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Harry Eisel Died, and left me a message from the other side(?)
My good friend and mentor, Harry died the same day that Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett died. Harry was my "Tuesday's with Morey" experience for the last 11 years or so. He had cancer for all that time, and we thought he'd be transitioning long ago. And Harry spoke openly about looking forward to going to the other side. He believed in another diminsion of spiritual embodiment, and had even helped others (via hypnosis, I believe) contact their deceased loved ones. He had also used hypnosis to assist others in past life regressions. In addition to this explorative, mystical, somewhat weird side, he also had successfully navigated the world of clinical psychology and the world of administration in Corrections. He had been my supervisor at a correctional facility in Ohio, about 15 years ago. Even though I am not the easiest person in the world to supervise, and even though I had managed to aggravate him to the point of his threatening to call the psychology board on me on one occassion, he, for whatever reason, befriended and supported me, and journeyed with me during his protracted transition to the other side. Our journey was more like "one friday afternoon every three or four months with Harry" than "tuesdays with Morey", but it was a similar journey.
One of the highlights was his taking me to the Columbus Art Museum for a valuable object lesson. He had me observe and report on what I experienced from abstract art, as contrasted to what I observed/experienced from more clearly representational, more "realistic" paintings and sculptures. He seemed glad to see that I could let go and soak in the gutt-level impressions of an abstract artwork. That was the intent of his mentoring, to help me become more authentically aware, and to help me outgrow my longing to fit in with others and to be accepted by others. The below poem has been shared already here at IL, but, now that Harry has died, I woud like to share it again:
Love and Kindness
Love comes gliding toward kindness,
almost touching,
as kindness kind of drifts off,
gathering winged angles
that gradually turn back
to a love that loves to wander across planes,
creating space
where kindness brushes by,
paints air.
A lonely man smiles.
Devoid of salvation,
he finds his direction.
Based on the visual qualities of a dynamic sculpture located just outside the Columbus (Ohio) Art Museum. The Sculpture was viewed as a recommended object of contemplation during a guided tour by a dear friend and contributing patron of the museum, Harry Eisel. Thank you Harry.
We also had a special fishing trip together in the last year or so, which consisted of fishing for existential reflections while standing in front of the water, rather than any actual catching of fish. I don't think we even go one nibble, but could have cared less. He was there when I read a poem I had written about a mother's suffering over the plight of her daughter. There as I read the poem aloud to her for the first time, and it touched her deeply. The lady was the owner/operator of a little bait store near where Harry and I fished. The store was barely in operation, only open once in a while, at that time, but the lady happened to be there to check on something. She was not planning to open the store up for business that day. Harry suggested that we had all witnessed an occassion of following our intuition and thereby being in the just right place at the just right time. Here is the poem he witnessed me sharing with her. It tells a tragic story, but shows how folks can come together spiritually to somehow make the suffering a bit more bearable.
Up The River
The lady at the bait store
told me a story
that flowed like the river
beside the store.
I bought a tall can of beer
and told her my tale, too.
There was a confluence of words.
My story was about being a facilitator
of a prison program.
Hers was about her daughter’s desire
to assist in a prison program, as well.
But that story had a twist,
like a tangled fishing line.
The daughter had been an owner of a bait store
just down the road, upstream a bit.
One night, she was being robbed
by a young man holding a gun,
so the story goes, flows.
She shot him out of self defense,
and ended up being convicted of murder.
Her program is a way to do time well.
I knew the other side of that story.
It made the headlines;
distant information, now reeled in
by a mother’s anguish.
I hung on every word, let the hook set.
I had been called,
if for only a moment,
to be the Christian symbol of a fish,
to offer sustenance, if at all possible.
Suddenly, I realized that I did have something to offer,
like a fresh catch carried in the basket of my memory.
Years ago, the owner of that bait store up the river,
had been kind enough
to put the fishing pole carrier I made
on consignment, as though the clumsy invention
would work for anyone else but me.
The lady gathered up the gift just spoken,
as I clutched my cool can of beer
growing warmer by the minute.
She said her little girl
had always been kind-hearted like that;
not the cold-blooded markswoman
the papers made her out to be.
The other bait store is gone.
I know, because I drive by that spot everyday.
The nearby town acquired it and leveled it
to make way for a wide road.
Progress, I suppose.
But one story from that place,
never read in the headlines
or told on the news -
the one that got away -
found its way to a mother’s muddy waters,
where a tug on her heart
brought a passing smile.
All along I wondered if Harry would "contact" me from the other side after he finally died. Well, he did, but only in a manner of speaking. I dreamed about him the night after his wife had called to tell me of his death. So the glimpse of him was well within the realm of realistic explanation, in that it served a psychological need for closure, and could well have been the result of my own mind's projection/imagination. But then again, could Harry have visited me through my own little mind fountain? Or is it any less of a visit if it testifies to the way a deceased person lives on deep inside of us. I count the dream as a "real" (significant, meaningful) visit by Harry from the other side. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it. Here is the dream. Not much more than a snippet, but it was a "big" dream to me, in honor of a "big" spirit:
Harry was behind a door and wall, conversing with other admistrative types (never seen). I asked, through the closed door and wall, if I could burn a fire on the public grounds in honor of my birthday. He reminded me of how it was against the rules, but proceeded to suggest that I would be granted special permission to do so, if I wished. Ironically, I decided on my own that the fires on my own property was plenty sufficient for my celebration. I then saw him open the door, and pass by over to the right of me. I never saw his face, but saw his back and back of his head as he walked on over to wherever he was headin.
That was it! Not much to the dream. The dream suggests some things to me, but only impressionistically, like my impressions of the abstract art the day of the art museum object lesson. Could you help me decifer what Harry (or my own intuitive mind) was telling me? In the meantime, I will give the impressions time to sink in and take root. Could you help me interpret this message from the other side- accross the great divide?
