(2) Inner Work

After a few weeks talking to Brother Philip about my plight he

suggested that maybe it might be beneficial to undergo a dream

analysis.  I knew that was coming, because before he became a 

monk Philip was a successful Jungian analyst up in San Francisco.

And what he was talking about with me was what Jungians call

the "individuation process."  It was about coming to understand

our psyche's inner world, our archetypal infrastructure that has.

does, and will determine our psychological--and spiritual--

development.

What's important during this process is becoming *aware* of that

inner world, it's repository of symbols that are basically its language.

Usually our dreams are not straightforward.  They can be convoluted.

We need to understand their symbolic lingo in order to even begin

to understand the landscape.

Jung wrote about symbolism, and ever since more and more books

have been published when it comes to the complexity of symbols.

And as we plunge deeper into dream work the analysand need

especially to understand hir own set of symbols.  Eventually we need

go beyond the books.

All this work took time, especially so for a fellow like me.  Outer

directed all my life, I had to bend in a new direction, moving into

a land that was not at all familiar--and sometimes seemingly

bizarre!  It started by *remembering* my dreams.  I had to try to

remember, then write down as soon as possible the details of the

dream.  Happily I found that the more I practiced this, the better I

became remembering my dreams.

After more than a year working through my dreams with Brother

Philip, a picture of my inner world began to emerge.

(1) Inner Work

Looking back with hindsight, of course I knew that my need to 

return to the monastery was connected with what is called a

"midlife transition."  Used to be called a "crisis," but happily we

moved away from that descriptive.  For a good number of years

I had worked nearly non-stop as an architect, and I was more

than tired.  I was exhausted.

Standing back, I realized that I was not only exhausted by the

work but also spiritually.  I believed that I remained a good 

monk, but with retrospect I realized that I was only attending to

the outer aspects of being a monk; i.e. community prayer, 

recommended reading, etc.  Anyway, I began to notice that

I barely was attending to the life of a dedicated monk.

At least at this point I realized that I needed to develop

spiritually, and even I knew that this kind of effort would take

some serious inner work.  Fortunately I knew where to turn,

or rather I should say who I needed to see: Brother Philip.

Brother Philip had retired as a Rector quite awhile ago, but he

continued to serve as a Spiritual Director for the monks at the 

monastery.  Over the years I only engaged in what might be 

deemed peripheral spiritual direction, really fairly superficial I 

suppose.  But these past years I had been incredibly busy serving 

in the world and was content and satisfied most of the time.  

But now I had reached a point in life where my efforts seemed 

redundant, not as meaningful.  And I longed once again for a 

sense of meaning.

Essentially I needed to know *why* I became a monk.

(3) Energy Efforts

As it turned out, I fell in love with the desert.  I kind of surprised

myself.  The Salton Sea, itself, served as an oasis for bird

wildlife.  I never thought of myself as a "birder," but soon I bought

a pair of binoculars plus a bird identifier book and took to this

recent interest rapidly.

Nearby there was also a park dedicated to the wildlife in this area.

I managed to visit this park a number of times during these periods

I spent in the Salton Sea area.  And, actually, my stays in the desert

enriched my sense of Eco-Spirituality.  I took some of the insights

I experienced and employed such in the occasional retreats I gave 

back at the monastery.

However, at this point, I must make mention that all this architectural

work was necessarily spread out over many years.  By the time I 

had assisted in the geo-thermal project, I no longer could rightfully

say that I was a young adult.  Trekking around the desert, I had moved

into my mid-years--and the usual self-reflection that oft comes during

this period of one's life.

Nearing the end of the geo-thermal project, I began to feel dead

tired.  Exhaustion more readily seeped into not only my body. but

into my soul.  I had to struggle to finish my part of the project.  

And while struggling, I came to a life-changing decision.  I decided

to resign from my architectural firm and return to the monastery

full-time.  Plain and simple, I needed very much to be a monk again.

Fortunately my friend, Brother Philip, agreed with me.

