Dreams Lu
Dreams Lu
Dreams Lu
www.ChironPublicatons.com
Stanley Krippner
The human psyche, like everything else on planet Earth, has resulted
from evolutionary forces, one of which is the 24-hour cycle of light and
darkness. In adapting to this cycle, most living creatures engaged in some
form of sleep, and for many creatures sleep was punctuated by one form or
another of dreaming. So what is dreaming?
Millennia ago, it was commonly thought that dreams resulted purely
from agencies (spirits, deities, etc.) that brought the dreamer information,
some of it beneficial and some of it malevolent. Although these concepts still
persist in some parts of the world, other explanations are more in vogue. For
some, dream content was considered simply the result of random neural
activity; that when people find meaning in dreams, they are projecting their
own scenarios the way people often see patterns in clouds, tea leaves, and
inkblots. For others, dream content is highly meaningful, and a skilled
practitioner can detect that meaning, at least in part, even without knowing
anything about the dreamer and his or her personal life. To yet others, dreams
resemble what in architecture are called a “spandrel” — decorative and
attractive additions to an arch which often tell stories that can add meaning to
the entire arch — in the same way working with dreams can tell stories that
provide useful information to the dreamer and even to the dreamer’s social
group.
Personally, I hold to an explanation more in keeping with an
evolutionary trajectory. My reading of the sleep and dream science literature
convinces me that dreaming evolved as an aid to human survival in several
ways. Useful information that is learned during waking hours is stored so it
can be put to use again; other information is discarded or, to use a common
psychological term, “extinguished.” This is especially the case of emotionally
tinged dream content; emotional downloading becomes adaptive in that it
enables people to function better the following day. However, dreams also
help dreamers plan for the future, not only by weaving together bits and
pieces of data that have been disregarded during waking hours but by taking
glimpses into the future through processes that remain anomalous. Finally,
dreams engage in creative problem-solving, often producing a “eureka”
moment upon awakening or, more commonly, come to one’s aid during the
day when a hitherto barrier to a solution seemed to have been removed.
So can dreams change someone’s life? Of course they can. If dreams
serve the evolutionary purposes that I purport, they have been adaptive over
the history of the species because they help dreamers store useful
information, process feelings and affect, prepare for the following day (or
even for a more distant future), and aid in the solution of a relationship
tangle, a vocational choice, a spiritual dilemma, a professional crisis, or a
transformational opportunity. Even if dreams result from spiritual
intervention, it can at times be to our benefit as the stories herein attest. If
dream meaning results from projection, it can also allow a latent solution to a
problem to manifest itself. If dreams are simply like spandrels, they can be
more than decorative; they can be the missing piece of a design that gives
direction and existential insight into a pattern that would be bland without
them.
There has never been a book like this one, a work that takes a
multidimensional approach to dreams at their most adaptive, to dreams that
— indeed — can make a crucial difference in dreamers’ lives as they wend
their way on life’s tumultuous yet quite remarkable pathway.
Table of Contents
The Journey
Chapter 1: The Journey of
Robert Hoss
Transformation
The Journey Begins Graphic Cartoon Jeremy Taylor
Chapter 2: The Power Within Robert Hoss
The Journey Begins
Chapter 3: Little Children Big Dreams Alan Siegel
Childhood Dream Graphic Cartoon Jeremy Taylor
Chapter 4: The Power of the Image Patricia Garfield
Life Changes
Chapter 5: Conflict Resolution Robert Gongloff
Chapter 6: Love and Relationships Kelly Walden
Chapter 7: Family Dreams/Future
Gayle Delaney
Choices
Chapter 8: Dreams that Transform
Jacquie E. Lewis
Careers
Taking Charge
Chapter 9: The Power of Lucid
Robert Waggoner
Dreaming
Lucid Dreaming Graphic Cartoon Jeremy Taylor
Chapter 10: Breakthrough Nightmares Alan Siegel
Healing
Chapter 11: Dreams that Physically Heal Justina Lasley
Chapter 12: Healing Transformations Tallulah Lyons & Wendy
with Cancer Dreams Pannier
Creative Wisdom Within
Chapter 13: Wisdom of the Serpent Ed Kellogg
Creative Inspiration Graphic Cartoon Jeremy Taylor
Chapter 14: Creative Dreaming Deirdre Barrett
A Spiritual Presence
Chapter 15: Embracing Spirit Scott Sparrow
Chapter 16: A Divine Presence Bob Haden
Reaching Beyond the Senses
Chapter 17: Transcending Space & Time Stanley Krippner
Chapter 18: The Power of Precognitive
Marcia Emery
Dreams
Journey’s End and Beyond
Chapter 19: The Healing Power of
Kelly Bulkeley
Mourning Dreams
Chapter 20: Life Continues Laurel Clark
Chapter 21: A Place in Time Susannah Benson
Appendix
Is There a Science Behind
Robert Hoss & Carlyle Smith
Life-Changing Dreams?
The Journey
Sheila Asato
Chapter 1
Overcoming Insecurities
Gail’s challenge throughout this journey: to overcome insecurities
preventing her from stepping forward to pursue her passion for dreamwork
and other spiritual pursuits. The graduation dream above gave her a sense of
progress with her feeling of inner worth. However, there was a more practical
concern — the fear of financial security if she were to quit her job. As she
begins to accept a realization that she might be able to pursue her dreamwork
passions in parallel with her “day job,” she has the following dream: A small
airplane flies overhead. The door opens, and a woman jumps out with three
parachutes. She breaks away from the others and lands with only one chute. I
clap, everyone cheers!
She “breaks away” from the old fears, yet she can remain financially
secure; subsequently switching from a viewpoint of “I need to quit my job
and abandon my career” to “I can stay with my job, get promoted, love my
new management position, and pursue my dreamwork in parallel.”
A Rite of Purification
Mary Trouba
Often the core lessons of childhood, at first useful, can become
dysfunctional as they conflict with our life experiences. At that
point our dreams may compensate with a more healthy or
functional alternative view. Here in Mary’s dream we see a striking
example of the death and rebirth cycle and a new transforming
viewpoint.
The day before Thanksgiving in November 1990, I had a dream of such
intensity that I still vividly recall the details: I am in a college dormitory and
being confronted by “the Face of Death” in the guise of a television actor —
whose persona and good looks I found attractive in waking life. In the dream,
the actor’s face was stony, white — and I instantaneously “died” upon
seeing this face (struck with a terror such as I had never known nor have
known since). I had awareness in the dream that I was going to go to “hell”
and remember thinking that I should have lived my life differently so as to
prevent such a fate. I also remember thinking (like a good Roman Catholic,
which I was raised to be) that I should feel fearful and sorrowfully heart-
wrenched, given that hell was said to signify a state of eternal damnation, but
instead I was not especially worried nor upset.
Now dead in my dream, I walked down a short flight of stairs and
through a turnstile. Soon I was walking along a broad, tree-lined avenue with
medieval and literary characters such as corrupt clergy as are described in
Dante’s “Inferno.” We were all on a journey, and the atmosphere was one of
a festival. Corrupt bishops and cardinals were gambling and telling bawdy
jokes. Medieval servants and merchants were chatting in a friendly way.
Fellow travelers sometimes greeted and smiled at me. I remember thinking
that hell was not such a bad place after all.
Interestingly, in hell everyone spoke in limericks. I saw Hester Prynne
from Nathaniel Hawthorne’s “The Scarlet Letter” wearing a red “A” on the
breast of a red and white gingham dress and returning the teasing of the
bawdy but fun-loving bishops. The unusual rhyme that I particularly
remember from the dream went as follows: Hester Prynne Walked in sin.
Now she will begin again.
As the dream progressed, we walked through more turnstiles, many of
which led us into Catholic churches where Mass was being said. I had an
awareness our attendance at Mass constituted our participation in a rite of
purification. As we continued through a labyrinth of turnstiles, I had the
sensation of ascending to higher levels. In my mind, I knew that we were
going to end up in “heaven,” that the purifications were for the purpose of
preparing us for heaven. I had an awareness that some people “go straight to
heaven” when they die, but that going through hell was the usual path. This
was how “most people did it.” Most importantly, hell was not a permanent
condition.
At the time, although I did not rationally believe in a hell of eternal
damnation and punishment, the dream brought about a new integration of
belief in the benevolence of the Divine and in the benevolence of what occurs
after death. The dream revealed a more solid belief, a kind of somatic and
emotional knowledge, which was very reassuring to me. I experienced a
kinship with other humans. I was not whisked off to a heaven gained by
following the “rules and regulations” of an organized religion. Rather, I —
along with myriad other humans — embarked upon a shared journey, one
that involved purification and a great deal of interaction. I felt much less fear
of death after the dream and a satisfaction that I could release elements of my
upbringing that did not feel right to me. It grounded me more fully in the
present and gave me the reassurance that imperfection is OK, simply a part of
the human journey, not something to obsess about eliminating. Happiness
does not depend upon perfection, upon “avoiding hell” and “going straight to
heaven.” Instead, happiness is a mood or tone that can surround the journey,
especially as we greet, joke with, play with and entertain our fellow traveling
companions on this shared path.
Hopefully these stories, and those you are about to read, illustrate how
dreams and even nightmares can bring about change. Change driven not only
by the unconscious forces Jung spoke of, but by tapping into all available
physical, mental, and spiritual forces “in the service of health and wholeness”
— a Jungian principle Jeremy Taylor reminds us of. But even big dreams
require the conscious self to embrace the new learning. We begin with the
dream ego in the dream, continue with the waking ego reflecting on the
dream, and finally embrace and adapt what we learn to our waking life. As
you will see from the stories shared in the following chapters, this has indeed
been the case.
The Journey Begins - Graphic Cartoon by
Jeremy Taylor
Chapter 2
Waking Up
Jason Cragg
As dreams emerge from the unconscious, they can bring forth
knowledge of our true potential — who we really are. In Jason’s
dream the inner balancing force becomes apparent as a feminine
figure guides him to adopt a viewpoint in direct opposition to his
severely damaged ego misconception. The dream then affords the
opportunity for him to experience this new possibility for himself
and provides a rewarding reinforcement that carries that new
learning into his waking life.
