The Tibetan nuns looked like rock stars
The latest consensus on dreams is that they do not foretell the future. Nor should we read too much into them by contriving interpretations which are themselves subject to subconscious and unconscious forces. As suggested by Sigmund Freud, some dreams may indeed be the product of subconscious wishes repressed during waking life, especially prurient wishes. I cannot comment from experience on the sexual implications of dreamed symbols because my erotic dreams have always been vividly pornogaphic - no symbols required. I can say I have never had a bad dream during good times. I have had good dreams during times of great physical or emotional stress. For instance, after I injured my hamstrings during my dancing days, I dreamed I was doing the splits with great pleasure; I awoke, however, in excruciating pain.
I had a wonderful Tibetan dream this morning; it was perhaps the result of considerable economic stress. I believe psychologists should treat symptoms associated with a neurosis I call econophobia - the fear of going broke. Alas, there is no such thing in their nosology.
If I do not find some income right away, I will wind up flat broke on the streets of Miami. Those streets are awfully mean to indigent people; despite the warm weather interrupted by devastating hurricanes, Miami is the last place one would want to go broke. Of course its downtown skyscrapers are quite lovely framed in blue, but the metropolis is a virtual Third World city, recently the poorest city with a population over 100,000 in the United States. Given the self-serving attitude of its power elite and nearly a million emulators towards the poor, residents are faced with the threat of what might happen to them if they lose their jobs or don''t get one. It is a pathetic sight to behold, the sight of dire poverty, mental illness, and physical disease upon which tourists frequently remark. Thus one has an incentive to work and to work cheaply if one must.
Fortunately, I had an interview in Opa-locka last Friday. I had heard even more bad things about that hood after I noticed the news about Malanise ''Neenee'' Malone, the little girl who was shot in the head while her mother was trying to flee the latest gun battle. The cops were allegedly called several times but were retarded for the usual reasons including the corruption of a few bad apples in the police department and the fact that the criminals are often better armed than they are. I took the two busses out there for the interview - little did I know I would eventually wind up in the Tibet in my dreams. Along the bus route I noticed that almost all the small and generally well kept houses had bars in every window.
I don''t know why, but I was terribly saddened by the sight of those bars; tears came to my eyes. People must lock themselves in jail while the criminals run free outside, I thought. I fancied I felt very sorry for them; but maybe I felt sorry for myself over the thought that this is where I might wind up and perhaps work myself to death after having led a relatively comfortable life over the last ten years - especially in Hawaii.
As luck would have it, there was a bus stop in front of the Section 8 housing complex where I had the appointment my interview. The apartment building looked normal except it was surrounded by a high iron-bar fence. A prison, I thought. Those who obey the law get to lock themselves in at night; just as, during the Great Depression, jails and prisons used to take in the indigent for the night. That''s not a bad idea, for who wants to struggle for survival on the streets of the concrete jungle?
Pam interviewed me. Her dad had left the family a few properties, this particular property being the main asset. She''s tough and realistic but is a gentle woman as well, I concluded after a few moments. I liked her northern-Florida Southern accent and could see the little girl in her. She''d been married twice, I surmised from her monologue, and had worked several jobs. She had worked for her dad, and for an airline, and had managed a trailer park and so on until she returned to her father''s business. He left her with plenty of hard work when he died - I didn''t ask if the trust precluded liquidating the properties.
There had not been much red tape with Section 8 Housing in the beginning, Pam said, but now it was an enormous tangled mass. She described a few of the complex regulations and related routines. I wondered how she managed to comply with them as well as chase down tenants for rent, keep the drug dealers off the property, do a lot of bookkeeping, take regulations home with her to study, and not go completely mad. But she was an organizer and had reduced it all to routine - but there was never a dull moment, she said. I supposed I could do the same and perhaps save everyone some time since I am a compulsive organizer myself. As for complexity, some readers say my writing is so complex they can''t figure it out although they are sure it makes good sense, so I knew I would have no trouble picking up on the paper shuffle and making a convincing presentation.
The apartment building was quiet. It was morning so the kids were off to school, said Pam - it would be noisy enough on their return. The drugs dealers would wake up later on and lurk around outside the gate because the women inside had mothered their babies. One must not let the druggies in because they want to take over the place and run it, she explained. It was an ongoing, daily struggle. I would work in a smallish office with people constantly coming in and out; but I would apparently have the grand desk - it looked somewhat like a ship berthed in the studio-apartment-sized office-dock. Okay, I have worked in trailers, so no problem. But they don''t do coffee; that''s a drag because it is the only drug I do, and I love to stay hopped up until noon or so.
