The Art Department

Dreams :   April 15, 2007

In a drab little office suite, two guys who run a college art program are complaining to me. They say their department has been pretty uninspired for quite some time now, and they’re wondering how to reinvigorate their program. I find the question exciting, and say, “Here’s what you do: Get a grant to travel and study other art programs. Pick the top ten departments that interest you, and go get paid to find out what they are doing!

They seem to like the idea, and one guy says he really ought to revive his own personal practice, and do at least a drawing a day, so as to appear credible when meeting the pros. I agree, and suddenly have an idea which feels even more exciting. I say, “And while you’re at it, why not examine the originality vacuum in student art?” They don’t see my point right away, and ask me to explain my meaning. I say I’ve always observed that most student work is derivative or trendy, as if they are copying something they saw which they think is cool. Why don’t we find out why students aren’t doing their own work, and what can be done to encourage originality? My idea is that if they could do this, their department would be hot.

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The Tree

Dreams :   April 14, 2007

I am walking on a country road, with my father a short distance behind me and my brother a little ahead. On the right, I see a tree which quickly becomes an overwhelming vision. Its leaves are large and thick; a glossy dark green, and its sinuous white trunk and branches gleam with an almost supernatural light against a sky of profound blue. I note that I haven’t seen the sky so blue, the light so compelling, or breathed air so fresh, sweet and crystal clear in what feels like ages. In the center of the tree, a number of slim branches shoot straight up, and their leaves are a bright golden yellow, as if presaging autumn. They resemble a bright beam pointing straight up against the solid blue. I am struck through with the transcendent beauty of the scene, and call out, first to my father and then to my brother, needing them to notice, needing to share this moment with them, but they do not seem to hear me. They do not answer, appearing lost in their own perspectives. I am alone with this vision. A short distance ahead, I see another such tree.

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Loma Prieta

Dreams :   February 7, 2007

I am visiting a beautiful and unusual family home, having a great time with several very intelligent pre-teen kids, when I get a telepathic “phone call” from their parents, whose house this is. The parents have some very helpful information for me regarding my search for a true home. The Dad mentions some far-flung locations, among them Greece, and I realize I would go to the ends of the earth for the right situation. Apparently, there are people who are looking for the right kind of person to take care of some pretty wonderful spots, naturally sacred and powerful places like canyons, waterfalls, springs, vales, arroyos, and the like. There is the sudden insight that this could happen easily, and sooner than I imagined. I reply that I am looking for that one-in-a-million place, and he says, “Good.”

The children and I are standing in front of a long dark glass wall during this conversation. Romantic music is emanating from behind the wall, and dim, colored forms shift vaguely in its reflective surface. I exclaim, “What wonderful music!” One of the little boys (there are 2 boys and a girl, I think) says it’s too fuddy-duddy. I say he’ll understand when he’s older. He doesn’t think so, and I say, “Just remember I said that!”

Then Mom and Dad come home. They are a handsome, well-dressed couple in the prime of life. I know them; we have met before in this dimension. I feel that they are guides of mine. I am sitting in a big, deep easy chair, and they bring in an armful of folded maps, handing them to me. I skip the first two as they don’t seem immediately relevant, then notice the third one is marked “Loma Prieta,” in big hand-printing.

Loma Prieta

The kids are playing with me. A boy’s voice is coming from a high tech chair facing me, but I can’t see him. He is actually around the corner out of sight, projected by technology. A lot of information is coming, and I am getting flustered and overwhelmed by my great good fortune. I have never before been so open to wonderful possibilities, and it isn’t easy to keep my balance. The other brother says, “Oh, Gary, just let go!”

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Pretty Scary

Dreams :   December 31, 2006

I am hanging out quite comfortably with my father, enjoying some friendly moments, when I recall that he is dead, and therefore I am dreaming. I find it fascinating that his presence is so undeniably real. This is my Daddy, for sure. Affectionately, I reach out and put my arm around his back. I then turn to face him saying, “Daddy, we are here together, and I am looking right into your eyes. Do you know that you are dead?”

