Sometimes I am mindful of falling asleep, aware of the various stages as I slip into the other realms of consciousness. A few nights ago I was lying in bed, I had a large pillow beneath my knees and my hands were laid to my side. I was breathing deeply, thoughtfully. Breathe out to the count of four, breathe in to the count of four, out to the count of four, in to the count of four; over and over again until I stopped counting and let that happen as it would.

I was having a conversation with some one about something and I suddenly realized it was not real, it was something that could not be happening as I was laying in bed beside my wife as she slept quietly. So I slid back up the consciousness scale to remember I am there, lying in bed with my knees on a pillow to support my legs and the small of my back. The conversation was lost to me, only knowing that I had been speaking to someone and that it was a dream was left now.

My eyes fluttered open for a moment and then they closed themselves again, down the rabbit hole.

I stand on the wooden deck of a great old ship; the kind that pirates sail into the rough seas looking for adventure and freedom. It’s dark, middle of the night dark, with low clouds on the waters as we list and roll over the waves.Ropes hang from the mast and the sails, rigging to and fro in every direction it seems as I walk down the middle of the bough. I am alone on the deck, and that is odd to me even here, in my dream. Everything is either wet or has the feel of moisture through and through. In the dimness of the cloud covered night the only light above deck comes from a few hanging lanterns as they flicker, their wicks trimmed to conserve oil in the heart of the night.

Something catches my eye, in the rigging above the sterncastle there is movement. I make my way up the ladder to find out what or who is moving from rope to rope, hoping to find nothing.

Nothing finds me first though, and in this case, Nothing is something horrible.

She stands taller than I can grasp at first. Her chest is covered with colorless feathers while the skin on her arms and face are darkly tanned and cracked.

“No fear,” she sings out effortlessly and with love. She beckons to me, asking for me to come closer, to her protection, to her warmth and love.

My feet guide me and I am happy to be near her, in her aura of protection.

Her left wing opens to reveal her breast; shapely and supple. Strange feelings stir in my gut: desire, hunger and motherly tenderness all at once.

I find myself against her, suckling at her. Warmth and light flow in to my body; I am free, I am secure and home and in love and lost and found, all at once. In an instant I am these things.

She bends my body backwards, supporting my weight on her arms, it is nothing for her. I can feel the strength in her grip and I am happy for it. Safe, secure.

My body starts to transform, I am becoming like her. Wings are growing from my back, a new found strength is coursing in my veins. My muscles becoming like stone and iron with each drink I pull in to my mouth.

And then her look changes, something in her eyes shows me sorrow and pain. She is torn, upset that she is about to ruin my world. Her face distorts and hardens, she is no longer the beautiful woman-bird, but now, suddenly a wrathful demon of red eyes and sharp beak.

She bites in to my stomach, eating my insides as I try to drink in the last drops from her chest. Her eating my flesh is not to bother me, but losing the nectar, that is catastrophe.

And then I am awake. Lying in bed beside my wife, wondering at my dream.

I am not a quiet person. I don’t sneak up behind people, they see me coming, they can hear my footfall and feel my presence in the room before I make myself known. I usually enter rooms by pushing doors open with strength, not subtlety. My voice carries, even as I whisper.

I am trying to make less of an impact upon my environment, I am trying to be that person in the room that no one sees until he speaks. I actively think about entering rooms and leaving rooms with out people taking notice. I don’t know how well this is working yet.

All of this to set the stage: I am aggressive.

Didn’t see that one coming, did ya?

Compassion. I don’t know that I had ever really thought about compassion before a few months ago. I started to read about meditation and mindfulness. I wanted to learn to calm my mind, to control my emotions and to still my tongue. Along the way I started to read more about Buddhism. Now I have quite a little library dedicated to The Buddha and the various forms of Buddhism practiced around the world. I lean more to the northern Buddhism, specifically Tibetan form of Vajray?na Buddhism.

Back to compassion though; I found that I started to see the world differently. Buddhism teaches that there is no division, no boundaries between you and I. We are all linked together, one organism in a way. My upbringing was one of Christian values, that whole love thy neighbor thing. I believe in that, no doubt, and I have always tried to look out for others. I was gifted with size and as such I have kind of always thought it was my lot in life to protect those who can not protect themselves. That doesn’t always work out in my favor.

Now that I am seeing the homeless as simply me, that changes how I think of their plight. The starving child on the television, the old man driving the boat on the interstate… they are all me. If that doesn’t change your attitude - nothing will.

Suddenly the homeless guy near our office isn’t someone who I blindly drive by every day. I mean sure, I occasionally gave him a buck or two if I had them handy, but now I actually say hello to him as well. He is a really nice guy too.

You know something; he was always just the ‘Can Guy’ carrying his garbage bag full of soda cans who waved at you and smiled, acknowledging you and saying “Have a good day” in his own way. Now I have to wonder what he knows that I don’t, what keeps him moving forward, what allows him to be able to smile and wish me a good day? Is it altruistic or is he only doing it in the hopes that I will offer him something in return?

Maybe he is like a sadhu, maybe he is a simple holy man and this is how he chooses to live.

My aggressive nature is hard to suppress, even with those who should only see compassion from me. Well, I guess everyone should only see compassion from each of us really, but you know what I mean. With my family, my wife, my children even, sometimes I have to remind myself to calm down, to lower my voice.

Just a few nights ago my son told me it worried him when I spoke in a low voice, that it meant I was really upset. I laughed at that, but it is sad.

So I am trying. Can you tell?