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"Certainly not," the Gentleman says. "How can it be wrong, if you think they'll make you happier? You won't wear them very long, though." ...

I am beginning to feel confused. Obviously the Gentleman was right. This place is very different, and I'm not too sure that I'd get along here very well. I've got by in my own world, after a fashion, but this place might be something I couldn't cope with.

"If you don't care about appearances, and if people can't steal or buy anything, how do you manage to get along?" I ask. "I mean, how does one get to be noticed or liked?"

"That's very simple," says the Gentleman. "If you're nice, people will notice you and like you. If not, why then, they won't. It will take a long time for you to be either noticed or liked. You may, in fact, be very nearly invisible to the people here for quite a while, because what you emphasize they won't even see. But still, since you can't stand another cold winter, you can't lose anything by taking a chance. If you like you can regard it as an experiment. You can always go away. It's still summer, so you have plenty of time to think it over. The deci-sion isn't final, either way, so don't get a notion that it's a life and death affair. It really isn't. When the fall comes, see how you feel about it, and then do whatever you like."

We shake hands. "Thank you for the invitation," I say, politely, and go out. I haven't made up my mind about coming, but if I do, I'll insist on bringing my own slack-suits. I don't believe in Utopias ....

Again, the final lines reflect, as does the whole dream, the part of Helen's mind that resisted Jesus' offer to enter his world of abundance and peace, referred to in A Course in Mira-cles as the real world. To the end, Helen retained her right to choose to remain exactly where she was, even though she was clearly not happy.

The Hen and the Pot "The Hen and the Pot," succinctly, if not acerbically, por-

trays Helen's conflict between a suicidal, death-attracted self and a self that strives for survival. The protagonists are a hungry Helen and a suicidal hen who keeps diving into the cooking pot. The dream closes with a statement of Helen's seemingly perennial situation: "Neither of us moves. It is a stalemate, and there is no answer."

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I have just placed a large, empty iron pot on the stove. Before I light the flame under it, a small tan hen, who looks something like a female pheasant, flies in through the window and makes a beeline for the pot. She nestles down, tucks her wings in contentedly, and smiles sweetly at me. I am quite surprised at her sudden intrusion, but I do not want to hurt her. I take my hand from the gas-handle, and try to lift her gently from the pot. She is not heavy, and can easily be picked up. However, she makes a desperate and successful effort to re-enter the pot every time she is removed. Finally, I try to reason with her.

"Why do you want to stay in that pot?" I ask. "There's not much sense in persisting in risking getting yourself burned up."

"It's not a matter of sense," the hen answers, with some smugness. "It's an instinct. I do it all the time. I couldn't possibly stop even if I wanted to, and I don't want to, as it hap-pens."

I find this annoying. With some irritation, I say, "You'll have to fly off now. I must fix lunch. And frankly, I don't think much of this whole thing. Look at it this way. There's no water or grease in this pot, and you wouldn't even make a tasty stew. You're all full of feathers, which would merely burn away. Even if you don't care what happens to you, the pot would be ruined. Now be a good bird, please, and go away. I'd really not want to hurt you."

The hen shakes her head. "Instinct is instinct," she replies. "This is my way of life. I'm sorry it's interfering with yours, and I have nothing against you personally. However, since our interests obviously conflict at this point, it's only fair to tell you that I will probably win."

There is a moment of silence, while I try to decide what to do next. This bird is obviously quite serious. I try to appeal to her sympathy.

"Look here," I say, "I have really had it even before you flew in. Do you think that if I told you why I haven't managed to get a bite to eat for almost two days, you might take pity on me and go away?"

"Frankly, I doubt it," replies the hen. "I don't really care about you one way or the other, although I repeat that personal animosity is not involved. You want to eat, and apparently you need this pot for that purpose. I need this pot for my own sui-cidal tendencies. Unfortunately, the way things look now,

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neither of us is going to get what we want. You won't turn on the flame, and I won't go away."

"Maybe we can work things out," I say, hoping to resolve this stalemate. "Look here,- l'll get another pot, and you can stay in this one. Will that do?"

"Obviously not," says the hen, indignantly. "If you turn the fire on under another pot, I would have to fly into that one. You don't expect me merely to sit quietly in a cold pot, do you? That wouldn't accomplish anything."

I am now reduced to desperation. "Please be reasonable," I beg the hen. "I've had an awful lot of trouble in this kitchen. The refrigerator broke, and we got a new one but that didn't work either. The gas main or something broke, too, and there was a big mess with the stove. Nothing has been working right until the very minute when you came in. I'm starving to death, and you won't let me cook my lunch. I don't think that's fair. I'm willing to compromise, but I can't let you interfere with me forever."

"It's sweet of you to think I'm giving you a choice," says the hen, "but you really don't understand the situation. I have to do this. It's my life work. It's inappropriate of you even to think of eating at a time like this."

I look silently at the hen for a minute or two, and suddenly jump back, startled by the brief gleam of unmistakable hatred in her round black eyes. Her equanimity returns quickly, and she smiles. Neither of us moves. It is a stalemate, and there is no answer.

The stalemate of course is between the two parts of Helen's split mind- the one choosing to live, the other to die- a conflict which at this point in her life shows no indications of being resolved. The next dream presents a similar picture.

The Puppy In a dream that appears to have occurred during the scrib-

ing of A Course in Miracles, since there is a written comment on this dream by Bill in the fall of 1966, Helen expressed her same conflict in a tale of an obnoxious yet obviously distraught puppy. On her way to an important appointment, Helen is con-fronted by a seemingly lost and troubled little dog, who nonetheless, in a manner not too dissimilar to the suicidal hen,

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and of course to Helen's own ways of surv1vmg as well, obstinately clings to his very maladaptive means of relating.