I had thought to learn something of the Spirit World. By his reaction, I can see my question has reached him somewhat abstractly, as if it’s a little unsettling or distracting, but doesn’t mean to him what it means to me. It is as if he hadn’t quite thought of it in that way. He says nothing, but as if in answer, he leads me down a small dingy hallway into a cluttered storage room, and rummages among a jumble of dusty objects on a table, extracting a tray which he hands to me.

On the tray lie the breathtakingly fragile remains of his parents; two tiny skeletons reduced to miniature size by the intense heat of the crematory kiln. They are so fragile that I fear they could crumble to dust or blow away if I breathe on them, yet he hands me the tray with a brusque, almost careless gesture which only underscores the terrible delicacy of its contents.

I recall that his mother died when he was barely a man, while his father died much later, when he was middle-aged, so the sight of them lying together here underscores that we are in another dimension where time and space behave differently. I have a wide-ranging reaction to his offering, including strong fear, yet somehow fear is not the main thing here. I hold the tray for some moments, saying, “Pretty scary, huh?” He doesn’t offer to take it back, so I carefully replace it on the table as he walks off into the shadows.

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Solid Gold

Dreams :   October 16, 2006

Preface: I haven’t posted many dreams in the second half of 2006 so far, for these reasons:

1. I have been undergoing a most thorough process of personal transformation, and have had all I can handle just making it through my demanding work week. The good news is this particular job will end soon, and new, greener horizons are calling. I am beginning to see the results of a lot of hard work.

2. My dreams have been changing. It’s not that I don’t remember them, but I am getting adjusted to dealing with the new material, a substantial percentage of which has been pretty alarming, and the remainder of which is pretty slippery and elusive. But don’t worry, dear readers, I am in better shape than ever before.

But, no more excuses. Dream Departure is back:

I am visiting a farm which feels like a garden. It is huge and immaculately tended. No livestock here, only plants, an amazing variety of beautiful, vigorous plants. The energy of health and harmony vibrates through the surroundings. I can feel this energy in my cells, as my physical and psychic systems respond to this wonderful environment. It seems natural and unsurprising that I float upward, as if the redolent atmosphere has become my bed and transport. I am awash in heavenly music.

Then, I am getting ready to attend a big party. Usually, I am a stay-at-home kind of guy, but I am really looking forward to this event. I pass a large mirror in the hall on the way out, and get a glimpse of my costume: My outfit is solid gold. I look like a Sun King.

Normally, I don’t like to call attention to myself, but I am really looking forward to appearing in this eye-grabbing getup. On the way in to the party, everyone is passing an espresso stand and ordering coffee. Soon, it is my turn, and I reflect that I don’t need the buzz: I am already plenty awake and feeling fine. I decide to order, anyway, as everyone else is doing it. This becomes a problem, as the method of ordering is to speak into a screen, in answer to a little voice. I can’t understand the instructions, and ask for them to be repeated. Now, I don’t feel so perfect, but I am not going to let this stop me.

Then, I am standing before a large picture window, which looks rather like an aquarium, even though there is air, not water, on the other side. A most peculiar and funny little man swims up and sings a very entertaining song about a whale. His voice is deep for one so small. I marvel at his humor, inventiveness and spontaneity. Eventually, I feel compelled to ask him how he does it. Almost immediately, I feel embarrassed, and apologize for asking. Enjoying creativity is more important than explaining it.

Then, I am in a field and a lion appears. The lion is rampant, standing on his hind legs like a human. He faces me and gazes into my eyes, as his long, improbably soft and wavy mane floats on the slight breeze in the brilliant sunlight. I am struck to the core with the majesty of this vision, also aware of the danger of being so near to a lion. It occurs to me to thank the lion for his recognition, and I do so, but the lion keeps on coming closer. I am afraid, and wake up.

