This lecture, by Rupert Read, is essential to take in and digest. Here is the link:

Dreams, Bones, & the Future: Queries & Speculations by Russell Lockhart and Paco Mitchell will be published and available on Amazon shortly. We thought you might like to see the cover.

Lost in reverie, helped along by the amber light playing dapple with the rustling leaves, enjoying the morning sun along the wooded trail. A jay screeching near by breaks the spell and I see an old man, bent and supported by a cane that looks older than his eighty or so years, approaching me. 

"Good morning," I say, smiling and nodding. 

"Is it?" he replies in gruff and grouchy tones.

"Well, it has been for me I must say." My smile continues to meet his frown. 

"Well, still, you must paint the red sun." 

"What?" I am thrown off balance by this sudden change in what had been a simple exchange of greetings even if a bit off-putting on his part. I have no idea what to say. 

"But why?" I blurted out.

"So, you can see what is coming and so others can see," he said. And then, "You must promise to do so."

I closed my eyes and looked down trying to make sense of the stranger's command and request. I couldn't make any sense of it at all. I looked up and opened my eyes.

As I was waking up from this dream, an image of a red sun presented itself and though I had not promised in the dream, I decided to paint the image. 

The man was gone. I looked in each direction. Nowhere to be seen. He had disappeared. 

So I could see.

So you could see. 

Here is my first effort to capture the image as I saw it.

Shoshana Zuboff's

The age of surveillance capitalism: the fight for a human future at the new frontier of power

Bruce Schneier wrote that "surveillance is the business model of the internet." Now Zuboff has laid out the details and the implications. You have no idea how deeply entangled you are, we all are. Will write more about this on my blog soon at http://ralockhart.com/WP

The excellence of
time is unremarked
amid the din of
"not enough"
"too much"
"too fast"
"too slow"

The secret of time
lies in its absence
in its lack of mathematics
in its silence
in its going nowhere
while everyone chases it
or, in fear, flees it

John Woodcock has posted (on Facebook) a significant response to my dream poem, "Stepping Into A Forest of Dreams." (See below) I have responded here and on Facebook (see below).

 Russ, I am not sure if I said this last year: there is, as you know, enormous desperate efforts going on across disciplines to find the unifying symbol, the Sophia, the one-ness, interconnectedness, etc. But overwhelmingly this work is theoretical, ie researchers are looking for the desperately needed connectedness conceptually. Your dream is something else entirely. You PERCEIVE the Rhizome, what abstract theory calls, "the Field". The ground is transparent "solid but crystal clear". It doesn't feel the same as Hillman's "seeing through" at all. A clue is that it is "revealed to you". Not a "looking at in order to find". Revelatory! You are granted a vision of something alive, there all the time, underground. What kind of consciousness is this? Is this the secret to an actual experience of what we crave? Much food for thought. Thanks, Russ, j

Hi John. Thank you for your reflections. Yes, “revelatory: is the precise characterization. And, I agree, it is not the same as Hillamn’s “seeing through.” You ask “what kind of consciousness is this?” As you know, it is reflexive to consider the dreamer in the dream as “equal” to the dreamer’s ego or to the dreamer all together. I have never been happy with this equation. I consider the figure in the dream that is “me” (whether imaged or just awareness) to be as “constructed” by the dream maker (for want of a better term) as anything else in the dream. So the “me” in the dream is a “semblance” of me (in the more archaic sense of this word) and I can generally identify with this “me” without a second thought. But second thoughts are in order here. The revelation of the dream and its numinous effect occurs to the dream “me” which I then remember upon waking. But my ego consciousness has no direct experience of these things as the “me” did in the dream. All this now flows from memory. When we see ourselves in a photograph, some part of our waking ego reaction disavows this “semblance’ in the picture. And certainly, we do not say, “Oh! There’s my ego.” My point is that to answer your question about what kind of consciousness this is, I want to break down the automatic assumption that the dream “me” is my ego consciousness. It is not. So, in this sense, it is a way to open up the “secret” to an actual experience we crave. It is the dream “me” we need more connection with both for the experience of the futurity of dreams as well as the fictive purpose of dreams. Our waking consciousness is not nearly enough aware of this.

Stepping into a Forest of Dreams

There was no path to step from
Going forward the only choice
Stepping into a forest of dreams
Each tree a separate dream
Each of different type, size, shape
The forest floor was solid
But crystal clear
Revealing dream roots
All intertwining, all moving
Connecting with neighbors near and far
It was not a silent forest
But I cannot say what I heard
Except that it pulled me in 
Further secrets further on

From Dreamwork Poems 2017

WHAT?

What, then, comes after?
After lament is done?
After tears are gone?
After words fail?

What, then, comes after?
After wide unseeing eyes?
After hanging wordless mouths?
After silences stillborn?

What, then, comes after?
Questions, I guess.
Different ones now
Then those not asked

Before.

THE NEW DARK AGES

Belief overwhelms all; not just belief in God or any other

divinity--divine or human--but everything becomes mere opinion

while mere opinion becomes belief and belief supplants knowing

and unknowing turns its back on knowledge.

No way to test belief, nor any desire to.

Belief marries power and the offspring's smile

send chills among those who can see what's coming:

the Inquisition reborn, Torquemada lives again!

