From a Distance

"The fabric of life is woven with the echoes of dreams"

During dreams we experience an awesome occurrence: the ability of the mind to turn pure information into a dynamic multidimensional reality. (Robert Lanza)

Imagine you are visiting a potato farmer on his land. He invites you on a tour through his enterprise of potato production. You get to drive with him on his big red tractor that he carefully wheels between the rows of potato plants. ‘It has been a good year,’ he says, proudly pointing at the lush green plants ahead, pushing each other aside to breathe clean air and sunshine. Then he drops his plough, watch it through the back window and smiles as the big yellow potatoes pour out of the black soil. And suddenly, you realise that what you initially thought was the crop was only the visible evidence. The actual asset was invisible in the vault of the earth.

We are talking about dreams and the mind.

We were five brothers. Being the "middle kid", the responsibility leaned heavily on my shoulders to look after the two little ones. So, when Mum said our prayers, closed the storybook, gave her kisses, and switched the lights off, our dream-time stories began.

‘Do you remember that Wadda climbed up the face of the rock cliffs last night?’

‘Yes, yes! And when he got to the top, it became dark, and he slept in a cave!’ came the eager answers out of the dark.

‘Correct’, I said. ‘When the sun came up the next morning, he could see clearly over the great plains to the sea. Wadda was getting hungry. The next moment, he heard the rush in the feathers of a black eagle on the attack. The eagle swept low over the trees and grabbed an off-guard dassie (hyrax) from the rocks on the next ridge. Wadda had a split second of opportunity. He grabbed his knob kierie (a short, thick stick with a knobbed head) and precisely threw it. One of the dassies on the closer ridge heard the eagle’s attack, looked in the direction of the noise and did not see Wadda’s kierie hurtling towards him. It was a perfect hit. Wadda made a fire and roasted his dassie on the coals. He looked around him. The vegetation on the trees that the dassies eat was getting sparse. He thought one for the eagle and one for him would set the numbers better for the moment. As he looked over the savanna below, he spotted a herd of elephants not far from the foot of the cliffs. He cupped his hands against the sun and identified the matriarch. Her name was Madi. With a high-pitched whistle, he called Madi and waved his arm. Madi spotted him on the cliffs and trumpeted back her greetings. Wadda carefully climbed down the cliffs. Madi would pick him up and put him on her shoulders. He would take the herd down to the river where the elephants drink and bathe, to check on the crocodiles lurking in the deep water.’

Soft snoring came from the direction of my audience in the dark. Well, I thought. The story is just warming up. I’ll continue in Dream Land and fill them in tomorrow night.

So, a process started of dozing off into a shallow sleep while introducing the dream topic of Wadda with his herd of elephants walking across the savanna, Madi’s ears flapping against Wadda’s legs. And then the dream process took over. Madi came across a lioness stalking one of the elephant calves. She charged in, but the lion grabbed her by the trunk. Wadda swung his knob kierie and knocked the lioness between the eyes. She fell unconscious to the ground and lay still. ‘That’s alright, Madi,’ he said. ‘Leave her now, she’ll wake up later, and I’m sure she’ll behave herself then.’ But after a while, the dream went round and round in circles, and I lost the trend. I would slightly wake myself and steer the dream with some instructions. So, when Madi started strolling down the footpath to the river again, the dust swirling out under her big, floppy feet, I could slip back into the dream and wait for the next auto-surprise out of dreamland! And so, it went on and on for what felt like most of the night.

This was a world where thought fed dreams and dreams fed thought in never-ending cycles of mutual guidance and enhancement. It was a gentle process. This was also the soil that cultivated many more stories and poems in the years ahead.

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It now gets technical, but bear with me.

Man has been fascinated by dreams for many ages. It was early on noticed that different levels of sleep exist. A sleep phase was identified where the eyes rush under the closed eyelids. This became known as REM (rapid eye movement) sleep. During REM sleep, our dreams are very active. Still, all muscles (except those around the eyes) are graciously paralysed to prevent arms from swinging and legs from running.

We also undergo an NREM sleep phase to prepare us for REM sleep. You guessed correctly. This means ‘non-REM sleep.’ NREM sleep is when the generator powers down to prepare for a nice deep sleep. Switching the power off is an interesting process. In the central part of the brain (called the thalamus) and running into the brain stem is a network of nerves called the RAS (reticular activating centre). The RAS is a powerful ‘motherboard’ that keeps us awake and alert. We will return to the RAS in a later edition, because it has essential but neglected functions in aged care. But now, as we power down to sleep, it must be switched off. The brain does this by loading the primary nerves in the RAS with a de-activating charge (hyper-polarising neurons in the central nervous system), effectively insulating the electric activity between the cortex (our thinking brain) and the rest of the brain. The time for the NREM sleep to complete the shutdown and allow us to venture into Dream Land, can vary from a few seconds to an hour or more, depending on pre-programming, physical and brain activity before sleep, meals and meal content, as well as relaxation exercises like mindfulness, meditation, reflection, self-hypnosis and so on.

But why is it important to sleep?

We know that sleep is vital in the brain development of children and the reason why infants need more than 14 hours of sleep per day. Sleep is mandatory for neural ‘reorganisation’ and brain plasticity in adults. It will eventually take up one-third of our lifetime! Recent research findings indicate that this process mainly involves the processing of emotions by encoding them and constructing a memory bank. Interestingly, this involves robust visual input from the occipital lobes at the back of the brain during REM sleep, explaining the vivid visual experiences during dreaming. As we experience it, the graphic images during the dream episode might not be contextually correct, but the emotional content certainly is authentic.

So, even today, we are still predominantly emotional beings with a comprehensive daily process called "sleep" to engrave emotional experiences in a memory bank with good visual footage.