As for security, don''t worry, for I''ll be inside. Girls work in the office and there has been no problem. Yes, on rare occasions guns might be fired and choppers might hover overhead, but not to worry, said Pam, because she has connections in the police department and they will send someone over in a half hour to forty-five minutes, to escort employees out of the hood. By the way, she had actually lived on the property with her mom for several years; but managers may no longer be residents - it is just too much hassle day and night.
I told Pam I would think about it over the weekend and get back to her. She would be interviewing other people for the job - I had no doubt but that I was the best candidate - maybe I am overly vain, but I think not. If I wanted the job, I would have to come out for a second interview, she said. I thought it was the perfect job for me except for the fact that I might have to ride the bus up to four hours a day. Yeah, I could keep myself occupied during the commute, but I would rather keep the time down to an hour.
Incidentally, there was an incident when I boarded the second bus on my first trip to Opa-locka. A crack dealer reeking of alcohol got off the bus at the Omni station as we boarded. He was on his way to criminal court, he said, and asked for a smoke. When he received a firm ''No'' for an answer, he freaked out and waved a handful of money to prove he wasn''t a bum. Screaming curses, jumping up and down like a jumping jack, he threatened to beat the man who said "no" up, saying he had nothing to lose. I said the judge might have a time-share deal for him. Others scoffed at him, saying he was "all talk".
No doubt I could find a job closer in, but maybe not in time to save myself from sleeping on the street. Of course the predicament is my fault if there is no such thing as providence or fate. I had plenty of time to begin with, and I waited too long to begin my search. You see, I was compulsively writing - that''s what I do. I mulled over the possibility on the weekend, of taking the job if it were offered; I figured it would be. I mulled over the alternatives. The circumstances were dire.
I asked Mr. Ching for advice - I call the I Ching (Book of Changes) Mr. Ching:
Preponderance of the Great now presides: the ridgepole sags to the breaking point. A transition based on a subtle understanding of the situation must be quickly made. A gentleman cautiously lays the groundwork for renewal, taking up a lowly situation and becoming its master by helping others - ignoring persons of low rank to chase after high-class people would be a bad mistake.
Darkening of the Light in the future: Darkening means injury. One must cultivate and hide the light within, avoiding the appearance of being a know-it-all. Submerged in the masses, the gentleman will be cautious and reserved, take care not to try to drag people into the light or be dragged by them into the darkness.
So be it, if that is my fate. If not, it is just a "what if" just in case the situation comes about. I''ll take the job if it is offered. In the meantime, I will assiduously pursue other leads. I woke up at 4 am Monday morning thinking, "There will be no second interview. If Pam offers me the job before I get another one, I''ll take it. Otherwise, not. Om mani padme hum." Now I am not a Buddhist nor do I go around saying om mani padme hum. For some reason the mantra just came out, and I went back to sleep and had the most pleasant dream.
I was in a strange, postmodern Tibetan monastery. A young man or monk was lecturing, or rather singing a lecture; a chorus of young men and women backed him up. They were dressed in marvelous Tibetan robes; dark red in color with swaths of green, had yellow trim, and were embroidered in gold and ornamented with jewels. The women were blondes and brunettes - mop-like hairdoes - and were made up like pop singers - the cosmetic colors were dark in hue. The lead singer sang in English but I could not quite make out the lyrics. I knew it was a warning song. I was alarmed at first; but the choir chimed in with heavenly vocals, a short and sweet, high-pitched harmony, as if they were a band of angels. And then a duh-duh, duh-duh, duh-duh, duh-duh, of organic thirds rising and falling through the scales.
What does the dream mean if anything? I really did not know, but it was a fine way to start the week. I called Pam and told her I would be busy with interviews all week but I would take the job if she offered it to me before I took another one. I ignored the fact there was supposed to be a second interview, but that gave her no pause: she thanked me, and said the decision would be made Friday.
Of course I called Pam on Friday. She must have forgotten her promise to make a decision on that day, for she proceeded to ask me questions already answered on my resume. She said she did not know when the allegedly departing employee, who had not shown up at our previously scheduled meeting, or her partner, for that matter, would be available to interview me! Maybe on Teusday, maybe on Wednesday. Since I did not want to pursue a position that might or might not be open, I bowed out as gracefully as I could, and said I decided to take a position elsewhere. I cannot say what if anything might be forthcoming as a result of my dream of Tibet, but I enjoyed it for what it was.
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