REALITY ABSCONDED

Reality, Susan Sontag observed, is ineluctable
But ineluctable has met its match, and the fire is lit
Ubiquitous addiction to hope prays for the Phoenix
But no one yet knows what rises from reality absconded
No one prepared for what is now creeping from the ashes
Look out for dreams without blindfolds, without earplugs
So you can see and hear what Yeats foretold long ago

In my yet unfinished novel (Dreams: The Final Heresy), one of the darker characters is The Faceless Monk. He is Cardinal Broga’s right hand man, his fixer. When I am actively writing, I write from what I call imaginal space. The characters occupy this space and I can see them and hear them. Since I do not plot or outline or write from conscious expectations or ideas, I am mostly in the position of a kind of scribe. The imaginal contents take the lead in what gets written down.

Recently, I awoke from a nap experiencing either a receding dream or a hypnopompic image. The image was The Faceless Monk and he announced that there would be major and disastrous cyber attacks in 2019. The image pierced me with an intensity difficult to describe. The fictional character was clearly referring to an outer reality and not to a time point or theme of the novel. I wondered how this would change my experience of The Faceless Monk when I return to writing the next scenes of the novel. So, here we have a fictional character, entering a dream (or vision) and announcing future events in the “real” (outer) world.

What is the psychological status of such a phenomenon?

In my experience, I do not question the “reality” of a dream, vision, imaginal space, or things I experience of the outer world. They are all real experiences. The issue for me is not the reality status of experiences of any kind, but more the nature of the eros relation to any experience (regardless of source) and what I do in response to such experiences.

I am aware of the dire warnings of cyber security specialists about the inevitability of major cyber security attacks. As well, I experience the dire warning of The Faceless Monk. The latter warning pierces me more deeply and in response, I not only want to write this brief note, but to prepare for the likelihood of coming cyber disasters. I have my own fantasies as to what these might be as I’m sure you will have as well.

The ontological nature of The Faceless Monk and his knowledge of future events in the world falls readily into the nature of prophetic intelligence. How this comes to be is unclear. Like Pirandello’s characters in search of an author, fictional characters, like dream characters, can function as autonomous beings outside of and independent of ego consciousness. They can “know.”

As more develops out of these reflections, I’ll post again.

The bedrock of optimistic fatalism is the belief in the inevitability of progress.  No matter how intractable current problems may be, as long as human innovation and invention are not subverted, all problems will be solved. This is the ultimate reason for the rationality of hope.

Pessimistic fatalism does not believe in progress, but that all human endeavors inevitably will fail. This leads to the failure of hope, an increasing belief in failed futures and a psychology of resignation and despair.

As David Runciman points out, "The trouble with all fatalisms—optimistic and pessimistic, ardent and resigned—is that they preclude alternative futures."

What is left out of these arguments on all sides, is considering what is offered up by dreams as potential sources of illumination. In this regard, I have had a dream that has impacted me to my core. It is a dream that speaks of celebrating the final Ragnarök. Such an image suggests that there will be no rebirth of humans following the final extinction. This is indeed an "alternate" future offered up by the dream and moreover not a future to be feared or negated but one to be celebrated.

I have written this dream in the form of a poem. It is this dream that at present is forming my view of the future. I will be blogging about this a good deal in 2019.

Welcome and toast, $5.99 a cup

The setting:

An anywhere, everywhere

living room middle crust

at best or no crust at all

The characters:

Strangers all, but known

to me; everyone friendly

not a party, but festal still

The hostess:

Black-gowned but all

eyes on the black earthen

cups, squatting on her tray

The drink:

Black too, Blavod it is

libation for night’s time

black clay holding black

The toast:

She says it costs $5.99

a cup for this final toast

just drink up and welcome

Ragnarok

From Dreampoems

Ragnarök dream, March 1, 2015

In the introduction to his book Why Poetry, poet Matthew Zapruder focuses on the perennial question of why people have such difficulty understanding poetry. The difficulties and frustrations are summed up in the question: “Why don't poets just say what they mean?” I've encountered this question many times over the years, but what hit me this time was the parallel to common reactions to dreams. People are as puzzled by dreams as they are by poems.

This is not the first time this parallel has struck me. One night, after hearing Robert Bly speak out the lines of Federico Garcia Lorca's poem, “Casida of the Rose,” I had a dream. In the dream, a piece of paper fell out of Jung's Memories, Dreams, Reflections. On the paper was written these lines:

                                            The poem wants a poem

                                            The dream wants a dream.

Note that the dream lines are not about the meaning of poems or dreams, nor about interpreting or understanding dreams or poems, but asserting that dreams and poems are related through desire. The emphasis is not on "our" desiring, but on the poem's desire for a poem and a dream's desire for a dream.  Of course, it is not the poem on the page desiring, but the source of the poem, the deep imaginal source, that source, like the dream-maker, is desiring a poem in return.  More than likely the poem-maker and dream-maker share a common geography in the deep imaginal realm.

Note that I am not talking here about poems written entirely from a conscious standpoint. These poems will not convey the mysterious desire that inhabits poems from a deeper place.

Note that Zapruder’s title is Why Poetry. Note the absence of a question mark in the title. He's not going to be asking this question. He is going to be providing his answer.  When I have finished reading his text, I'll return with another blog post and see what relevance his work has to Why Dreams. No question mark. That may become my text.