I’ve been battling depression since I was very young, manifesting in
suicidal thoughts, addiction, low self-esteem, frustrating and unsatisfactory
relationships (including emotional, mental, physical, and sexual abuse), poor
performance in school, loneliness, anger, hatred of myself and others, etc. I
grew up poor, never feeling that I fit in anywhere. It seemed that no matter if
I was at home, school, church, or in any other social situation, I was always
getting picked on, teased, or misunderstood whenever I tried to express
myself. Over the years, I turned off the emotional side of myself and started
building walls around my heart. It seemed as if no matter who I let in close to
me, I always got hurt — so the walls just kept getting higher and thicker, and
my view of myself and the world kept getting more and more negative and
bleak.
I became a very quiet person, easily provoked to nervous anxiety, and
uncomfortable in all social situations; it didn’t matter if the group was five,
10, or 20, I just felt so unsure of myself I found it hard to talk to people
because I was always second-guessing myself as to whether or not “I should
have said that, or maybe I should have said something else instead, and what
do they think of me ... I sound like such an idiot, maybe I shouldn’t have said
anything at all ...” The internal litany was never-ending. I had come to the
conclusion that my life was meaningless and everything else was nothing but
a waste of time — my own and everybody else’s.
Then in March of 2012, on a whim, I decided to attend a six-day
personal development program called the Gateway Voyage. The first night
home after the program I had this life-changing dream: I am standing in front
of a crowd of 400-plus people that includes my immediate and extended
family. I am trying to do a presentation to the crowd, but everyone is talking,
being noisy, rude, and paying no attention to me. I am unable to get anyone
to pay any attention or listen to me at all. ... I am getting extremely frustrated
and upset, and so I say I’ve had enough and that I’m quitting — and so I
walk out of the room. Once I’m in the hallway trying to calm myself down,
this woman comes out of nowhere and appears in front of me. She asks me
why I am so upset, and I tell her that no one will listen and that I’m just not
able to do a presentation or lecture like this. She looks straight into my eyes
and tells me that I can do the speech and that I do have what it takes to make
all those people listen to what I have to say. The whole time she never stops
looking deep into my eyes. As she keeps reassuring me, never averting her
gaze, it’s like something instantly strikes me that I know this woman, and
waves of confidence, empowerment, and courage flood into the depths of my
being, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I do have the ability to
say what I need to say and that people will listen. She tells me to go back into
the room and not give up, and so with all these positive feelings surging
through me, I walk back into the room. As I open the door to walk back into
the room, the person who is sitting closest to the door moves backward as I
walked past them and says, “Wow, the energy in the room feels different.” As
I start to walk back up to the front, the crowd starts to quiet down without me
having to say or do anything, and by the time I am back up at the front, the
room is so quiet you could hear a pin drop, and I have 400-plus pairs of eyes
looking at me. I immediately start the presentation with confidence and then
after a few minutes of talking ... I wake up. ... It’s around 2am.
I remember waking up so suddenly that I almost jumped out of bed. I
was breathing so hard, and my heart was pounding as if I’d just run a
marathon. I ended up going out for a walk to try and process everything,
since this was the most vivid and strangest dream I’d ever experienced.
I now know from the very depths of my being that I was supposed to be
a teacher and help people. There was no question about the knowing I had
burning inside me of what the direction of my life was going to be. I even
tried to talk myself out of it many times, but synchronistic events kept
happening that kept showing me confirmation of what the dream was telling
me. It was as if I had instantly woken up in an alternate universe or reality
after the dream because all the pieces of the puzzle started falling into place,
and within two months of the dream, I was standing in front of a group of 15
people sharing my experience.
This was an event that I had organized, and these people came out just to
hear what I had to share. Up until this point, I never thought I could organize
anything, let alone an event where people would come out just to listen to
me. Within six months of my dream, I organized an event for a friend of mine
who has had multiple near-death experiences to come into town to share his
story, and over 100 people showed up — including the person who turned out
to be my soul mate/twin flame.
Within a year of having the dream, I became a Certified Outreach
Facilitator/Trainer with The Monroe Institute, giving lectures, presentations,
workshops, and classes for people. I’ve also become an English as a
Secondary Language instructor. My partner (now wife) is a Certified Reiki
Practitioner — as am I now — teaching classes and workshops alongside me
and on her own as well. The relationship that we have is the most amazing
and special I have ever experienced in my life. It was as if the universe knew
all my innermost desires and brought the perfect woman to me through
synchronicities and confirmation as soon as I started doing what I was meant
to do.
Conflict Resolution
Robert Gongloff
Conflict is the emotional impact of the opposing impulses, desires, or
tendencies we face internally each day. These opposing forces form the
underlying motivations or subject matter of our conflicts. These forces can be
recognized as thematic repre sen tations we live out in our dream lives and
waking lives. My primary interest and emphasis in working with dreams has
been to look for these themes being presented to the dreamer. I start by
looking at the dream as a story and attempt to determine the basic activity
displayed by the characters. The theme is the underlying motivation or issue
being dealt with by the primary players in the drama. It often represents a
pattern of behavior that may be represented by the dreamer in waking life.
This concept of themes is a departure from many in the dream
community who identify them as specific types of dream activity, such as
being naked in public, or flying, or missing the boat. I attempt to determine
the deeper issue being represented by these activities. For instance, dreaming
of being naked in public (or being well-dressed) may deal with one’s
perception of how he or she looks or appears in the world. This is more likely
something a person would face in waking life, since the likelihood of actually
being caught naked is not something that frequently occurs to someone. The
underlying issue being brought to waking consciousness by the dream may
relate to one’s expectations about being accepted by others or may suggest
vulnerability to being criticized.
While researching themes, I was tempted to inquire about something I
had heard many years ago — that there is a finite number of plots in literature
and film. I thought I had heard there were just 10. I was surprised to learn
that there are many versions of this. Suggested “finite” numbers included
three, seven, 20, and 37. The most intriguing thought was presented by
William Foster-Harris1, a former professor of journalism at the University of
Oklahoma. Foster-Harris claimed that all plots stem from one thing —
conflict.
We live in a world of polarities — love/hate, optimism/ pessimism, and
safety/vulnerability. We normally don’t have to face the extremes of these
conflicts, but in therapy situations we may see clients who only see the
extremes — “my world is coming to an end because ‘my spouse left me’ or ‘I
lost my job,’ or … (fill in the blank).” It is the job of the therapist to help the
client see that the extremes are not the only possibilities, but that there are
ways to achieve balance in one’s life. I consider our conflicts and their
inherent polarities to be gifts that motivate us to continually seek harmony
and balance. Helping one achieve harmony and balance in life is a primary
function of the therapist or counselor — and, I believe, is a major function of
our dreams as well.
Dreams have helped me see the other possibilities when only the
extremes seem likely. They have helped me make the changes in my life that
have led to greater degrees of balance. In one example, earlier in my life, I
was facing a conflict of will. I know that I have a tendency to put things off
and ignore the fact that I am not doing what is best for myself. Fortunately, I
had a dream that showed me a possible future and presented options for me to
make a change if I chose.
About two years after finishing college, I was forced to join the Air
Force to avoid being drafted into the Army. I knew all along that I was too
much of an independent thinker to make a career of the military. I must admit
that I did meet some great people and got to see some of the world, but it was
really not for me. This was definitely pointed out to me in a dream I had after
a number of years of service.
In this dream, I am wandering around in a sewer. It is very dark and
dirty. I see a ladder attached to the cement wall on the far side of the area I
am in. I climb it. At the top, I open the round manhole cover. I look out to see
a wide expanse of green fields. The sun is shining brightly. Off in the
distance, on a low rise, is an enormous white building that I know is a school.
The extremes I was being faced with, and perhaps ignoring consciously,
were clearly reflected in this dream: darkness and light, wandering aimlessly,
versus being given an opportunity to improve myself.
That dream was a major wake-up call to me to get moving and find
another line of work. After I got out of the Air Force, I was fortunate to find
several positions that involved developing computer programs. My thought at
the time was, “Where has this been all of my life?” I’m not sure I would have
found that enjoyable work without being motivated to climb up out of the
sewer and make my way to “school.”
In this chapter, I will introduce you to five people who have faced
conflict in their lives and have had dreams that helped lead them to greater
degrees of balance. You will meet Kelly, who resolved her conflict
concerning lack of nurturing by rediscovering her passions and living them.
Marjorie was conflicted about whether dreams would serve her better than
her professional work until dreams came and awakened her to their value.
Once conflicted about how she appeared to others, Regina, through a dream,
learned to accept herself and find joy in her identity. Don’s dream showed
her that she got angry because of her inner conflict of seeing to others’ needs
to the exclusion of her own.
Play Ball
Staring dreamily up at the soft swish of my pink canapé bed draped
cocoon-like over my head, I am reminiscing again and again about having
just kissed a boy. And not just any boy…the cutest boy in Junior High! He
had brown wavy hair, sparkling brown eyes with yellow flecks, a crooked
smile, and a rock star swagger that weakened my knees. I have an actual
boyfriend! I can’t believe it!!! He asked me to be his girlfriend!
I plant a hot, steamy kiss goodbye through layers of bubblegum lip-gloss
on my Andy Gibb poster: “Sorry Andy, he’s waaaaaaay cuter than even
you!” For the first time, my body was on fire…I felt alive…totally,
thoroughly, and absolutely, head over heels in LOVE! I’d never felt anything
like it. Everything sparkled…my body was alight with ten thousand fireworks
and nothing could wipe the smile from my face – until the phone rang a few
months later.
It was the love of my life (or so I thought) mumbling to me in a rushed
voice that he couldn’t be my boyfriend anymore as he hung up the phone.
Just like that, I went from hero to zero, like someone dumped a bucket of ice
water over my head; a stunned, wounded-animal-sound sputtered out of my
mouth, “Whhhhhyyyyy?”