These are the foundations of the mind.

Why do I tell you all of this?

Because your mind is the most precious asset you will ever have.

Yet, we often mismanage our minds by choosing junk imports that can irreparably damage the delicate automated processes involved in the functioning of the mind. The outcome is often problematic conduct and poor decisions during crucial times. How many of us hate ourselves when we witness who we turned into, seemingly unable to do much about it? Hygiene of mind input and process for children and adults is infinitely more important than physical hygiene. Sometimes, we can’t control harmful exposure, so we must fine-tune our thoughts and sleep processes to compensate. Professional help might be needed. However, more often than not, the destructive input is of our own choice. Why would you allow a leaking oil tanker to access the shallow waters of your pristine coral reefs? Yes, correct. I am referring to the negative impact of abuse, destructive relationships, pornography, corruption and fraud.

If only we were as dedicated to accumulating assets in the vaults of our minds as we are to accumulating financial assets in the bank on the corner, there would be infinitely more splendour and considerably less poison in this place.

And with all the serious stuff behind us, let me offer you my story for tonight at the campfire.

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Oom Smokie’s veggie patch

Oom Smokie, and his kind-hearted wife, Wendy, lived against the steep mountain slopes in Mossel Bay. His right arm was amputated at the shoulder after being crushed between two carriages during shunting on a railway track. But this did not stop him from working in his shed and toiling in his veggie garden with the whole gamut of what he had left!

One morning, I started climbing the many stairs, doctor’s bag in one hand and stethoscope in the other. The second landing expanded on one side to a vegetable patch, where I found Oom Smokie. Floppy hat folded over his ears and eyes; his body strangely contorted to give maximum impact while driving the spade in his left hand.

‘Oom Smokie, how is the vegetable crop this year?’ I asked, tilted my head, and winked toward the seagull on the wooden fence. The gull returned a friendly ‘puleeew, puleeew’ and turned a sceptical eye on the veggie patch.

‘Not good!’ Oom Smokie declared, pushed his hat back and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand while still holding the spade. ‘Rain is very scarce this year, and with the water restrictions in place, I wonder if we’ll see any of these pumpkins, beans or carrots on the table.’

He scratched the dry soil with his spade and narrowed his eyes to search across the bay towards the mountains for a hint of rain.

I saved the last thought that night for Oom Smokie. I asked God to consider a special rain shower to save his vegetable crop that year.

As I lifted into Dream Land, a little cloud drifted towards the rock I was standing on. I was delighted! I always wondered what it would feel like to sit on a cloud. I first tested the little fluffy float with one foot but then took the step with both feet and held my breath. It worked! The little cloud handled my body like it was made for it. I sat on the foam carpet and looked over the Bay of Diamonds towards Mossel Bay, painted against the rocks in watercolours. My cloud slowly drifted away from the mountains and out to sea.

I wonder if one can steer this cloud, I thought, looking around at the other little clouds drifting along. I laid down and rowed with my arms and kicked with my legs. It worked! So, I broke away from the other clouds and skidded towards Mossel Bay.

Below, the dolphins were playing in the waves at Hartenbos. From above, you could see them launching from the depth, breaking the surface, and racing each other to the beach in the foam of the waves.

I would circle the lighthouse in Mossel Bay and then check out the surfers at the Point. Eight or nine were floating behind the waves in the swell, waiting for the big one. And then it came. They all mounted their surfboards as the wave started to curl and hurtled to the shore.

I’ll go and check what Oom Smokie is doing, I thought and skimmed over the houses towards his place. But Oom Smokie was nowhere to be seen. I parked my cloud over his veggie patch and looked down. The carrot leaves hang limp in the sun.

And then a thought struck my mind. What if there is water in my cloud? I felt with my hand around the edge of the cloud and found a small tap, complete with a handle and spout!

The seagull was sitting on the wooden fence. He turned a hopeful eye to the cloud as I positioned the spout over the birdbath and opened the tap. ‘Puleeew, puleeew’ he said with satisfaction, shaking his feathers in a swirl.

But this is not how clouds usually work, I thought. If I try to water the veggie garden this way, the harsh stream will wash the soil down over the rocks.

Again, my hand explored the edge of the cloud. And indeed, next to the tap was a shower! I laughed with delight when the silver drops generously sprayed over the carrots and beans below.

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‘What are you laughing about?’ Hannelie asked, touching my shoulder to wake me up. When I stopped laughing, I explained about the trip on the cloud over the bay and the extraordinary taps and showers that seemed to be fitted to some clouds. I then told about Oom Smokie’s veggie patch and the seagull on the wooden fence.

We lingered in thought.

And then the rain came. First, a few drops were tiptoeing onto the roof. And then it all came down with its total mercy.

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Epilogue

How fascinating the concept of our very private and personal mind. Deep buried in the vault is the stuff that makes us the unique individual we really are. And if things go wrong, the leaves of the patato harvest becomes yellow and limp to the ground. No blood test will diagnose the disease and no scan will reveal the extent of the problem, rendering the mind as precious and untouchable as the soul.

Perhaps it’s time to step back from the awe in science, technology and medicine and again appreciate the way we have been made.

Thanks for sharing my campfire stories!

Gabriël

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COMMENT:

Look at a story as a catalyst to stimulate thought and ideation. The feedback we get is that many are encouraged and intrigued by the comments and opinions of other readers.

Don’t underestimate the value of your view, opinion, or discussion. Shoot straight from the heart. Nothing fancy is needed.

So, pen down your thoughts. They are precious!

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NEXT TIME:

Ever emigrated from one country to another?

The Split Pomegrate was written on request. The story will also be published in Afrikaans.