Though obviously quite annoyed by the puppy's manipula-tions, Helen nonetheless finds herself unable to resist helping him home (to the pet store across the street). The puppy then seems quite content. But Helen is told by the woman who owns the pet store that he will soon begin to howl once more, and repeat the same process all over again with someone else: " He'll begin to get restless and unhappy and decide to go away .... He just can't seem to make up his mind."

I am running down the street, hoping to catch the train that is just pulling in at the El Lelevated subway] station. Before I reach the stairs a long, heart-breaking howl stops me. Huddled miserably in the gutter next to the curb I see a small, black puppy. He fixes his mournful eyes on me and howls again. Something warns me not to get involved with this pup. He looks pathetic enough, but there is also something vaguely objectionable about him. Besides, I am already very late for my appointment,-one I am quite anxious to keep,-and I have no time to waste. I start to run on, determined to ignore the puppy. As I pass him, however, he throws back his head and lets out a really dreadful yelp. The puppy wins. I go over to him and say, soothingly, "There, there. I expect you're lost. Perhaps I can help you."

"It's about time you tried," snaps the puppy, crossly. "Why, you can talk!" I say, very much surprised. "But

that's impossible. Dogs can't talk, you know." "I can," answers the puppy, a trifle smugly. "I don't do it

very often, though. Most of the time I just howl. But today nobody will pay any attention to me, so I think maybe I'd better start talking."

"That's sensible," I say, seriously. "And now that you've decided to talk, perhaps you will be good enough to tell me what you want, so that I can be getting on. I'm very late as it is."

"Very well, then, I'll tell you," says the puppy, suddenly becoming businesslike. "I want my mother."

"I can understand that," I tell him, sympathetically. "Where is your mother?"

The Puppy waves a paw. "She's over there in that pet shop across the street," he says, "and I want to see her right away."

I am pleased to find that the problem isn't going to be too

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difficult, after all. "Well, then," I say, "as long as you know where your mother is, you're not really lost. Why don't you just run across the street and find her?" ...

"No," says the puppy. "I wouldn't even consider it." I remain grimly patient. " If that won't do, perhaps you'd

care to suggest something better?" I ask. "Yes I would," answers the puppy. "I'd suggest you carry

me over .... If you're really in such a hurry you'd probably save a lot of time by just picking me up and taking me over without arguing about it so much," the puppy points out, reasonably. "Just consider how much time you've wasted already." ...

"All right, I'll take you," I say, in despair. "Come on let's get it over with." ...

I snatch up the puppy and carry him across the street and into the pet shop. A plain-faced, elderly woman steps out of the shadows in the rear of the shop and comes forward to meet me, wiping her hands on her soiled, white apron. The puppy has settled down comfortably in the bend of my elbow, and seems to have fallen off to sleep. I dump him down on the floor in front of the woman and say, "I think this dog belongs to you. I found him .... "

"I know," says the woman, wearily. "You found him sitting in the gutter and howling. So you brought him back. Somebody always does."

"I must say you don't seem very glad to see him," I say, beginning to feel rather sorry for the puppy. "He's very much attached to you. Besides, he understands English quite well and I suspect he's really very sensitive. You ought to be careful what you say in front of him."

The woman sighs. "You don't have to live with him," she says. "It's really dreadful. All he does all day long is howl. He's the most awful nuisance."

"There's no question about that," I agree, heartily. We both watch the puppy in silence. He is sitting

contentedly at the woman's feet, playing happily with her shoe-laces. He looks like a perfectly ordinary puppy, and if he does understand what we've been saying, he gives no sign of it.

"What will he do now?" I ask, after a while. "Oh, he'll be quite satisfied for a time," the woman

answers, "and then the whole thing will start all over again. He'll begin to get restless and unhappy and decide to go away, and then he'll wind up in the gutter somewhere and howl until somebody brings him back again. He just can't seem to make up his mind. If you'd care to wait, you can see for yourself."

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"No, thank you," I say, making hastily for the door. "I'll take your word for it."

This dream, too, reflects the two parts of Helen: the one needing help desperately, yet stubbornly refusing to accept it except under her own terms, while the other is totally capable of choosing the Help that is always there. This inner conflict was clearly represented in Helen's own experience, where she was continually in the position of helping people whom she did not particularly care for, and moreover, resented the experi-enced intrusion on her time and energy. Nonetheless, she almost never refused anyone's call for help. Helen herself commented on this characteristic in herself in her letters to Bill which are presented in Chapter 6.

The Rabbit

While the previous dreams reflect an indecision in Helen's mind- the "stalemate" of "The Hen and the Pot," for example- "The Rabbit" leaves no doubt as to the outcome of the dream's conflict. Here, Helen is dressed as Alice in a set-ting very much like Lewis Carroll's Wonderland. She is con-fronted by a very argumentative, accusatory, and not-very-pleasant rabbit, more like a district attorney than the white rabbit of Carroll's fantasy. He sees through Helen's defenses, particularly her "face of innocence," wherein she appears to be "an innocent and well-meaning little girl to whom a number of strange things occur, none of them of her own doing."

In a situation not too unlike K's in Kafka's Trial , Helen-Alice finds herself trapped in an unfair trial in which she dis-covers ultimately that she is pitted against herself: the name given to the proceedings actually is "Helen versus Helen." Moreover, she is told that she really will have little to complain about since the quality of the procedures will be beyond reproach: "You are something of a formalist yourself, and I am sure that you will approve of the style." As the "trial" begins, Helen loses "interest in the proceedings since, after all, there is very little doubt of the outcome." Here is the dream, which actually occurred in 1961, after Helen arrived at Columbia-Presbyterian, but still over four years before A Course in Mira-cles began:

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