THUD.
My heart fell out of my body from a thousand-story building and
CRASHED on the pavement below into dust. I couldn’t breathe…it took all
my strength to stumble to the bathroom, lock the door, and curl into the fetal
position on the cold linoleum and wail for an inconsolable night.
When I finally fell asleep that night I dreamed: I am at school, running
up to him, begging him to take me back…pleading with him. When that
doesn’t work, I angrily demand an explanation, to which he shrugs me off,
laughing, making fun of me for creating such a spectacle. I am humiliated,
heartbroken, desperate, and a fool who had been cast out (not a good thing
for a young girl’s fragile self-confidence).
When I actually (in waking reality) showed up to school the next day
with the wisdom of my dream tucked neatly in the back pocket of my
skintight Jordache jeans, I felt the clear marching orders of what NOT to do.
In spite of the fact that I was shaking like an epileptic on the inside, on the
outside a new persona was born: the cool girl.
I had no idea how I pulled this off, but I found the mask – actually, the
mask found me. I numbly walked through the halls of the outdoor, California
middle school, flipping my long, blonde feathered hair back and forth, as if I
could care less whether a certain ridiculous boy liked me or not! Ha!
No one noticed that my smile was no longer bursting naturally from an
authentic inner glow, but instead it had become like the work of a skillful
plastic surgeon hiding my fractured soul. Where did this cavalier persona
come from? How did she know to bind and gag the real me in a basement
within myself ten-floors deep?
I Married My Mugger
Vanessa Poster
…. and he leaned toward me and kissed me.
Morgan was a gentleman. He held the door open for anyone. He was a
feminist with a smoldering masculinity who made breakfast, and brewed my
tea for me every morning – exactly the way I like it. He once saved a
woman’s life by running to her rescue and cutting the strap of her purse, with
which an attacker had been strangling her.
He died from throat cancer. After seven months of agonizing treatments,
he learned the cancer had not been defeated, followed by six weeks of saying
goodbye with grace and dignity. Every single night of this process, even as
his conscious brain left his body, we shared a gratitude prayer, listing what
we appreciated and asking god for blessings on our friends, ourselves, and
the world.
We were together eight years: a second marriage for both of us. On our
first date I learned that for many years of his life, Morgan co-taught a class in
women’s self-defense called, “Model Mugging.” What’s different about this
kind of self-defense is that the “mugger” is outfitted in a fully padded suit,
with a helmet. The fighting is full contact, no holding back punches. What
the body learns in this type of adrenalized state, it can remember in an
adrenalized state, such as a real rape situation. Morgan taught the class, took
a men’s version of the class, and taught other men how to be in the mugger
suit.
I knew I loved him in the moment he told me about being a mugger.
Eleven years before he was ever involved with Model Mugging, I had taken
the class. I am an only child. Before that, I had never hit another human being
in my life! That class empowered me, a 4’11” woman, to walk with so much
power in the world that I have yet to be threatened in any sort of real
mugging situation, except of course when cancer stole my love from me.
It took Morgan four months after that first date to realize he loved me.
He was driving and thought, “Oh, I can’t wait to tell Vanessa about what
happened today,” and that was his clue that I was in his soul. The first
question he asked after his passionate, “I love you,” was, “So, how do you
want to die?” For him, love means that you are responsible for making sure
your loved one’s wishes are respected. He was very clear: if he couldn’t wipe
his own ass, he wanted to die.
It’s been three months since he died, and I talk to him all the time. I feel
his arms around me in the shower and in my sleep. He smiles at me from his
pictures around the house. I miss him in the way you miss someone when
they are away on a trip. I want him to talk to me for real, not just in my head,
touch me for real, not just in my imagination. But he’s not here. He’s over the
horizon somewhere that doesn’t have cell phones or email.
I met Kelly Sullivan Walden a few weeks ago at a Dream Circle. I
barely spoke during the circle. I was busy being pummeled by emotions.
After the workshop ended, I spoke to Kelly and told her I was upset that my
dead husband hadn’t yet visited me in a dream. After all, I’m the type that
people visit in dreams after they pass. In fact, less than a week after my best
friend died of diabetes (more than twenty years ago), she came to me in a
dream showing me how glowing, healthy, and pain free she was now on the
other side. So, why hadn’t Morgan come to me? I wanted him to so badly.
Kelly cried with me and asked: what would I want the dream to be?
I said that he would be waiting for me at the top of the stairs with the
dog when I came home. So simple. She comforted me by saying that I wasn’t
remembering all my dreams; he may have actually come to me already. And,
if not, he would come in his own time. Since I was communicating with him
all the time, it may be that he didn’t need to come to me in a dream.
She asked me what simple action I would take as a result of our
conversation, and I said I would start a dream declaration: “When I wake up,
I vividly remember my dreams.” Within a week Morgan came to me: a
healthy, handsome Morgan:
We are in an auditorium, sitting by the aisle of the first row and holding
hands. It is a ceremony honoring Model Muggers. The place is packed with
muggers and women who’d taken the class. I turn to him and say, “I married
my mugger.” And he leans toward me and kisses me.
The opening line of our gratitude prayer is: “Father-Mother God, how
great thou art, how infinite, how wonderful.” Now that Morgan is gone, he
has joined the infinite nature of god. I believe that god is what quarks are
made of. God is in everything…and Morgan, now, is in everything. Cancer
did not mug me in a dark alley and take away anything. I married my
mugger. I joined with him forever in a commitment that contains all and is all
and is good. And, now, Morgan is in me in a way more real than his physical
presence, he is in my every quark.
The Key
Joan Gelfand
The fourth time is a charm…
The first key dream was not what I wanted. Frank and I had been
together for a few years, and I was sure that after my divorce, Frank was “the
one.” He’d been a friend of my ex, Darrell, and had always been part of our
small family. I had this dream: Frank meets me in People’s Park – a popular
Berkeley hangout spot with hippies and homeless people – to hand over the
key to his apartment. I don’t take it.
A few years after that dream, Frank announced, out of the blue, that he
had fallen in love with a woman at the office! I was devastated. In the six
years that we had been together we had bought a new house in the Berkeley
Hills, had gotten married, and were living an enviably wonderful life with
two blossoming careers. I’d had another child and was as happy as I had ever
been – I thought.
Frank and I dismantled our lives, sold the house, and separated our
finances. I moved back to my old house that I had rented out when we moved
up into the hills. It was a difficult transition, but the saving grace was that
Frank was more than happy to accept partial custody – he wanted to raise the
child we had had together with his new love. Two years later: I dream that
my ex – now back in the picture as a sort of savior – hands me a key. I don’t
accept that one either. “It’s too short,” I tell him.
That dream helped to settle the uncertainty I had been harboring that we
should get back together.
A couple of years passed as my daughter, Sherrill, her younger sister,
and I re-built our lives. Sherrill was happy in school; the baby was in full
time day-care, and my career as a corporate space planner working with
architects and designers was taking off in wonderful and exciting directions. I
was promoted to Business Development Manager, overseeing key company
accounts. I was happy again.
I loved my children, and my work, and my funky, 1920’s Berkeley
home, but still longed for a partner. Always in a relationship, I now felt
incomplete and lonely for adult companionship. Over the next two years on
my own, I dated a string of unappealing men who had no interest in my
children. That was a deal breaker! I never even took the time to divulge that
‘love me, love my children’ was my line in the sand. After numerous
misbegotten dates, I berated myself for wasting precious time. I dated men on
the days that Frank had the children – days I should have been paying my
bills, fixing up my house or anything other than wasting hours on
disappointing men!
About the time, Sherrill was eleven, and the baby was four, I abandoned
all hope of meeting anyone – at least not while I was raising children. I came
to a place of inner peace after a meeting with a financial planner. I was doing
well financially, I was happy at work. I loved my life! I owned my own
home, and had two wonderful children. I had friends and family. I would
learn to live with what I had and stop wishing for what I didn’t have.
Soon after the meeting with the financial planner, I met Art. Art was the
man I had always dreamed of, but had given up hope of ever meeting. A
successful Tech professional, he was divorced with two children close to
Sherrill’s age. He loved to read, he was an oenophile and gourmet cook but
best of all, he loved my children! He was the most generous, loving man I
could have ever conjured up.
The third key dream came after Art and I were together for three years –
right before we were married: Art is digging in the dirt, searching for a key.
Huh!
About a year later, I decided to change jobs. After eight years on the job,
I had done everything I had set out to do. I was ready to commit to becoming
a full time writer. I had two degrees in Creative Writing, had published
poems and articles in journals and papers and was now ready to go for it. I
hired Jane, a life coach, who relied on her skills as a trainer, a therapist, and
an intuitive. One day, after my second collection of poetry was published,
Jane said: “Joan, I searched up and down Union Street for a gift for you. I
looked at everything – crystals, jewelry. Nothing resonated. Then my phone
rang. I dropped it, and when I got up this Key fell off the shelf.”
“A key! Jane you won’t believe this!” I was shaking.
I told Jane the three key dreams. And in that moment, I realized what the
key dreams were telling me! A partner or lover, no matter how dear, cannot
hold the key to me. The key is about my work; my real work of poetry and
writing.
After that pivotal meeting with Jane, I was gifted with a fourth key
dream: I am hiding a key for Sherrill. I show her best friend, Crystal, where
the key is secretly hidden – on top of my rear car tire. “Make sure you tell
Sherrill where the key is,” I instruct Crystal.
I told Sherrill about the key dream. “For me, the key is about my work
and my creative ambitions. “I’ve hidden it away for you.” Even at twenty-
four, I’m not sure that Sherrill really understood, but hopefully in time she
will. Without the key dreams, I’m not sure I would ever have accepted that
my life’s true path, the key to me, as you will, is not about my partners, or
marriage, but about my work, my true passion, and about passing my wisdom
down to my children, the next generation.
Future Souls
Marlene King
I know I will leave with one of them.
My husband and I had just moved to a new state due to a job relocation.
