It's not often that I have a dream that is as completely transparent as the one I had last night in which I had a chance to sit down and talk for hours with Eckhart Tolle.
By transparent, I mean that the dream made absolute emotional and logical sense in hindsight. Usually, my dreams are a bit harder to figure out - or bits of the dream seem relevant to my current waking life but other bits seem rather stuck on as though my subconscious, having succeeded in assembling the important info, had then just tossed in some random crap filler in a big hurry to get the dream shipped.
By transparent, I mean that the dream made absolute emotional and logical sense in hindsight. Usually, my dreams are a bit harder to figure out - or bits of the dream seem relevant to my current waking life but other bits seem rather stuck on as though my subconscious, having succeeded in assembling the important info, had then just tossed in some random crap filler in a big hurry to get the dream shipped.
Okay, so here's the dream. I was somewhere (semi-random - it was, still, a dream afterall) that was in any case away from home. As I remember it now, it was vaguely some sort of restaurant with outside cafe tables on the sidewalk. I was sitting at one of these tables when I spotted Eckhart Tolle approaching, looking tired. I was galvanized immediately into better posture. Tolle is one of my favorite teachers and I'd only seen him from afar - on TV or online and once on stage when he came to Sydney and spoke at the convention center in front of 2000 of us. Though I'd arrived early enough to get a front row seat that time, I'd certainly never had the chance to talk to him. Would this be that chance?
To my absolute delight, he came right to my table and asked if he could sit down, explaining that he'd just come from an interview with Oprah and was walking back to his hotel but didn't realize how far it was. Could he please have one of the empty chairs to rest for a moment before continuing on?
Of course I jumped up to pull one out for him, surprised - but not surprised - that he preferred one of the empty chairs at my small table over an empty table of his own. This man's message is Oneness. Why would he choose to sit alone?
A moment later he was sitting, smiling warmly at me, his umbrella and briefcase settled by his chair, shoulders relaxing, relieved to be off his feet. I think he sensed my eagerness to talk to him because, without prompting, he said, "I'm not in a big hurry to be anywhere." I felt immediately comfortable. He was very approachable and humble and rumpled. I didn't know where to start but I wanted to keep him there as long as possible so I jumped up to find a waitress and order him a tea.
That was the start of the frenzied activity.
Once I had her attention at the wait station, I called over to him, "What kind of tea?"
"Anything is fine," he laughed.
My mind swam. What kind? What kind? "Green. No, wait - do you have herbal teas?" Eventually I settled on jasmine, for some reason, and raced back to the table. My heart was pounding. Eckhart looked just as relaxed as ever, his hands folded on the table. "Do you have anything on your mind, which you would like to discuss?" he asked.
Did I! I wanted to talk about his books, his interviews, his teaching, his experience of living in Vancouver, the city I grew up in -- my app! I wanted to tell him about my app and how he'd inspired it! I wanted to ask him if he'd try it and comment on it. An endorsement from him would be invaluable and go a long way in helping me get the word out about it. And I wanted his approval, too. I wanted to be told how good I was for creating it --
There was no WAY he was going to sit there long enough for all of this, was there? In a bit of a proactive panic, I got the idea of giving him my business card so that we'd be able to continue any conversation beyond the space of time he would be able to sit at this cafe with me.
And thus began The Search For A Business Card that took up most of the dream. I looked in my purse - not just the wallet but every pocket and compartment of the purse itself, several times, unable to believe my bad luck at not having a card on me. What an idiot!, I chided myself. But I couldn't give up. Maybe there was one in my car...
Throughout all this, I kept looking back at the table, waving to let him know it was okay, that any second now I would find a card. First he had his tea, then he was halfway through his tea, then his cup was empty. Yet, still he sat there patiently, never losing the kind smile on his face as I tore the planet apart looking for a f***ing business card. When I realized he was waiting for me (and in the dream about an hour had passed at this point), I changed my tack. "Giving up on the card!" I decided and turned instead to the task of finding a piece of paper to simply write my name and contact details on.
I'll spare you the search for a piece of paper...and equally epic search for a pen...and jump to the outrageous series of attempts at writing down my name and phone number. My hand shaking uncontrollably by this time, the result of my panic, I was absolutely incapable of either writing legibly or simply spelling my own name. Soon, the miraculously procured paper was so obliterated with appalled, frustrated scratch-outs that I had to find another one.
It was at the end of the hunt for this second piece of paper that a friend of mine appeared (spontaneously, as friends often do in dreams), and remembered she had a business card of mine somewhere in her purse.
While I waited, panting, for her to dig it out, I saw Eckhart get up and stretch. He had to go.