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The Dawn of Now

Dreams :   August 27, 2006

I am in an unknown city and need to get home, so I rent a car and start driving at twilight, feeling somewhat urgent and pressured. I miss a turn, but am still sure of the general direction, so I set out across a rural area trying to reconnect with the highway. The road is just a narrow dirt lane, and darkness is falling as I approach some country houses. There is a lapse of time & consciousness, and I awaken in the car at dawn, with first light spreading across the sky. It seems that the road came to a dead end between a house & barn, and I have slept in the car, which is now pointed back the way I came. I start driving again. All sense of urgency is gone, and I don’t care if I have to pay for more time on the car. I am going to take my time and be where I am.

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A Very High Place

Dreams :   June 12, 2006

I am spending some time with a spiritually awakened family at their home in the mountains, aware that I am dreaming. After a lengthy visit, with several scenes, I “wake up” in the dream to find I am still at their house! It is high in the mountains, and there is still a little snow at this time of year. The air is wonderful; cool, crisp and full of oxygen. I think I could come to love this climate.

I can’t get over my amazement about waking up and still being in the place of the dream. I say to the man of the house, “Last night, I dreamed I was here with you, and this morning, I woke up here!” My attempt to engage him in conversation fails. I try again and he ignores me. I persist, and he says, “Forget about it.” I insist on the question, and he finally says something which indicates that I ought to be less focused on my amazement and more focused on being here. He seems a little impatient with me. I immediately break off my questioning, embarrassed that I forgot again, saying something like, “Of course!” As if to counterbalance his abruptness, the woman gives me a sweet smile and says, “This is a very high place.” I know she has used “High” in the metaphysical sense, like exalted.

I look out at the view, and it is indeed high in the physical sense as well, right up in some mountain peaks. I am startled to see blue and red rocks dotting the white snow, then see they are part of an american flag design that encompasses the nearby cirque. I find myself wishing the landscape could have been left alone, as I am not proud of my country’s behavior these days, and I marvel that this house of spirit exists so near to the patriotic imagery.

Then, feeling ready to go home, I am attempting to round up my stuff when I discover another amazement: In a VW bus outside, there are things of mine from another time. I have been here before! I am thinking I am very far from home, and wondering how I will get back. (I am completely sure that I am awake somewhere in the Rocky Mountains.) It occurs to me that, if I ask, maybe God will help me, and at that instant, I wake up in my bed at home: The simple act of awakening now feels miraculous.

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All the Same – No Difference

Dreams :   May 12, 2006

I find myself in a room which is neither large nor small, neither attractive nor unattractive, neither interesting nor uninteresting, neither comfortable nor uncomfortable. The ceiling is high, the walls are lined with books, and there is a long, bare table in the middle. I am vaguely aware that this is a library, but the lighting is dim, there are no chairs, and I am certainly not in the mood for reading at the moment. It dawns on me that there appears to be no reason to linger here, and I spend some moments deciding whether to stay in this room or go somewhere else.

What makes me hesitate is a vague feeling that something is supposed to happen here, as if I have some kind of appointment which I will miss if I leave. This process of vacillation causes me to remain in the room a little longer, and an older man enters. Something about his presence immediately gets my attention, and I know he is a guide. It is a quality of congruence. There are no contradictions in his being, and he acts directly from his core in the moment. He clearly has a mission and a message, but I am full of questions. I feel like this is my big chance to satisfy my curiosity, but he doesn’t seem interested, as if my questions are merely side tracks leading away from the moment.

I say, “Wait a minute! Just moments ago, I was alone here trying to decide whether to stay or go, and then you showed up. But it was only the vaguest awareness that made me stay!” I am fascinated by the idea that I could easily have missed this meeting. I want to know how all this stuff works. He appears uninterested in my questions, and simply stays on course, moving ahead with his purpose. I make another attempt: “Hold on a minute. Isn’t there a connection between the dead and the living, between this world and the spirit world?” Now I have gotten a reaction. He seems to show distaste for the term, “Spirit World.” It flickers momentarily across his face. Then he chooses his words carefully: “There is no difference.”