We had been having marital problems but I felt like we could have a fresh
beginning. Unfortunately old problems moved with us. My hope for the
relationship did not materialize, so I kept busy with creative classes indulging
in my love of art and writing– and dreams.
At the start of a jewelry making class, I happened to sit next to a woman
who I learned had attended the same Mid-west College as my husband, so we
struck up a casual friendship. Several weeks into the course, I noticed she
was physically transformed and her attitude was bright and different – she'd
lost weight, her clothes were more stylish and professional and she was
animated with a new energy. Intrigued, I commented on her positive changes.
More than happy to share her discovery of self-improvement, she invited me
to a human potential guest event in a large city about 100 miles from our
quiet suburb, so I could see for myself.
We went, I was impressed, and I was sold – I wanted “the training.”
Unfortunately, the next one offered started on my husband’s birthday, and
knew this would not be a good choice given our difficulties, so I reluctantly
signed up for the next available one, which was at the start of a new year. The
holidays came and went, and I was excited as the training date drew closer.
A week before the event, I had the following dream: I am in between two
monks who escort me to the edge of a precipice that overlooks “the
universe.” I see people sleeping, looking like slivers of cloud – layers that
stretch into infinity. I turn to each of the monks and ask them what the clouds
are. One answers, “Future souls.” One monk is blonde, the other a redhead.
I don’t know who they are, but I know I will leave with one of them.
The event was held in a vintage hotel downtown; it was a stretch for me
as I did not know one soul in the big city, and the commute each evening in
winter weather was a challenge as it took almost two hours each way. After
arriving at the hotel that first night, I began to wonder what I was getting
myself into – but fear quickly vanished as I was warmly welcomed at check-
in and directed into the training room. I was astonished at the sea of chairs
and people – at least 250 crowded the event hall, and the energy was
palpable. Soon the trainers took the stage, and the experience that changed
my life began.
About mid-evening, we formed a circle within a circle and one moved
clockwise, the other counterclockwise when the music played – sort of a
musical chairs idea. When the music stopped, we were to break the circles
and engage in a dyad with the person who stood opposite. I enjoyed the
process and with one dyad under my belt, we re-formed the circles and the
music resumed and we began the slow rotations. This time when the music
stopped, I looked across the circle and recognized the man who stood before
me as the blonde monk in my dream! And, I somehow “knew” he was my
future husband!
I was trembling, but I couldn’t tell him what had just happened – that I
had seen him in a dream just the week before and that I knew we were to be
together! During the dyad exercise, it was literally as if we had known each
other from another place and time. I somehow got through it, and moved on
to do another round of circles, shaken, transported by the surreal experience –
I had just kept an appointment with destiny.
After the stressful process of divorce, several months later I used my
new-found tools of self-confidence and belief and relocated to that big city to
start a fresh life, trusting I would find my way. Eventually, my “not-yet-
husband” and I began dating, and he shared a page from his journal. Before
that training, he had outlined what he wanted in a partner which described me
perfectly – he even drew a sketch that looked like me! I fit every nuance of
what he envisioned on paper! As I was recognizing him, he was recognizing
me! Not only that, but he, too, had been scheduled to attend the earlier
training, but cancelled due to work conflicts and signed up for the January
session as the next option.
Now 37 years of marriage later, we have shared some of life’s greatest
joys and adventures and manifestations of amazing dreams. Are there
precognitive dreams? I’d say a resounding “yes”! The cosmic maneuvering
of the chess pieces in the game of life arranged the series of decisions, shifts
in schedules, and events to happen in perfect order, so I could meet the man
of my dreams!
Cobwebs
Gari Hart
As Gary was to learn, dreams can put our most emotionally
important relationships into a new perspective.
In my dream, I wake up on the living room couch of an apartment I rent
with my girlfriend. She is the most important and influential person in my life.
We’ve been talking about eventually getting married and having children. I
realize she’s not home; I’m alone. There is a sepia tone all over. Cobwebs
cover everything: the furniture, the walls, the lights, and even me. I feel
regret for the careless and inattentive direction I’ve taken the relationship
with my girlfriend. She has not been happy with me lately. I feel empty, and
regret the aimless and careless approach I’ve taken toward my relationship. I
can tell she’s slipping away. I lay my head back down and think about how
I’m going to try harder, and how I will not lose this relationship. I resolve to
sweep her up in my arms and tell her how much I love her and want our
relationship to work.
When I woke, I became aware this girlfriend, and I had separated years
before. At that moment, I became cognizant of how vacant and twisted I let
myself become in those years without her. I reflected on how, after moving in
with her, because of my neglect, the relationship started to nosedive. Even
though it was upsetting when, after a year of sharing an apartment, we went
our separate ways, I thought I’d be ok as I moved on and got over her …… I
was wrong.
Once it dawned on me that we would never get back together I felt
directionless and that I could no longer trust anyone again…most especially
myself. My life over the next four years was a blur of alcoholism and illicit
drug use, detached and failed relationships, gloom, apathy, and a desire for
deconstruction of everything in sight. I thrived on picking things and people
apart and I felt justified in the destructive behavior I inflicted on myself and
others.
Immediately after that dream, although so many years had passed since
our breakup, it was like a light was turned on in a dark room. I realized that I
never moved on from the break up and I was pining over something in the
past I could not repair. The dream had switched on a notion in me, which
revealed all my self-doubts and self-destruction was the result of my not
moving on.
I became crystal clear that my cycle of destruction would only end when
I changed direction, looking ahead instead of backwards. Because of this
dream I began to get back to my self (who I was before the relationship), I
refreshed my image of myself, and soon began to be confident and relaxed
again. I’ve changed my lifestyle, have positive people in my life, embrace
new experiences, and approach each day with optimism instead of disdain.
I was married, happily married, until I found out one evening coming
back home from a business meeting that my husband was having an affair
with a woman I knew. I was shocked. I felt that the rug had just been pulled
out from under my feet. I felt a myriad of emotions, but the anger is what
truly overwhelmed me. Being a psych nurse, I thought I should be able to
deal with this more calmly, but I was overwhelmed with rage.
Through the process, I learned to rely on the wisdom of my dreams and I
took to writing them down in my dream journal for months following. As I
did this, it was as if the floodgates opened for me, in fact, I could recall on
average six to seven dreams per night. As I journaled, I’d take note of how
each dream left me feeling. It became increasingly clear that I was receiving
the healing benefit of these dreams. I could see that each dream was
masterfully helping me to vent my hurt, sadness, fear and self-doubt.
A recurring theme during this time that enabled me to see my progress in
my dreams was a scenario: I am an artist holding my palette and brushes and
as I paint with various colors I have the distinct feeling I am painting the
canvas of my own life.
In these dreams I learned to trust myself and develop a deeper sense of
empowerment and intuition. I knew that my dreams would continue to
gradually give me what I really need to find myself, and my serenity.
Because of my dreams, I could see and feel that I was not a victim of my
circumstances.
At some point in my healing process, they began to show me my shadow
– the part of me where the anger was still festering and eating away my soul
and vitality. Interestingly they didn’t reveal themselves until I was ready to
see them as the gift they truly are. One night when I was ready to receive the
ultimate catharsis of my anger, I received the following nightmare/ dream/
gift:
I’m entering a house that I am unfamiliar with. My husband is sitting in
a rocking chair, looking very sad and vacant. The door opens. It is his
girlfriend coming in. She sees me and comes toward me. She has long black
hair and wears a very plain grey jacket and skirt. She looks at me and says:
“Allo, ma chérie.” (Hello, my darling.)
HUM!
Instantly, that feeling of anger appears and overtakes me! I walk over to
her, grab her by the back of her hair, and pour a glass of beer on her head
which had suddenly materialized in my hand and disappeared immediately.
Holding her hair and pulling as hard as I can, I drag her up to the kitchen
sink, which is full of old, dirty, greasy water. I pull hard and completely
immerse her face in the dirty water a number of times. What a good feeling.
What a relief! Only a dream could allow me to express my frustration so
deeply.
I woke up laughing, aware of how the dream had allowed me to release
my pent up anger with a sense of humor, helping me to act out my anger in a
way I never could have done (nor would have wanted to have done) in
waking reality. I giggled as I remember thinking that she might wake up with
a headache, and I would be the only one who knew why.
A few years ago, I was telling a friend, a psychologist, about this
powerful dream. She asked me where I was in the house when he admitted to
me about having an affair. “He was at the sink, getting a glass of water.” For
those who might wonder if I also felt anger towards my ex-husband – Yes, I
was . . . and took it out – not so covertly – on a few innocent plates in waking
reality.
Thanks to that dream, I experienced an unconventional healing process I
didn’t know was needed, nor could have ever imagined. I’m so grateful that
because of all my post-marriage dreams (especially the pulling the hair
dream), I no longer feel anger towards either my ex or his girlfriend. I now
realize that my life had other (even better) plans for me.
Since this dream, I’ve made a U-turn toward my own self-
empowerment. I’ve since purchased a beautiful small house, I stopped
working in psychiatry, and was given an opportunity to work in palliative
care (something I’d always wanted to do). I became interested in dreams and
dying and wrote a book on the subject. Besides becoming a member of the
IASD, I am incredibly happy, fulfilled, and surrounded by love and
friendship.
The Voice
Rita Hildebrandt
Destiny calling….
I am fifteen years old and off school for the summer on this hot and
humid day in Buenos Aires. I am feeling depressed and lonely, not knowing
what to do with myself, and decide to take a nap. I wake up deeply energized
and renewed from an auditory dream that announces my future:
A soft, loving and beautiful feminine voice tells me: “You will travel to a
foreign country and there you will meet your life’s partner.”
I am one month short of my 21st birthday and boarding a Japanese
freighter to Long Beach, CA, with my new friend Balinda. We were brought
together three years ago at the University of Buenos Aires and hatched a plan
that is now becoming a reality.