Ta-da! She handed me the scuffed up, dog-eared card - not the EFT practitioner Freedom Techniques card with the pretty logo but one of my old screenwriter ones. I flinched that the card I had to give Tolle wasn't truly representative of who I was now in my more spiritual career (would he still want to contact me later?) but at least the phone number was the same.
Sweaty, out of breath and frustrated, I handed him the card just in time before he stepped into the taxi he'd called because he'd spent all his walking home time waiting alone at the cafe table for me to get my sh*t together.
He smiled as he took the card. "Please, please call me," I said. "I really, so badly want to talk to you."
"That is fine," he smiled. And got in. And drove away.
And it wasn't until I was standing there watching the taxi drive off that it hit me like a cyclone what I had done.
It was the perfect message at the perfect time.
To my absolute delight, he came right to my table and asked if he could sit down, explaining that he'd just come from an interview with Oprah and was walking back to his hotel but didn't realize how far it was. Could he please have one of the empty chairs to rest for a moment before continuing on?
Of course I jumped up to pull one out for him, surprised - but not surprised - that he preferred one of the empty chairs at my small table over an empty table of his own. This man's message is Oneness. Why would he choose to sit alone?
A moment later he was sitting, smiling warmly at me, his umbrella and briefcase settled by his chair, shoulders relaxing, relieved to be off his feet. I think he sensed my eagerness to talk to him because, without prompting, he said, "I'm not in a big hurry to be anywhere." I felt immediately comfortable. He was very approachable and humble and rumpled. I didn't know where to start but I wanted to keep him there as long as possible so I jumped up to find a waitress and order him a tea.
That was the start of the frenzied activity.
Once I had her attention at the wait station, I called over to him, "What kind of tea?"
"Anything is fine," he laughed.
My mind swam. What kind? What kind? "Green. No, wait - do you have herbal teas?" Eventually I settled on jasmine, for some reason, and raced back to the table. My heart was pounding. Eckhart looked just as relaxed as ever, his hands folded on the table. "Do you have anything on your mind, which you would like to discuss?" he asked.
Did I! I wanted to talk about his books, his interviews, his teaching, his experience of living in Vancouver, the city I grew up in -- my app! I wanted to tell him about my app and how he'd inspired it! I wanted to ask him if he'd try it and comment on it. An endorsement from him would be invaluable and go a long way in helping me get the word out about it. And I wanted his approval, too. I wanted to be told how good I was for creating it --
There was no WAY he was going to sit there long enough for all of this, was there? In a bit of a proactive panic, I got the idea of giving him my business card so that we'd be able to continue any conversation beyond the space of time he would be able to sit at this cafe with me.
And thus began The Search For A Business Card that took up most of the dream. I looked in my purse - not just the wallet but every pocket and compartment of the purse itself, several times, unable to believe my bad luck at not having a card on me. What an idiot!, I chided myself. But I couldn't give up. Maybe there was one in my car...
Throughout all this, I kept looking back at the table, waving to let him know it was okay, that any second now I would find a card. First he had his tea, then he was halfway through his tea, then his cup was empty. Yet, still he sat there patiently, never losing the kind smile on his face as I tore the planet apart looking for a f***ing business card. When I realized he was waiting for me (and in the dream about an hour had passed at this point), I changed my tack. "Giving up on the card!" I decided and turned instead to the task of finding a piece of paper to simply write my name and contact details on.
I'll spare you the search for a piece of paper...and equally epic search for a pen...and jump to the outrageous series of attempts at writing down my name and phone number. My hand shaking uncontrollably by this time, the result of my panic, I was absolutely incapable of either writing legibly or simply spelling my own name. Soon, the miraculously procured paper was so obliterated with appalled, frustrated scratch-outs that I had to find another one.
It was at the end of the hunt for this second piece of paper that a friend of mine appeared (spontaneously, as friends often do in dreams), and remembered she had a business card of mine somewhere in her purse.
While I waited, panting, for her to dig it out, I saw Eckhart get up and stretch. He had to go.
Ta-da! She handed me the scuffed up, dog-eared card - not the EFT practitioner Freedom Techniques card with the pretty logo but one of my old screenwriter ones. I flinched that the card I had to give Tolle wasn't truly representative of who I was now in my more spiritual career (would he still want to contact me later?) but at least the phone number was the same.
Sweaty, out of breath and frustrated, I handed him the card just in time before he stepped into the taxi he'd called because he'd spent all his walking home time waiting alone at the cafe table for me to get my sh*t together.
He smiled as he took the card. "Please, please call me," I said. "I really, so badly want to talk to you."
"That is fine," he smiled. And got in. And drove away.
And it wasn't until I was standing there watching the taxi drive off that it hit me like a cyclone what I had done.
It was the perfect message at the perfect time.
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