This morning I finally went to a Quaker/Friends meeting nearby. Living around Philadelphia, I see their churches a lot. And being someone who has always admired the non-religious behaviors of the Amish and Mennonites I grew up around, Quakers have held a certain attraction for me. That and their focus on individual religious experience, which seems pretty Jungian, as well as their history with non-violence, breaking class barriers, and feminism, led me to finally bite and check out one of their services. And I am now a definite convert.
This was an unprogrammed service, which is what I was going for. I think of it as a second dreaming--a waking equivalent to the dreams I already analyze and write down. The hour long "service" felt like it was only twenty minutes, and when I was done I felt like I'd slept for two weeks. I've never been that refreshed in my life, and my hyper mind was able to think at a steady pace throughout the service, relaxing slightly but not too much. Focusing is the word. I've never been able to meditate in a way that blocks out thought, so this form of worship was really perfect for me. And I do mean worship, though I've spent the past 12 years or so as an atheist. Jung's equating the unconscious with God let me to prayer on my own terms, at home, which allowed for more communication within myself. The dreams increased and felt different. Taking this to a church was a logical extension. And this was the perfect church. I can see God and Christ as personal metaphors hear, instead of going through a routine of pew aerobics, wafers, guilt, and singing.
I also had a dream a year or two ago, when I was really feeling the physical pain I've described elsewhere. I drove an unknown woman (the Anima) in my car to a hospital. The hospital was a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, and it was night. I walked into the back of the farmhouse and down a red hall. On my right were some receptionists, who couldn't see me because I was behind them. On my left I found a room with an unwelcoming woman doing paperwork. She wouldn't speak. I looked at her and then left. I went downstairs and it was the basement at my mom's house. Some friends from high school were in military uniforms. I asked them how I could get help and they told me to go through the front door. With this knowledge I went outside to return to my car. I saw a dead rabbit on the ground, an image from The Wicker Man. The rabbit is said to contain the soul of a dead girl, living on in nature. I saw the Anima by the car, and she was on a laptop typing to friends by the side of the road. I knew she was fine, because I'd been told how to get help. As I walked across the grass I got the feeling that something important would happen, so I turned to my right. Behind the farmhouse, in an overgrown vacant lot, appeared a green glowing Quaker's ghost. He told me to not worry about the pleasures of the body. He gave me a lecture about how I was viewing myself in the wrong way. This is when I realized my trauma was psychological, and not physical in origin. The line about going through the front door also meant that I had to face my issues head on. Over time, as I learned to admit fears when I felt anxious, instead of burying them, my issues started to fade. And now I've found myself at a Quaker church, sort of taking the steps outlined symbolically in the dream. I didn't realize it until I drove home from the service. But it comforts me now.