Balinda and I move into this Hollywood apartment after returning from a
three-month European trip. I meet this man who is the official greeter and
party guy at the apartment building. He is strongly attracted to me, and
pursues me aggressively. I am inside the brick walls of my fort – protected
and isolated – looking out. He makes me nervous with his loud voice and
persistent return. I try to hide behind my quiet invisibility, but I can’t hide
from him.
However, Bob is far from my ideal partner. He is 19 years older than
me, shorter than I am, balding and twice divorced. In spite of this, Balinda
persuades me to go on a double date with her and Bill and Bob. Bill and I sit
out the evening watching Balinda and Bob gyrate wildly on the dance floor.
At midnight Bob drives me home, and in the silence of the car I sense for the
first time deep comfort in our togetherness. I invite him in and he drops his
social mask, and I see and hear a man of depth, intelligence and warmth who
listens deeply. We talk for four hours, uninterruptedly.
The next day, after work, I stop by his studio apartment and we make
love for the first time. My body tight in so many places from the trauma of
my childhood begins unwinding under his gentle and loving caresses. We
melt into pure pleasure and oneness together.
His studio is filled with books of the new ideas arising in California in
the late sixties in the arena of psychology and spirituality including a book on
dreams. We grow an intimate ritual of reading together and making love. My
body and mind seem to understand in a profound way these new ideas I am
being exposed to. Amazing, really, for someone who barely made it through
elementary school and who graduated from high school and college by her
photographic memory and not through understandings of any kind.
In the intimacy of his space we discover each other. I awaken and
remember the truth of who I am through his loving eyes and touch. I love the
sound of his voice, the feel of his body, his sense of humor, and his depth
through suffering. I learn he has epilepsy, and was living a wild life in the
music business with his second wife. She is a gifted musician, and he was her
business manager. He drank, smoked, and lived the nightlife of musicians.
Seven years into their marriage, he had a grand mal seizure that broke his
back and she left him. This began his journey of consciousness.
His open and loving heart, and his desire for authenticity and truth melt
my armor and out of that isolated place inside myself a young woman
emerges that is new to me. Under his loving gaze, I become articulate,
intelligent and beautiful. I learn I have a gift and go back to school to pursue
a degree in Psychology, and begin my journey of healing.
The spiritual journey and conversation that Bob and I started that night
in my apartment, lasted 37 years until his death on 8/26/2005 as predicted by
my dream, and our spirit and heart connection, will live on throughout all
time.
Chapter 7
Ivy Black
In order for the old wounds to heal, sometimes we need to “feel
them, face them, and embrace them.”
One night after the Malaysian air disaster, I had a very disquieting
dream: I am lost while on the way to the airport with some of the passengers
from the Malaysian airplane that disappeared in 2014. An overwhelming
sense of abandonment and loneliness engulfs me.
Upon awakening, the lingering sensation brought me back to my
childhood memories of how I was detached and isolated from my parents.
My sister and I grew up in my grandparents’ house and were looked after by
my grandparents. My parents were quite young, and my grandparents also
had four other children who were still in school. As both of my parents
worked, they would only come to visit us once in a while. Every time they
visited, it was a very short stay. Often when my parents were about to leave,
they would ask my grandmother (or whoever was available in the house) to
entice us into the kitchen or onto the balcony so that they could sneak out
without saying goodbye. They wanted to avoid our crying, wanting them to
stay longer, or begging to go home with them.
Since my uncle (my mother’s older brother) and his family lived very
close to my grandparents, oftentimes my sister and I would stay over at their
house during weekends to give my grandparents a break. Staying in my
uncle’s was not part of the “official” arrangement, meaning there was no
monetary compensation to my uncle and his family to take care of us.
Therefore, often there would be neither food nor clean clothes for my sister or
me. These expenses did add up. Being a sensitive child, I always felt we were
not welcome there, especially by my aunt.
Every now and then, I felt like a refugee without a home. I felt very
much neglected and alienated. I was even afraid to tell anyone when I was
hungry, because I did not want to create even more of a burden to others by
being intrusive and creating more trouble than we already had. For the
longest time, I felt like a ping-pong ball bouncing from one side to the other.
My parents wanted as little to do with us as possible. My uncle and his family
could not really afford to bear more dependents in addition to their three
young children. My grandparents loved us and did their best to raise us, but
they could only do only so much.
This dream stirred up the emotions I had suppressed and made me aware
that some part of my soul had been buried along the way. I instinctively knew
that in order for the old wounds to heal, I needed to feel them, face them, and
embrace them. The dream inspired me and gave me courage to have a heart-
to-heart, open, and honest discussion with my mother to share my feelings
and convey how much pain the feeling of abandonment as a child had caused
me. The conversation with my mother opened my heart and my eyes to her
side of the story. It gave me a deeper understanding of her upbringing, and
the emotions she was encountering as a young mother. I came to learn that
although she loved us very much, she was struggling to adapt to her new life
as well as fight her depression. The relationship I have with my mother has
become much stronger ever since that conversation. I am forever thankful to
my dream for the much-needed healing it brought.
Rita Hildebrandt
At times of crisis, dreams can release an inner power, giving us
strength we did not know we had!
From age 9 until when this dream happened, I had visualized daily my
upcoming death. I would envision myself in a coffin carried by a two-horse
carriage to the cemetery and my parents walking behind it, finally realizing
that I meant something to them. In waking life I had given up on ever
receiving love or attention from them. Both were emotionally deeply
damaged by losses in Europe from World War II. At the time of the dream, I
was 12 years old, and very ill in Buenos Aires, Argentina. I was seriously ill
with pneumonia and high fever, gladly anticipating my death. In the midst of
my fever I had the following lucid dream:
I see the face of a woman in her mid-twenties looking straight at me. Her
face is red, with strong emotions of rage and anger, telling me I would not
die. She says that I needed to “disown my parents” and that she would take
care of me from that day forward.
Soon afterward, my fever broke, and I eventually recuperated from
pneumonia. I was deeply disappointed that my death had not happened. One
day, a couple of months after my dream, my father, in one of his rage attacks,
pulled me into the bathroom to beat me with a razor strap — something that
had been happening sporadically since I was 9 years old. There never was
rhyme or reason to his rage, but I would become the target. At that moment
this energy arose from the bottom of my feet upward; it was an energy of
rage and anger that struck back at him with fierce determination. I began
beating him with a force I had not known before, and he stopped, dazed and
surprised. From that day forward he never beat me again. I felt the
embodiment of the energy of that woman who had appeared in my dream
move through me.
Chapter 8
Who Am I?
Bob Hoss
In this first story Bob Hoss lucidly discovers that the apparent
identity of four dream figures in a lucid dream, are parts of himself
– parts that actually matched his Meyers Briggs ENTJ (Extrovert,
Intuitive, Thinking, Judging) personality type! In the process he
discovers a resolution to the stressful situation he is stuck in.
At the time, I was overly stressed due to my overengaging in a number
of simultaneous activities that I had envisioned and committed to, mostly
associated with dream studies. At the same time, I became very depressed
that most of these “visions” were of little consequence. Who really receives
anything of lasting value from them? I was seriously thinking of dropping out
of most all of them — then I had this dream:
I am in a warehouselike structure in white color tones. I am greeted by a
caretaker, a short character with curly hair wearing jean coveralls who looks
like one of the Mario brothers. At that moment, the dream goes lucid, and I
realize I am dreaming. I get excited about that and decide to fly but want to
do it with the caretaker to show he is lucid. We join hands and rise into the
air, joyously rotating and spiraling in a circle as we fly upward.
He then introduces me to a character who enters as a tall, handsome,
outgoing blond guy. I look up to him and exclaim, “Boy, are you tall!” Then
realizing that characters in lucid dreams are often parts of myself, I ask him,
“What part of myself are you?” He says, “I am your fun-loving party side”
(here was “E”, my Extrovert).
The caretaker then introduces me to another man. He is bent over a
bench, totally frustrated with himself that after so much effort, he was unable
to create the piece of art he had envisioned (here was “J”, my Judging side).
He is trying to create a small wall sculpture of a smiling sun out of yellow
and green clay on a brown background. He is impatient and wants the clay it
to stick instantly, exactly as he pictured it without his sculpting it a bit. I try
to tell him to relax and sculpt the clay slowly, but he ignores me, so I finally
make a joke, “or you can just slap it all down like you are doing, then cut off
anything that doesn’t look like a sun!” I later understood this to be a guiding
metaphor — rather than getting stressed and giving up, cut out all the
peripheral stuff that really doesn’t lead to the ultimate vision.
I am then introduced to a large robot man. He is totally made of silver
mechanical and electronic parts, including an old broken vacuum tube in his
brain cavity (a piece of past stuff no longer useful). I ask him, “What part of
myself are you?” He states, “I am your wise and learned oldest self — your
past and your future” (being a scientist here was “T”, my Thinking side).
Since he said he was also my future I ask, “Then what will become of me?”
He says, “Come back after the 13th dream, and I will tell you.” Pretty
profound — if I knew what it meant! Turns out I would find out later.
Next, I am with the caretaker sitting at a lab bench. Suddenly, a
beautiful petite woman with flowing black hair comes rushing by. She has a
sparkling personality and sparkles around her hair. I am instantly attracted
to her and ask her to stop for a moment, but she says, “I can’t stay because I
have a Madison Avenue meeting I am running.” I reach over and pick her up
and place her on top of the lab bench in front of me. She is soft and delightful
and takes my breath away. I ask her, “What part of myself are you?” She
says, “I am your VISIONS. … I am like diamonds” (here was the “N”, my
Intuitive). At that point, I awoke with a feeling of splendor, transformed and
assured that my visions were indeed of great value!
____________________
Author’s notes: But what of the 13th dream? What Bob Hoss did not know at
that moment is that this lucid dream would trigger an amazing sequence of
telepathic events and synchronicities beginning the very next day, which
placed it in a much greater “universal guidance” context. The resulting
transformative experience in Bob’s story continues in Stanley Krippner’s
chapter, Transcending Space & Time.
Carefully examining lucid dreams can demonstrate how they differ in
significant ways from nonlucid dreams. Consider these distinctive points
from Bob’s dream:
1) Purposeful and conscious decision-making. Upon becoming
lucid, Hoss first decides to fly to demonstrate his lucid awareness.
