Still Dreaming

I hesitate to write this because it's going to sound nuts. Yes, nuts, but, then again, if you have made a habit of reading this particular blog of mine, then you must be the open-minded type, which is to say not closed to strangeness. Now, my dream last night was not on the surface really that strange at all. I dreamed that I was at church, a majority-white one if that matters. I was there, but sort of didn't want to be there, and yet the ladies of the church were counting on me to help with miscellaneous tasks. Mostly, I think I was there for moral support. But, I was distracted, in particular by some other event that was going on which I actually did want to be at. It was a dark church; it's narthex was dark I mean.

Well, that's pretty much it. It was a short dream and only worth writing about because the the place was so familiar, and I am aware that I have had similar dreams of churches and mansions. With the mansions in particular, I get a strong sense that I belong to them (if you read my last post you probably are concluding that I have delusions of grandeur), that I am of that First Presbyterian class of people, which is true and not true since I in fact am a member of a First Presbyterian Church, but to my knowledge this is not my family's heritage. My gut tells me though that the churches in my dreams, especially the one last night, was perhaps Episcopal rather than Presbyterian.

Now, let me leap to something else--to the Hull family that I have been studying of Spotsylvania and Northumberland counties in Virginia. They were likely Whigs, some of them anyway, and while in Virginia they belonged to the Episcopal Church. As far as I know, they seem to have joined the Presbyterian Church after moving to Mississippi. This is true, for instance, of Elizabeth Hull the Younger, wife of William Crump. Elizabeth died a sad death and unfortunately also had a sad marriage for reasons I do not know for certain. It does seem, however, that Mr. Crump did not treat her very kindly. When she was nearly deathly ill, she chose to travel to Spotsylvania. (There was still family there who hadn't migrated to Mississippi, and I think she wanted to see perhaps for the last time both them and the land of her birth.) I think she may also have wanted to die there, but before expiring she in fact made the journey back to the deep South. Her home was Marshall County, Mississippi, but I think she only made it as far as Memphis before passing away.

I know all of this about the family that owned my family because, like most of the planter class, the Hulls left behind a pretty decent paper trail and also because one of the Crafts of Marshall County, another big planter family, was smitten with both Elizabeth and her sister Lucy and provided a nice journal where he wrote in depth of both of their passings.

A couple of years ago, I went to Spotsylvania County to check up on the Hulls, that is, to look for all documents that would tell their story, and, in turn, my own family's story. I had a very lovely day at the Central Rappahannock Research Center, coming away with quite a bit of information including the name and location of the home of Elizabeth Hull the Older's farther, Laurel Hill. The next day, before heading out of town, I treated myself to a nice stroll down Princess Anne Street, which is home to probably fifty quaint shops selling antiques, gifts, t-shirts, coffee and spices, etc. Just as I started down the street, a middle-aged white woman who was exiting her car spotted me, and with the biggest smile exlaimed, "Hey you!" I could tell that she was looking at me, but I nevertheless,feigning dumbfoundedness, turned around to look behind me. She continued to focus on me, waiting, and I continued to act as though I hadn't a clue who she was speaking to. Finally, after what seemed an eternity but could not have been more than five seconds, she said, "Oh, I thought you were someone else."

The rest of my time in Fredericksburg was uneventful. I bought some gifts for friends I would be staying with at my next destination and got on the road.

But the next summer! Well, there's nothing spectacular or spooky that happened unless you're easily frightened. I traveled to Albemarle County, Virginia--Charlottesville--to look at the Hull/Herndon Papers at the University of Virginia. This too proved to be a fruitful trip. I learned of the earliest Hull settlers, how the Herndons and Hulls came together and more. I learned of the name of Brodie Strachan Hull's family home, or one of them anyway--Hay Farm. The one thing that I didn't find, which I have been looking for for many years is a connection to a Walker line. Our family, owned by the Hulls, used Walker as a middle name for years and gave it as a first name to at least two generations of men. The closest I have come to understanding and explaining this practice is that, one, our family may have been owned by Walkers at some point and, two, that the Herndon/Hulls were definitely associates and relatives of Thomas Walker of Castle Hill, which is in Albemarle. I've been meditating on this connection for several years, and this is all I've come up with. Thomas Walker was quite a figure (I'll go into his life story some other time). In short, he was definitely, like the Hulls, part of the elite families of Virginia, and it makes sense that our ancestors could have been with him at some point though it is difficult for a modern person such as myself to fully understand or embrace why we would have marked ourselves with the Walker name. That too is another question and story for another day. For today, let me just say that I continue to wonder if I am onto something with this connection to Walker.

I didn't say earlier, but before traveling by train to Charlottesville, I had been in New Haven, Connecticut studying at Yale slave narratives. I stayed for a few days on campus then took a cheap hotel in West Haven for a night. I was assigned Room 213. I am not superstitious, but I did think twice about the room number before taking the key. I had a good night's sleep, however, followed by a pleasant trip to Charlottesville. There, I stayed at another cheap hotel though the surrounding area was nice enough. I was a little tired when I got there, so I'm amazed at how patient I was standing behind a young man at the check-in desk who was having a fit that he was being assigned a smoking room. I know he argued with the clerk a full 20 minutes. After he finally gave up on getting any justice from the low-cost hotel staff, it was my turn, and my business proceeded pretty quickly. I was glad to be such an easy guest after the clerk had suffered the young man's complaint, but then just as I was patting myself on the back for being so patient, something told me that my own situation was about to go awry. I knew it! I just knew that I was about to receive a room assignment that I too was not going to like. And wouldn't you know it? "Hey," I blurted out, "Please tell me you're not putting me in Room 213." Expressionless, the clerk looked at the key envelope, "Yes, Ma'm. You're in Room 213." She didn't ask me if the assignment was a problem, and I didn't want to explain. My mind comforted me. "You're not superstitious. You're not superstitious," it said. But then again I thought; this is just too much. I survived one night in Room 213; I should not be expected to survive another.

