I love the TV show Life. It’s about a cop named Charlie Crews who was framed for the murder of a friend and sent to prison for 12 years before he was found innocent and released and given $50 million. In prison he embraced a quirky form of Zen Buddhism, and when he gets out he takes a job with the LAPD as a homicide detective (while also investigating who set him up and killed his friend). (By the way, this show ran for only two seasons, but it has a perfect ending in my opinion.)
Charlie Crews came to me as the Animus in a recent dream. The Animus is the male Archetype who comes in dreams to empower us through relationship and to bring the lie of the ego self into awareness.
In my dream, I am Crews’ partner. We get out of the car and Crews walks off to do something. A woman asks me if I like being his partner and starts saying what’s wrong with him, how weird he is, all Zen and all. The more she talks, the more I feel devoted to him; I start to realize I’m in love with him. He comes back and places a tiny gun on the table. I’m amazed at how small it is, yet how deadly. He picks it up and fools around with it, spinning it, taking the clip in and out, flipping the safety on and off, scratching his head with the muzzle, smiling at me. I feel both excited and nervous.
The woman in this dream is the demon in my head that talks and talks to me all day long, telling me what’s wrong with everything and everyone, making sure I remain a skeptic and never risk my heart. This distrust has run my life, has ruined my life.
But then Charlie comes with this tiny deadly weapon—to kill this bitch.
I had this dream at the same time that I dreamed about beating the shit out of the man who tries to claim me (see my previous post “Fury”). This gun is the same energy as that anger. It is me: small but deadly, and falling in love with this weird and wonderful dream-lover . . . instead of being the talking head.
When I bring this dream into my waking awareness, I am constantly surprised when the tiny pistol drops down inside of me to rest in my heart. I can feel it there, my pistol-heart, grounding me in the present moment, ready to fire or pulsing with the power of firing. This is the promise of my heart returned to my body.
I love this dream, Charlie’s mischievous go-get-‘em-girl smile as he plays with this pistol.
This emissary of the Divine hands me my heart, cocked and ready.
Charlie Crews came to me as the Animus in a recent dream. The Animus is the male Archetype who comes in dreams to empower us through relationship and to bring the lie of the ego self into awareness.
In my dream, I am Crews’ partner. We get out of the car and Crews walks off to do something. A woman asks me if I like being his partner and starts saying what’s wrong with him, how weird he is, all Zen and all. The more she talks, the more I feel devoted to him; I start to realize I’m in love with him. He comes back and places a tiny gun on the table. I’m amazed at how small it is, yet how deadly. He picks it up and fools around with it, spinning it, taking the clip in and out, flipping the safety on and off, scratching his head with the muzzle, smiling at me. I feel both excited and nervous.
The woman in this dream is the demon in my head that talks and talks to me all day long, telling me what’s wrong with everything and everyone, making sure I remain a skeptic and never risk my heart. This distrust has run my life, has ruined my life.
But then Charlie comes with this tiny deadly weapon—to kill this bitch.
I had this dream at the same time that I dreamed about beating the shit out of the man who tries to claim me (see my previous post “Fury”). This gun is the same energy as that anger. It is me: small but deadly, and falling in love with this weird and wonderful dream-lover . . . instead of being the talking head.
When I bring this dream into my waking awareness, I am constantly surprised when the tiny pistol drops down inside of me to rest in my heart. I can feel it there, my pistol-heart, grounding me in the present moment, ready to fire or pulsing with the power of firing. This is the promise of my heart returned to my body.
I love this dream, Charlie’s mischievous go-get-‘em-girl smile as he plays with this pistol.
This emissary of the Divine hands me my heart, cocked and ready.
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