(2) Energy Efforts

The years roll by when one is working on projects that not 

only interest them, but also are worthwhile.  From rooftop 

parks and skyscraper forests in the midst of an urban setting,

I moved on to some interesting work out in our nearby desert.

Really different for me!

The local energy company had long ago tapped into geo-thermal

energy.  Even before the Third Millennium, a cluster of geo-thermal

plants had been built near the shore of the Salton Sea.  To make

a long story short, there was a call to develop a more modern

design that utilized advanced technology.  The plan was eventually

to build at least three more geo-thermal facilities in the area.

Using monastic terms I was a total novice when it came to

geo-thermal processes, much less designing a plant.   Again I

weighed in with the engineers who ran the existing facilities.  

Briefly I learned about how geo-thermal power is derived from

radioactive rocks beneath the Earth's surface.  These rocks

naturally emit heat.  The rocks are cracked open and water is

pumped through them and back up to the surface.  Really hot,

the boiling water produces steam, which in turn rotates a turbine.

As I already knew, a geo-thermal plant can take years to build.

At least building alongside the Salton Sea provided a desirable

location.  The computer technology involved in this process is

awesome, but the software has been in place for years.  So the

design of the new plant really wouldn't be as demanding as I 

once thought.  And, fortunately, I was a minor player in this

case, simply assisting the primary architect for this project.

Nevertheless, the project was incredibly time consuming.  Hence

I spent a lot of time out in the desert clime of the Salton Sea.

(1) Energy Efforts

Chapter Six.  Energy Efforts

When I was attending college in San Luis Obispo I actually had 

occasion to visit one of the big solar farms built there much earlier

in the century.  They were vast facilities, consisting of what seemed

miles of solar panels.  So upon return to San Diego and my 

architectural firm, I had anticipated maybe helping design such

a large solar farm out in the back country.  But that wasn't to be.

Large solar farms in the area were pretty much a thing of the past,

especially since the local Indian tribes had put their foot down 

about these massive solar farms encroaching their sacred lands.

Rather, the next step in solar farming was that of designing all 

sorts of buildings with rooftop solar farms.  These roofs were 

different from the photovoltaic roofs that I had worked on earlier.  

Rather, numerous solar panels encompassed most of a given 

building's roof area.  However, it wasn't only a matter of layout--it 

was also about the design of the building itself.  So for about a 

year I was assigned to help with the design of such buildings to 

be built in downtown San Diego.

What was interesting was not only the *production* of energy, 

but also the *reduction* of energy.  In other words, these new

buildings also required a natural cooling system in addition to

air-conditioning which used up energy.  

While working in this area I thought of my college years when

I spent some time in Vancouver, Canada studying the great

conference building  there, noting its great rooftop park that 

even harbored small wildlife.  Of course the large extension to 

the San Diego Convention Center many years ago followed 

along these same lines with a pleasant park built on its roof.

But these current building roofs had no room for roof gardens,

so natural shading material had to be built into the buildings

themselves.  I remembered coming across an architectural

photo of some really early buildings in Athens, Greece that

showed great showers of vines streaming down the entire

length of  these tall structures.  Also, there was the well-known

Tree Towers of Milan, Italy.  Talking to some other architects in 

my office, I wondered how we might follow the same couse.  

We decided to design selected floors to harbor gardens of

hanging vines as well as small trees that could sprout out of

balconies, grow fast, and cover large portions of the building.  

Such could provide shade and natural cooling, as well as 

beautify.  Happily the idea "took," and over the years San Diego 

saw a wonderful forest of these kind of buildings.  

(3) Dakota Dream

Driving a rental car, I made my way to the Crazy Horse Memorial

after I stopped off at Mount Rushmore and paid my respects to 

four of America's great presidents.  And upon arrival at the

Memorial, I was equally impressed by the gigantic sculpture

of Chief Crazy Horse.  The sculptors had been working for

decades, and now the memorial was near completion.  