Lucid dreamers often show an elevated ability to make purposeful
decisions, unlike many nonlucid dreams where we instinctively
react or unthinkingly accept situations.
2) Deliberate and thoughtful questioning. When Hoss wonders if
the tall blond figure might represent “part of me,” he asks an
open-ended question, “What part of myself are you?” and awaits
the reply. Having success with this line of questioning, he
continues it with two more dream figures. By contrast, nonlucid
dreams normally show less deliberation, as the dreamer accepts a
series of (often fantastical) events and fails to question them.
3) Enhanced situational analysis. When he “turned around” and
met another man totally absorbed in creating a piece of clay art,
Hoss realized that the man’s inability relates to his own feeling:
impatient, frustrated, and hurried. In lucid dream reports, you
often see a more detailed critical analysis of a situation from
within the dream.
Though important differences exist, lucid dreams fre quently share
common elements with nonlucid dreams. Hoss still encounters unexpected or
surprising comments or actions from the dream figures. When he asks, “Tell
me what will become of me,” the large robot man replies, “Come back after
the 13th dream, and I will tell you.” Similarly, when he asks the attractive
woman to stop for a moment, she replies, “I can’t stay because I have a
Madison Avenue meeting I am running.” Hoss can obviously direct his focus
and questioning but does not predetermine or control their (i.e., the dream
figures’) response.
These unexpected responses suggest that a kind of dynamic relationship
occurs between the lucid dreamer and the dream figures, situation, and setting
in that moment. Looking closely at the unexpected response may lead the
lucid dreamer to re-examine his or her viewpoint, which can result in new
insights or even a complete transformation in viewpoint.
Breakthrough Nightmares
Alan Siegel
In our nightmares, we experience a primal sense of vulnerability and
helplessness. Terrifying monsters and sinister beings inhabit our bad dreams
and haunt us in the waking hours, with a lingering emotional hangover that
can last for days, months, years, or decades1. Understanding the source of
nightmares and resolving the crises and conflicts that set them off is crucial to
mental health.
Unresolved nightmares, especially when they are recurring and
connected to profound stress or unresolved trauma, are one of the main
symptoms of Post-traumatic Stress Disorder2. Sometimes, nightmare
resolution occurs spontaneously and reflects improvements in the situation or
conflicts that initially triggered the nightmares. Often, especially when
conflicts persist or multiple life stresses pile up or overlap, nightmares linger
and may lead to other symptoms, especially sleep disorders, depression, and
anxiety. In those cases, getting help can be crucial to resolve lingering
anxiety connected to nightmares and may lead both to fewer nightmares and
to resolution of other symptoms.
Throughout history and in many cultures today, the evil denizens of
nightmares were viewed as coming from external divine or demonic forces
— messages from the gods or divine forces, attacks by incubi or succubae, or
the wrath of vengeful gods or goddesses. Even the origin of the English word,
nightmare, conveys the sense of terror that humans experience. According to
John Mack, in Anglo-Saxon3, a “mare was a demon, derived from the
Sanskrit, mara or destroyer.”
The work of Freud and Jung at the turn of the 20th century opened up
new possibilities in understanding nightmares. Thesource of nightmares was
relocated to within the psyche and not outside. Nightmares were considered
to be important messages from within — activity in the unconscious linked to
stress, trauma, confusion, and change.
The dream pioneers of the early 20th century struggled to explain the
origin and function of nightmares. The repetitive and unresolved endings of
post-traumatic nightmares did not fit well into Freud’s theory of wish
fulfillment. How is an unconscious wish fulfilled if the dreamer is
condemned endlessly to repeat horrific and unresolved scenarios? For Jung,
the vast majority of dreams were compensatory, bringing awareness to issues
we have not dealt with and often highlighting both our impasses and possible
metaphoric solutions to emotional blocks. Jung, however, did not try to create
a unitary model of dreaming and considered post-traumatic nightmares a
unique form of dreaming that was not always compensatory4.
Awareness of the psychological importance and creative potential of
nightmares was accelerated after the Vietnam War, when soldiers returned
traumatized by horrific violence and loss. Ernest Hartmann and others have
described the unique characteristics and psychodynamics of post-traumatic
nightmares and the differences between post-traumatic nightmares,
nightmares, and dreams.5,6
The unique characteristics of these nightmares include distressing
imagery and repetitive themes with unresolved conflicts, passive
victimization of the main character, an inability to resist or fight back
effectively, life-and-death survival situations, and often graphic violence,
destruction, and aggression, even the death of the main character or others in
the dream.7
Nightmares usually occur later in the night of sleep and often have a
much more developed story line — even if they are a bit hard to decipher at
times. Although recalling nightmares is infrequent for the vast majority of
humans, nightmares often increase during life’s turning points and crises.
Sleep and dream researchers have also sorted out the difference between
nightmares and night terrors. They discovered that night terrors occur
primarily in the first third of the night’s sleep and are more of a sleep disorder
than a dream phenomenon. They occur mostly in young children, who wake
up shortly after falling asleep, and have little content; but the child appears
incredibly distraught. With comforting words and perhaps some physical
soothing, children often fall back to sleep without any recall in the morning.8
Artists, poets, filmmakers, and novelists have always used nightmares as
one source of inspiration, and mystics and spiritual seekers have respected
the power of nightmares to open up pathways to enlightenment. Creative
people and those with what Hartmann called “thin boundaries” may also be
vulnerable to frequent nightmares — including some that inspire their artistic
expression.5 In cultures that place more importance on the psychological,
creative, and spiritual potential of dreams, dreams and nightmares are more
likely to be remembered and shared.
The four dreamers in this chapter recalled powerful dreams linked to a
variety of crises and traumatic events, including an adult’s dream
remembered dating back to age 7; two dreamers struggling with the
transitions to adulthood and career choice; and the dreams of a new mother,
traumatized by a near-death experience of her child. Three of the four
dreamers were or would become psychologists or counselors. They kept an
ongoing connection to their nightmares and became “wounded healers” who
ultimately drew inspiration from their experience and devoted themselves to
helping and educating others.
In two of the stories below, resolution was aided by lucidity. Although
many, perhaps most, lucid dreams occur spontaneously on their own, it
generally takes training and multiple attempts to re-enter a nightmare
purposefully, to become lucid soas to confront and vanquish the “evil forces.”
For those who are not trained lucid dreamers, various approaches to
rescripting a dream can be extremely therapeutic. Barry Krakow pioneered
Imagery Rehearsal Training, which guides a nightmare sufferer to change the
story line of a dream, often with creating a more resolved ending. This
technique has been shown to be effective for trauma survivors, and various
other forms of rescripting dreams and nightmares have also proven valuable.9
Not all nightmares are resolved at the time of the dream. For some, the
breakthroughs may come later as they explore the dream in a safe context. In
a graduate-level course I taught, a 30-year-old doctoral student who I will call
Mara recalled a series of recurrent childhood nightmares. In the repetitive
dreams, dating to when she was 9 years old: There are always two giant
fingers, strange and much larger than life. It is a little child trapped between
the huge fingers. It might be me. I am frightened and always wake up crying.
She knew the dreams were important but was puzzled about the
meaning. When I asked when the dreams had occurred and what was
happening in her life at the time, she blushed at the obvious connection and
suddenly recalled that her parents were divorcing and were in a protracted
and acrimonious custody battle. It did not take long for her to link the dream
image of the giant fingers squeezing a vulnerable child to her emotional
experience of being caught in the crossfire of her parents’ conflicts.8
At the time, Mara’s post-traumatic nightmares (and her feelings) were
unresolved — a distress signal from an overwhelmed child. She recalled the
dream details but blocked off the unbearable feelings. After sharing the
dream in class, she reported that she called her mother, who confirmed both
the recurring nightmares and their destructive impact, which her mother
deeply regretted. This led to a breakthrough in her relationship with her
mother and helped her to resolve the traumatic impact of the divorce 20 years
earlier. Although Mara wished she had received support and understanding at
the time, she also realized that the emotional wounds she experienced led to
her decision to become a child psychologist and to help children and families
heal the emotional pain of divorce and other traumas.
Nightmares have many causes and are often linked to extreme stress, to
disorienting life transitions, illness, loss, abuse, violence, and
disappointments. In fact, repetitive and often unchanging nightmares can be
one of the core symptoms of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. In therapy and
in life, exploring and resolving nightmares can be crucial in resolving PTSD,
depression and anxiety. Keeping the pain of nightmares bottled up can be
psychologically toxic. If the nightmares and the traumatic circumstances that
set them off do not get addressed, the emotional wounds can become like an
abscess — a virulent infection under the skin — toxic, but not always visible
on the surface.
The dreamers in this chapter and this book were eager to tell their stories
and nightmares, to celebrate their breakthroughs, and to educate and guide
others. All of the four dreamers in this chapter experienced overwhelming
stress, separation anxiety, severe illness, the near-death of a child, or a career
and spiritual crisis. Exploring their dreams and telling their stories broke the
silence, helped them become more human, more connected to others, more
resilient and empowered, and less fearful.
Dreams can change our lives when we pay attention, share our dreams
with friends, relatives, in dream groups, and with a mental health professional
when the need arises. With nightmares especially, just having the dream does
not necessarily lead to healing, especially when it is kept secret due to shame
and confusion. We usually need a safe place and a safe person or group to
share the nightmare, so we don’t feel isolated and paralyzed by our terror.12
As a general strategy, reassurance is a first-line intervention when an
individual is suffering from disturbing nightmares. In treatment if needed, or
if you are exploring your dream on your own, rescripting can be crucial to
transforming the pain of the nightmare into a source of insight and
creativity.13 Rescripting involves creating a new ending, rewriting, or
retelling the dreamby altering and creatively rearranging some of the story
lines and character interactions — often with a new or different resolution.