Instantly, I see what he means, and why my questions are irrelevant. Dead or alive, awake or asleep, we face the same challenge. It’s all the same, and there is nothing to do but awaken to the entire thing and deal with it directly. There is no explanation that will help, and no “Time Out.” I tell him I want to build a big live/work studio that I own. He takes my hand and we go flying through beautiful trees down a long, steep hillside in a wealthy part of Oakland. I am filled with inspiration about accepting the challenge of my life and living my purpose. As we fly through the trees, I notice the leaves turning colors, wonderful colors, lilac, orange and olive, dry and lacy against the pale autumn sky.

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The First Dream

Dreams :   May 2, 2006

This is one of the earliest dreams I still remember:

By the side of an asphalt highway, I see a motorcycle cop standing before his enormous Harley, which is leaning on its kick stand. He wears a somber midnight blue uniform and dark aviator sunglasses, with their visual hint of skull eyes. Without a word, he drops to one knee and picks up the edge of the road like one would lift the edge of a rug. Underneath the highway is a sea of blood in which human bones and dismembered body parts are floating.

Interpretation: I’m not sure exactly how old I was, but I am guessing 8 or 9, because the highway was not a huge freeway, but more like the 2 lane asphalt highways in Idaho that were my image of a major road in my childhood.

The imagery was beyond my grasp as a child. It just felt scary. It didn’t occur to me until much later that this was my first encounter with a guide who showed me a truth about this world: Our civilization and way of life is built on murder and corruption. The sunlit world of speed, convenience and ease has its price in blood and death.

I see a parallel between this figure and Buddha calling the earth to witness, though I am not sure why. Oddly enough, the pose was the same as the Great Goddess which I composed in 1987:

Guardian Initiatrix

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Too Impromptu

Dreams :   April 6, 2006

Alone at a public event in the fall, I am cruising the dessert table, & nothing looks very interesting.  I pick out a rather dry and uninspiring-looking piece of chocolate cake on a little pink paper plate, and am headed for a table to eat it when I hear a woman’s voice introducing me over the public address system.  In an instant, I flip from seeing myself as an anonymous audience member to the sudden realization that everyone has come to hear me speak, and I am on!

I set my cake down on a table, and head for the podium, arriving just as the host finishes introducing me as, “Gary Politzer, Fine Artist.”  I am worried because I haven’t prepared anything, but figure I can find something to say, at any rate.  All eyes are on me as I step to the lectern.  I begin by echoing the introduction, “Hello everyone, my name is Gary Politzer and I am an artist.  This is the first time I’ve done anything like this.” I know it isn’t exactly true, but am using this white lie to buy time, and to both cover up and justify my nervousness.  I can feel the crowd’s interest as a surge of energy directed at me when, to my astonishment, I find I have absolutely nothing to say.  Faced with the expectant hush of the audience, I feel only a silent vulnerability. I decide to walk out to meet them.  I pass through the audience, shaking hands and greeting people, looking into their eyes, and several say they are very happy to meet me.

Then, I am back at the podium with the host, and say to her that I was absolutely unprepared, although it didn’t seem to matter this time, as the crowd was happy with me anyway.  I say it’s a must to prepare for an event, kind of like getting ready for winter.  I reflect on the enormous difference between being ready vs. not being ready for winter, and how ancient peoples needed to make sure they would be warm, dry and well-provisioned.

The event is over, and I go back to the table looking for my cake, but a little kid has eaten it.  I can see where his little fingers have scooped up most of it.  I briefly consider eating the remainder, but it seems unsanitary and not worth it, and I wander off toward the exit alone.

Interpretation: The event in the fall refers to my coming relocation, which is about having a studio again, and moving into greater alignment with my purpose. My being unprepared for the speech suggests that I need to bring more of a conscious focus to my creative work. It is a good time to begin a deeper self-questioning about my art making. The presence of the little kid reminds me of my native spontaneity. Preparing for winter suggests that this is about making the most of the rest of my life.

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