Too embarrassed and shy to make a fuss, I took the key and headed up to my room. I put all worries out of my mind and focused my energy elsewhere. And as I've said, this too was a productive trip. When I was back home, I told a few people of my reoccurring room assignment, and all were agreed that 213 was simply an affirmation that I was/am in the right place, searching the right trail. Of course, this is not scientific evidence that Thomas Walker is indeed the Walker I am looking for, but in doing genealogy I have learned that scientific evidence and mystical experiences go hand in hand.

Running with a Lion

Night before last, I had one of the most memorable dreams I've ever had. It has been a stressful week, so I partly attribute the dream to this fact. When I am stressed, I am very aware that my quality of sleep is different, and usually this encourages more fantastical dreams than I usually have.

I dreamed of a lion in a home that I shared with my mother, sister, and brother. The lion looked just like...well...a lion. He was a male and huge, but tame. In fact, he was in most of the dream sprawled out on the floor of our "den" acting like one of the family. The others rubbed his belly, and he was just eating up the attention. As for me, I really didn't want much to do with him since I was thinking--the lion's got to go. He doesn't belong. But, not yet ready to ruin everyone else's fun, I decided to leave, or I should say I tried to leave. However, every time I headed for the door, no matter how gingerly I stepped, the lion would see me, bolt for the door, and, like dogs always do, beat me there. At the door, he showed me much affection, jumping up on me. It's a wonder he didn't kill me with his weight. I had no choice but to return to my earlier act, waiting in vain for a chance to leave without his noticing.

I told a few people about this dream because it was such a strong one, its image staying with me after waking and even today. Everyone said the lion should be seen as an image of power. "So you like power, eh?" was the question I was asked. No, just the opposite. I tend to shy away from power as I do not like the responsibility or accountability. I'm always more than happy to let others have that.

Today, I decided to write about the dream in my journal since a few days of meditating on its meaning have been useful. I also reflected upon a book I've been reading, Man and His Symbols, by Carl Jung, et al. Jung has this, among other things, to say about our dreams: (1) they are as real as anything else, (2) they communicate needed messages to our conscious selves, and (3) they help us achieve equilibrium. As a result of reading Jung, I definitely have been paying closer attention to my dreams, and not only that, but I have also slowly been attempting to embrace the idea that what is beyond the natural, or beyond our consciousnesses is nevertheless real. I have been more observant, more open, and more introspective. And, in this way, I am feeling refreshed.

But back to the lion dream. Well, in fact, there was an earlier portion of the dream in which there was another animal, and I should say up front that I very, very seldom dream of animals. Jung says that animals are religious. I know little of animal symbolism, but certainly I am aware that the lion is an ancient symbol used by many different faiths and cultures. Universally, this animal at the top of the food chain seems to symbolize power. In my  other dream, however, I saw a skinned calf lying on the floor. It may already have been dead, but I knew that it was in fact going to be butchered, so I left the place where it was, turning my back to it, refusing to  witness the "sacrifice."

Jung wrote that we are capable of having dreams that contain ancient symbols. Even children have such dreams, and this fact seems to be proof for Jung just how deep our psyches, our souls or roots are. In my present life, however, it is very easy for me to see how the two parts of the dream communicate a message about turning away or escaping. In the first case, I wanted to escape watching a sacrifice and in the second the companionship of an animal who seemed out of place. Both dreams suggest rejection and fear, in the first case, fear of sacrifice, and in the second fear of power.

According to Jung, humans need balance. The conscious needs to be in balance with the unconscious. I can see how the two parts of my dream are a balance for each other, and I am open to the message that accepting power is in fact my required sacrifice. The tasks that the universe has set before me I must act upon. And, not only is the lion with me; we are aligned. His power is always available to me if I will just call upon him.

I never write about religion, not in my blogging anyway, and this is not intended as a religious message though I am Christian. Being open to other ways of thinking about our existence in the universe, I have read a bit on the place of animals in Native American cosmology. A few years ago, I went as far as to create for myself a medicine wheel. It's a beautiful object, which adorns the wall of one of my bedrooms. I haven't thought much about it since making and hanging it, so I definitely cannot say that I have felt the power of any of the animals I placed on it. It has become simply decoration. But, after dreaming of the lion, I thought of my medicine wheel, and, more generally, I thought of the whole concept of animal medicine, and I am embracing the idea that the lion, like other animals, has something to teach me.

Anyone who has owned a dog knows that it is wonderful to have them greet you at the door even when they jump on you. As I said earlier, the lion raced and beat me to the door and threw itself upon me. I have made much of this, but one idea that I wish to communicate here is that this dream of the lion teaches me that my (our) sense of time and movement is not superior to that of most animals. A dog will beat us running every time as will a lion. So, there's no point in trying to beat such animals; instead, we should submit to their power, what they have to teach us, and what they offer us. Even though the lion was faster than I was, what he really achieved was synchronicity. He met me at the door every time I attempted to get by him. He synchronized his power with mine. I understand this to mean not simply that I should accept his sense of time but that my life is ensconced by this larger time to which the lion belongs. In short, my life is attached to a larger order, and I am not on this journey alone.