After rehearsing various alternate avenues and solutions, the dreamer often
comes up with a new perspective on the conflict in the nightmare. This can
lead to an easing of the nightmare distress and often to new insights and a
sense of a burden being lifted.
Keeping a dream journal can be especially helpful to see the recurrent
patterns and themes in your dreams. The patterns and the distance of looking
back over the dream narratives can often lead to spontaneous insights and the
courage to change. Remember, the most important book you will read about
dreams is your dream journal. In addition, exploring your dreams through
creative avenues, journaling, writing, drawing (especially for children), re-
enacting them dramatically, joining a dream group, working with a
psychotherapist or dream guide, meditating, or other approaches can activate
the healing power of dreams to change your life.
Healing Dreams
Joseph Kemeny
Chapter 11
God’s Idiot
Victoria Pendragon
Dreams transform us by attempting to inspire us, showing us our
inner healing strength that we have turned a blind eye to. And as
Victoria discovers, they can sometimes become amazingly blunt!
I was angry that I was dying from a disease – scleroderma – that, in
addition to killing me ever so slowly, was putting me in great pain. I’d had a
challenging life, marked by abuse, yet I still greeted each new day with
optimism. I was angry at a world I’d trusted to bring me to a good place. I’d
also been a voluminous and vivid dreamer, and a rift had begun to grow
between my dreams — remarkable dreams in which I was not just healthy but
healthy beyond my wildest hopes, able to carry a full-grown monk across a
stream for instance, a task for which I did not even consider myself worthy.
Rescuing others was a common theme. I grew even angrier now, at the
dreams themselves, for promising me the impossible.
I am in an elevator in a building that I know is quite tall, Empire State
Building-like. I am going up, but the elevator car is picking up speed, floor
numbers are whizzing by so fast that I cannot make them out. A brief, sharp
panic hits: It’s not stopping. It’s going to break through the roof and, with
that thought, it does. The car explodes through the roof of the building and
then it explodes me out and up into pitch black darkness spattered with
brilliant stars. It’s gorgeous. Suddenly, I am the stars, the sky, everything.
The feeling is amazing, fabulous, and transcendent.
I return slowly to consciousness, reveling in the feelings, lost in bliss,
when a voice — as loud and clear as if it were in the room with me — shouts,
“And you, you are God’s idiot!”
Even though it hurt, I laughed out loud. I was an idiot! The universe had
been sending me signs — amazing, inspiring dreams; I needed to drag myself
up and DO something, anything! Everything! Thus began a two-year
adventure in alternative approaches to healing plus the opportunity to be a
guinea pig in a medical experiment that, while it worked for me, worked for
no one else in the study, but I knew that it would work for me because I’d
dreamed about it before it happened.
My dreams saved my life, pure and simple. When I showed up at the
hospital where I’d been part of the study, 20 years after the study had been
shut down, my doctors cried. They thought for sure that I must be dead;
almost no one lives with the degree of scleroderma that I had, and no one else
that is known about has ever been freed of the disease.
Lucid Healing
Craig Sim Webb
In chapters nine and ten, we learned how lucid dreaming can be a
powerful aid in healing emotional conflicts and facing your fears
directly in the dream, but as Craig discovers, it also appears to help
heal physical problems as well.
I was a top-level competitive swimmer and doing well with the
Université de Laval swim team until a full schedule of swim practices and
weight training began to take their toll on my shoulders and I developed
bursitis, which limited me from training and competing. I tried
physiotherapy, but the healing process was painfully slow, so I decided to see
if the lucid dreaming skill I’d been developing could help solve the problem
and set my intention before sleep to become conscious in a dream and try
healing my shoulders from a deeper level.
I suddenly realize I’m dreaming and remember that I want to heal my
shoulders. I cross my forearms and put my hands each on the opposite
shoulder, focusing my attention somehow and building up a healing energy
like light or electricity that I can feel being absorbed into my shoulders. The
experience feels peaceful and lasts a minute or two.
The next morning, my shoulders didn’t feel too much different, but over
following days the bursitis cleared up surprisingly rapidly, and I was happy to
be able to practice and compete again.
These are but a small sampling of the vast number of dreams that have
been reported about physical healing. Hopefully, you can see that we are
given guidance in our sleep to help us live healthier lives, not only mentally
and emotionally but physically. If we listen carefully to the metaphorical and
symbolic language of our dreams, it can provide an early warning system to
help prevent the onset of disease and illness in our waking life. I encourage
you to pay attention to the wisdom of your dreams and encourage your family
and friends to do the same. The body wants to keep us informed, and one way
it does is through the dreams, our restorative sleep.
Chapter 12
Creative Dreaming
Deirdre Barrett
In 1816, Mary Wollstonecraft and other houseguests of Lord Byron told
ghost stories around a fire. Just before they retired, Byron challenged them to
write their own meaning in the days ahead. That night, Wollstonecraft
dreamed:
I saw the pale student of unhallowed arts kneeling beside the thing he
had put together — I saw the hideous phantasm of a man stretched out, and
then on the working of some powerful engine, show signs of life, and stir with
an uneasy, half vital motion. Frightful must it be to mock the stupendous
mechanism of the Creator of the world. He would hope that, left to itself, the
slight spark of life which he had communicated would fade. He sleeps but he
is awakened; he opens his eyes, behold, the horrid thing stands at his bed
side, opening his curtain and looking on him with yellow, watery, but
speculative eyes. Swift as light and cheering was the idea that broke in upon
me. “I have found it! What terrified me will terrify others, and I need only
describe the specter which had haunted my midnight pillow.” On the morrow
I announced I had thought of the story.1
The dream, of course, became the classic horror story of all time,
Frankenstein. The teenage author was pregnant by Shelley at the time of the
dream, so the creation of a wondrous, monstrous entity undoubtedly had
immense unconscious significance. However, the dream combined her
personal issue with Byron’s casual challenge into a creation that transcended
both.
Dreams tend to be particularly good at thinking outside the box. This
makes sense; brain areas that normally restrict our thinking to what is logical
and familiar are much less active during dreaming sleep. Many studies of
creativity suggest that suchdisinhibition, especially when it connects various
ideas that at first seem unrelated, is a crucial component of creative thought.
The major concerns of dreaming are obviously our personal issues —
problems in our lives, hopes and aspirations, how we get along with
significant others, and our individuation process. However, these aspects of
dreaming are covered thoroughly by most other dream psychologists, so I
have become interested in the fact that we also dream about our professional
selves and that dreams can provide so much help, creative inspiration, and
problem solving in this arena.
Human beings have consulted the nocturnal muse for as long as they
have sought tales to entertain their peers. In fifth century A.D., Synesius of
Cyrene observed, “How often dreams have come to my assistance in the
composition of my writings!” Synesius said they helped him order ideas,
choose certain wording and return to a natural style when he was becoming
pompous.
The Romantic writers were especially fond of dreams. Mary’s husband,
Percy Bysshe Shelley, published a collection of his nocturnal experiences in
The Catalogue of Phenomenon of Dreams, as Connecting Sleeping and
Waking. Cristina Rosetti, whose painter husband’s dream imagery was
discussed in the first chapter, used hers in poetry such as The Crocodiles,
which described a fanciful version of the animal encrusted with gold and
polished stones. Robert Lewis Stevenson had a very similar experience to
Mary Shelley’s in which he dreamed the two key scenes of Strange Case of
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Modern writers who have written scenes from
dreams include Anne Rice, Stephen King, Eudora Welty, and Jack Kerouac.
When interviewing creative professionals for my book, The Committee
of Sleep, the majority of visual artists told me they had used their dreams in
their art. Writers were second of any profession: Approximately half of
novelists, screenwriters, and poets said that dreams had directly given them
help with their writing.
Author D.M. Thomas had a vivid dream that became first a short poem,
then a longer one, and eventually his best-selling novel, The White Hotel. In
the dream, people — both the dead and the living are arriving at a hotel in a
black taxi. Sappho, Jung, and Freud are there, as is a girl Thomas had
recently noticed on a train. All the guest reservations for the hotel are
muddled.
“I already had the idea I wanted to write a novel in the style of Freud’s
case studies,” Thomas told me. “I was searching for the story. Other
elements were circling in my imagination. My mother had died recently. The
dream brought all the elements together. It was like an embryo to the novel:
Freud was there, death was there, the train was there. I can still see myself
riding in the black taxi and arriving at the hotel — that was the most
memorable part of the dream.”2
Less than half of the musicians I surveyed composed music in their
dreams, but it certainly happened for some. Musicians Billy Joel and Joseph
Shabalala have reported that they “hear” all their compositions — minus
words — in dreams. More typically, Paul McCartney dreamed one of his
compositions, “Yesterday,” the most played song in the history of radio.
Because of McCartney’s unfamiliarity with the experience, he went around
checking with people whether it was known piece of music. “Because I’d
dreamed it, I couldn’t believe I’d written it,” he recalled.
Composers still have many visual dreams, so they may also view scenes
that they later express in a musical piece — this was the case with
Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring. Some dream of examining completed scores.
There is an even wider range in how music arrives in dreams than for the
other arts.
Innovative modern composer Shirish Korde has visual dreams leading to
many of his compositions, but he simultaneously hears the music the dreams
illustrate. In an interview, he told me about the dream that presented him with
Tenderness of Cranes. “I was hearing fragments of music and seeing birds
fly. The speed with which the birds were flying kept changing, which
determined the musical gesture — the content of the passage. I wrote it as
quickly as anything I ever wrote, in a weekend — Zen, all one stroke and it
was done.” The solo flute piece won both the Ettelson Composition Prize and
the National Flute Association award for new music.2
The dreams submitted for this book illustrate many of the same points.
They contain examples of highly creative dreams that directly aided artistic
endeavors.
The Law of Attraction
Laurel Clark
In this first story, Laurel was wise enough to allow her dreams to
suggest a much more “attractive” title for the book she was writing.
