’t help. Love was like breathing. I couldn’t, didn’t want to stop loving either my children or my wife. As long as I could, I would suffer the pain the conflict produced.

I had a strong fantasy of the head coming alive it was me and what I had done to myself, torn my body and head apart trying to find a solution. Then I saw flesh on its cheeks. Then it was like a native mask made of various things, and feathers. The feathers predominated in the fantasy. The mask kept breaking up, leaving only a few feathers, as if it or I were all nothing. I remember saying - “There is not even a mask, it’s just a few feathers!”

With enormous certainty I realised that there was no cure for my sickness and I had struggled in vain. It was a tremendous blow - and I gave up. I mean I gave up hope, everything.

Then it was one feather tied to a twig by piece of wool, blowing in the wind – a feather blowing in the wind. This was very stable and persistent in the fantasy. Everything resolved back to the feather blowing in the wind. It seemed like a Red Indian symbol, perhaps tied to the suspended body of the dead, but I could not understand.

Then it came to me that I had to listen in deep stillness - not think, not seek to understand, not struggle, just listen. My whole being entered into silence, gently listening as one might listen to the rain falling on a lake. Then suddenly it was known - the feather blowing in the wind - the sound of one hand clapping - the essence of human existence. Open against the sky - emptiness - enormity. I was healed.

The only thing I can see as the turning point is complete surrender, a total giving up. Then it was like an experience of enlightenment.

So maybe if you realise that time will heal and surrender to what occurs in your life – maybe?

Tony