I also stopped to visit the Native American Cultural Center

with its banners of all the great Nations hanging from the

rafters.  Lots of information to be found there, including a great

bookstore!  While in the bookstore I got to talking with one of

the Sioux who worked there.  We talked about the environment,

about God's good Creation.  During the conversation he made

mention a Sioux spiritual teacher who taught at the Center's

adjacent college dedicated to the study of Native American

Culture.  Her name was Sarah Shining Water, and she lived

in Rosebud Reservation.  After more conversation, this good

gentleman suggested that I might like to meet Sarah.  

I was very open to the idea, so we walked over to the Center's

college, found Sarah's office, knocked on the door, and luckily

found her.  After introductions, she invited me to spend some

time conversing.

During the course of the conversation, I discovered that she

was the author of numerous books about the Spirituality of the

American Indian--and more especially, she had related much

of this Spirituality with what we call Eco-Spirituality.  So it came

as no surprise that I suddenly issued an invitation to her, to

come and teach a special course at the Millennial Monastery 

California.

While driving back to Rapid City, I realized how significant this

reoccurring dream was.  I recognized that the dream had come

as a gift, if you will.

To push forward some--over time, Sarah did visit our monastery

numerous occasions throughout the century.  Together we crafted 

a special retreat presentation that she would provide periodically.  

Our guests truly enjoyed her special wisdom--as did I--and Brother

Philip especially valued her presence whenever she came to

teach.  And Sarah proved to be a gift for me, in that she became

a lifelong friend!

(2) Dakota Dream

We built the new monastery over a period of some eighteen 

months.  During that period I spent a lot of time overseeing the 

project, bunking in one of those trailers.  It took awhile getting 

started, in that I had to collaborate with a local architectural firm 

in Rapid City--especially when it came to considering and 

eventually purchasing cold weather building materials.  I also 

had to work with one of their architects when it came to the few 

tornado shelters we would install at the monastery.

But I am getting ahead of myself.  To begin, I divided the layout 

of the Dakota monastery into four sections, acknowledging the 

emphasis on the Four Directions so honored by the Plains Indians.  

The main entrance from the nearby trunk road was fortunately 

located at the East section.  This was important, because the 

East direction represents "Childhood."

Since monks come in all age groups, we really didn't want to see a

bad habit starting when it came to these representations regarding 

the Four Directions being connected with the subject of spiritual 

development.  For example the South direction represented the 

"Youth."  The West, the "Adult"  and the North, the "Elder."  

As it worked out, we planned for the novice and retreat quarters 

as well as classrooms to be placed in the East section, near the 

entrance.  And the monastic living quarters would be interspersed

throughout the other sections of the monastery.  

What proved challenging was the design of the buildings.  From

what I could glean the early Plains Indians lived in both the tipi 

and the earth lodge.  Working through, I designed the central 

chapel in a conical shape supported by strong struts.  As for the 

outside of the chapel, it was beige in color with various designs 

painted on it.  The designs were chosen by the monks living on 

the grounds.  As for the monastic lodgings, true to the configuration 

of the Indians' earth lodges, we designed round buildings painted 

different colors according to where they were situated.  The East 

area was yellow.  The South, red.  The West, a brown color 

in lieu of black.  And the North a creamy white.

In the midst of all this architectural activity there was another 

current stirring me towards a strange adventure.  Maybe it was

because I was sleeping in a strange bunk in a trailer, but over

a period of a few weeks I was having a recurring dream.  This

bothered me, since I never remembered having that kind of

dream before.  

Basically the dream' s setting had me standing in the midst 

of some ancient Indians--and they kept telling me to go see 

Crazy Horse.  When I first dreamt this, I just laughed to myself

upon waking.  But after the third such dream, I made mention

of it to a couple of the Dakota monks.  Older men they said I

should take this recurring dream seriously.  They mentioned

that often dreamwork is connected to the Spirit and one's

development spiritually, and perhaps I should begin such 

work with this recurring dream.  

Well, I had to laugh, wondering out loud who might Crazy

Horse be.  The Dakota monks were astounded that I didn't

know about Chief Crazy Horse, the great Sioux warrior who

lived during the 19th century.  I wondered aloud again, about

going to see him.  It was the monks' turn to laugh.  The dream

was obvious--I needed to go and visit the Crazy Horse

Memorial in the Black Hills.