Darrell
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Death
Posted June 28th, 2009 by Ambo SunoHi, again, Darrell. This below seems like a quote about death that feels related to your dream, though it slices very sharply. I'm wondering what reaction arises from this quote.
Death cuts you off with a very, very, very sharp razor from your attachments, from your gods, from your superstitions, from your desire for comfort . . . So how can I find out, actually, not theoretically, what it means to die? It means to be totally free, to be totally unattached to everything that man has put together, or what you have put together . . . totally free. . . While you are living, every moment you are dying, so that throughout life you are not attached to anything. That is what death means.
-- J. Krishnamurti, public talk, January 1, 1986, six weeks before his death
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not worth a reply?
Posted June 29th, 2009 by Ambo SunoHi, Darrell - I hope that the reason you haven't replied to my response to your question/invitation isn't because my comments felt very distasteful to you. I realize that it is possible that my presentation could feel and be quite off base or unpleasant to you. It could be that the psychodynamic slant that I took in going into your dream visitation felt 'pre', whereas the meaning of your visitation dream was 'trans' for you.
In responding to your query, I actually was looking forward to a little conversation about your interesting experience, maybe you correcting me or saying 'maybe, and' . But if my tone or content was way off the mark, I do feel a bit bad and still a little confused by the result of no engagement. So I am following up with this. Of course I don't know why the silence. If it feels that I trampled on a beautiful experience and relationship, please let me know.
In that weird spot where you're not sure why someone didn't reply, ambo
ambo








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Rich
Posted June 27th, 2009 by Ambo SunoHi, Darrell. What a rich, poignant connection, maybe particularly since not always as asked for. As you recount this mentoring befriending I feel some ambivalence - I'm not sure how much is my own. Thanks for writing this.
Wow, "Morey". It's been a while since I read the story, but I remember it being about connection and caring and death and life and reorganizing, changing within.
The story of the bait seller daughter shooting a robber man to death by the river, and your poem with various watery allusions, is a story containing strong unexpected change, movement, transition, flow, eddies, and constriction.
It seems that dreams can be elaborate and simple and great and "meaningful" and casual. All may be meaningful, it seems - even a brief and modest storyline as you suggest this is. Is it dream or is it a visitation of the subtle realm? You seem OK with both. As you say, maybe "closure". Maybe another field trip and lesson. I've heard it said that some dreams are worth a long going into, over time; a mining of it's potentials.
Darrell, I am feeling a little presumptuous as I write my way of looking at your post and dream at this moment. Were I in your situation of inviting a response, I might want some delicacy in the responses and some heart-felt resonance. You took a chance and asked. Hey, I hope that this is sufficiently in the territory.
A few things stood out to my subjectivity as I read through your dream:
You're perhaps on the outside, he and they are inside. This happens with children sometimes, and even with doorways separating us from the closeness and loving free-flow that we want.
You ask permission to light a fire in your birthday honor - apparently a healthy normal self-valuing. What a good thing to be in touch with. Fire could be so much and so many things. Such as, fire is an elemental force as are you, and as is the child. Maybe you feel inside some fires of elemental life, or of wounding or conflict, or of hope for much more - you might notice what fits best at a particular moment.
He doesn't just say "sure, whatever you want", but he reminds you that there are rules - and, you and your birthday recognition is nonetheless worth the exception, so go ahead. Maybe you by arriving at "fires on my own property was plenty sufficient" is a sign of a child's readiness to grow up, or as Robert Kegan calls this, being able to see cross-categorically, to see beyond oneself and one's desires, to fit into the larger social structure. Maybe this showing up in the dream is a re-acknowledgment of that developmental theme and of socialization, some of which was part of your relationship to the mentor/father figure.
The last of Harry in this vision is him opening the door and passing by over to the right of you. He doesn't look at you. You see his general form heading to where ever he is going which happens to be away from you. I really like this part of the dream, the way you stated it so plainly. There has been a relationship, he is taking possession of his destiny, say, and allowing you to live with some understanding of ultimate boundaries and self's. I imagine some trust by him that you are ready to give him his being without expectation or strings attached. I imagine the same trust in you the dreamer, conjurer.
Though it's a plaything, I immediately felt some significance that he was passing on the right, I thought, to the right. My mind wanted to find meaning as to right brain/left brain. I couldn't help my subjective agenda. For the most part the human brain has this cross-over "circuitry" where the right manages the left. The eyes are a little more complicated and mixed in their various functions so my story may not hold together, but I imagined that the right (therefore, left) was the realm of the creative and fluid and the home for holding the mystery. He went there. You went there. Maybe you are going more there.
According to this above storyline, your openness to not knowing what this dream visitation means, this mysterious imaginal presentation, is consistent with your asking for feedback.
One, of course, could go different directions with the dream, the visitation. You might recognize that the fire represents more than I have mentioned - "In life, I want to light a fire!" You could look at this dream through an AQAL lens, from many more levels than I have touched on, and what a creative, perhaps illuminating process that could be. It would be a book-sized discipline. I am definitely not suggesting that since I like it as it is in you without excessive interpretation.
You started this post off with a poem. I feel its reflection or suggestion in the dream. Without saying much about the etheric tone to the glides within space and along planes and the evoked intimations of lightly demarked boundaries that I feel as I read it, there is a being alone. There is kindness that brushes - an other. There is disorientation, lack of salvation. And then there is direction.
You wrote a lot in this post. You invited us into it. There is connection and there is aloneness. To say the least, there seems to be a lot in your life stories presented here. It's good to make your acquaintance. Thanks.
ambo