I wrote a book years ago on visualization that went out of print. So I
revised it, adding quite a bit of additional material. I was advised to change
the old title but could not come up with anything that seemed right. I was
waiting for the perfect title to “click.” One night I decided to incubate a
dream, asking for the perfect title for the book. As I was waking, I heard in
my mind the words, “The Law of Attraction and Other Secrets of
Visualization.” I wrote it down in my dream notebook.
When fully awake, I read what I had written, thinking that it was a
boring title. But I knew I had asked my dreams to give me a title, and this
was not a conscious thought. It came from my dreaming mind. So I used it
for the book and found to my delight that it was extremely “attractive.” The
book sold out in less than a year and needed to be reprinted. The Law of
Attraction: And Other Secrets of Visualization has so far been one of the most
popular books I have written, and many people report that they have changed
their lives in remarkable ways by applying its practical wisdom.
A Dream of Literacy
Ivy Black
Dreams are probably the greatest “mirror of the mind” reflecting
our lifetime experiences in the most humorous or tragic of picture
metaphors. In this case, Ivy is provided with a creative picture of
life, which becomes the inspiration for successfully published piece
of fiction.
One night I had the following dream that would not only become an
inspiration for a story but eventually help a community in need: I work for a
big corporation. The corporation created a strategy to intimidate employees
and increase efficiency by partnering with a consulting firm to construct the
most bizarre, ruthless, inhumane environment possible. The idea was that
people would be fearful all the time and work harder to compete with each
other, and the company would gain.
The company randomly selects a group of employees, and these
employees disappear for a few days. No one knows where they went. After a
few days, the people reappear again — or rather, parts of them do. They
were all beheaded. Their heads are floating upside-down in racks of
individual glass tanks. Nobody knows what happened to the bodies. But the
experience naturally terrifies the rest of us. Everyone else pretends to act
normal as if nothing was going on, so that we can stay out of trouble. The
heads, meanwhile, are wheeled from room to room like props. They seem to
be alive because I see bubbles coming out from their noses. However, they
cannot speak, eat, or talk. When there are important meetings, especially
meetings that require attendees to vote, the consultants will wheel the racks
of heads into the meetings. Because the heads cannot disagree or reject
anything, their votes automatically are considered yeses. That is another way
the heads become useful to the company.
I shared this dream with my husband. As a fiction writer, he always
welcomes unique and eccentric ideas as inspiration, and oftentimes my
dreams give him inspiration for new stories. It has been a soulful way to
communicate and enhance our relationship. “Sounds like what’s going on in
your company,” my husband said. Indeed, the company I worked for in daily
life was going through a vast reorganization. Recently, it had hired a
consulting firm to implement a strategic plan to save operating costs. The
executive plans and end goals were only vaguely communicated, and even
though senior management assured us that the reorganization was not about
laying off people, there was a great amount of un certainty and anxiety about
how the changes would be imple mented.
My husband was enthralled by the concept of the upside-down heads in
glass containers, with their destiny fully controlled by the company. “What
an astonishing, ingenious dream symbol,”he said. “Thank you!” A few weeks
later my husband sent me a story called Project Hydra, inspired by my
dream. All the creepy elements were there — the sinister company, the
intimidated employees, the heads floating upside-down in tanks. Not long
afterward, my husband handed me a pile of papers. “They loved the story,”
he said. “No, they loved your dream, I should say.” The story had been
purchased immediately by a publishing house in South Africa specializing in
weird fiction. Initially published online, Project Hydra was soon reprinted in
a collection of short stories. And it was that book that contributed to literacy
in South Africa.
Being strong supporters of literacy, the publishers were well-aware that
many South Africans cannot afford books, so they made it their mission to
get books into the hands of every underprivileged South African — for free.
With this in mind they launched an initiative whereby for every e-book
purchased, one copy would be donated to a public library or school in a
disadvantaged community across South Africa. I am proud that my dream
contributed to help bring literature to a community in need.
Embracing Spirit
Scott Sparrow
I was 19 years old and had enrolled at the University of Texas only two
weeks before the beginning of my freshman year. There were no dormitory
rooms available at that late date, but I managed to find lodging in Royal Co-
op, an off-campus ramshackle house, where I moved in with 25 other
students in crowded conditions. My mistake soon became evident: My
roommate turned out to be a drug dealer, and a woman upstairs became
suicidal because I wouldn’t return her affections. In this context, I was
desperate to find some source of stability, so I began meditating before going
to bed each night in a nearby open church. It was during this time that I had
my first “lucid” spiritual dream.
I am walking back to my house, carrying my schoolbooks. I suddenly
become aware that I am dreaming and that the experience is somehow real. I
look at my hands and marvel at the vividness of the world around me. I keep
saying to myself, “This is real!” When I come to my house, which bears no
resemblance to any place I’ve ever lived, I enter through large black double
doors with brass handles. As I open the doors, I am overwhelmed by a
brilliant white light that infuses me with an inconceivable joy. I find myself
alone in a small chapel carrying a crystal rod or wand upon which a crystal
circlet is spinning, allowing the light to pass through it. Large windows
overlook an open and barren plain. Meanwhile, I am filled with an
indescribable sense of hope and yearning. I keep looking for someone to
appear, to explain the experience, but no one appears.
Upon awakening, I felt anointed with a remarkable, subtle feeling that
has stayed with me every day for the past 45 years. I can still call upon this
feeling to reassure me about the purposefulness of my life.
Calling any dream “spiritual” raises the question of what constitutes
“spiritual” in the first place. The dictionary tends to focus on two qualities: 1)
relating to religion or religious beliefs, or 2) relating to the human spirit or
soul as opposed to material or physical things. While a dream may be
considered religious because it contains familiar religious imagery and
themes, it may nonetheless be wholly deficient in the qualities that we usually
associate with a genuine spiritual life. As for the second definition, it is not so
easy to determine if any experience “relates to the human spirit” without
exploring the life context in which the dream occurs and assessing its impact
on the dreamer. Indeed, I believe the best approach is to adopt a third
“definition” proposed by Jesus himself. When his disciples expressed
concern about people who were preaching in his name, he replied, “By their
fruits ye shall know them.” This simple criterion of spirituality shifts our
inquiry toward an “evidence-based” criterion, in which spirituality becomes
obvious by the positive changes produced or activated in our lives.
In this chapter I will share some of the dreams contributed by others that
bear the hallmarks of genuine spiritual experiences according to this criterion.
The Lighthouse
Nicole De Angelis
The first dream was shared by a 33-year-old expatriate living in
Costa Rica, Nicole De Angelis, whose spiritual dream experience is
seemingly preceded by an announcement as to what was to come.
Shortly before the dream that profoundly changed my life, I heard a
voice as clear as if he were beside me speaking into me ear: “These are the
revelations ...” I sat up in bed and looked around for the source of the voice to
finish his sentence. I was alone except for my sleeping child lying next to me
after a midmorning nap. Then I returned to sleep and dreamed:
I witness a serene landscape. I feel content and at peace. I am hovering
over a lighthouse or what I believe to be a lighthouse. The ocean is calm
except for a storm far off in the distance. I have a feeling my family is out
there. I feel as if I need to bring them in, but it’s not with a sense of urgency.
I am an observer. The sand is a golden hue that reveals to me it is perhaps
early morning. There is a feeling of newness — of a new beginning — as
well as a sort of perfect timelessness. As I look at the lighthouse, it suddenly
lights up with an amazing brilliant light, and within the same moment I see
lighthouses lighting up in the distance, creating a brilliance that extends in
all directions. Now there is only light! This whole experience takes place in
an instant, and in the dream I assume the perspective of the light itself. I feel
that the light exists outside of time. It feels as if someone has turned on the
light and now all truth has been revealed.
This is the understanding of the experience I received while in the
dream: Our Source is light, light is truth, and truth is love. Truth exists
outside of time and space, and has no need. Forgiveness and compassion are
ours to give so that we can all return to our source as a whole being. I
perceive during the dream that everyone originated from this light and that it
is the same light people speak of seeing before they die. In this light there is
only love. It is all-encompassing. Shadows do not exist because they are
burned away as if they were never there at all. I know that the light never
goes away because it is the reason and the source for all that is.
As a child, I remember moments of similar clarity when I would realize
I could not really die. I’m not referring to my physical body but that part of
me that knows that I exist. That is what I called it as a child — “that part of
me that knows I exist.”
After this dream I had a few months of euphoria, and I still live in this
state much of the time. I have a renewed love for everyone, including myself.
The slate is clean. I hold no more grudges and rarely experience anger,
resentment, disgust, or fear. I’m not saying at times I don’t feel these
emotions, but what has changed is the knowing that I can let go of them. I
recognize these emotions for what they are, and I am grateful for the
opportunity to burn away the shadows and shine.
____________________
Author’s notes: It is likely that Nicole’s description of the light cannot begin
to convey all of the feelings and associations that she experienced while in it.
It is common for people who experience the light — whether in dreams or in
waking mystical experiences — to report the same qualities of abundant love,
purpose, and connection with all of life. My own mentor, Hugh Lynn Cayce,
once said, “If you’ve ever experienced it, you would crawl across the U.S. to
experience it again.”
Jung believed that the experience of light was the central feature in
religious experiences, throughout the world. The phenomenon itself, that is,
the vision of light, is an experience common to many mystics, and one that is
undoubtedly of the greatest significance, because in all times and places it
appears as the unconditional thing, which unites in itself the greatest energy
and the profoundest meaning.1
While the phenomenological features of Nicole’s dream may seem
rather devoid of action, her subjective experience of the light involves an
array of profound feelings and realizations. Further, it is clear that Nicole was
transformed, reaping the “fruits” of forgiveness, healing, and renewal that
carried over into her life as an altogether new attitude that prevailed against
old ways of thinking.
Each of the three dreams that we have considered all bore fruit in the
dreamers’ lives. Two of them — P. G. and Lou — were at a low point in their
lives but were subsequently imbued with newfound meaning and purpose.
While we do not know what preceded Nicole’s dream, it clearly established a
profound sense of renewal and release from negative emotions. In all three,
we sense a new life unfolding as each was transformed by their spiritual
experience.
Chapter 16
A Divine Presence
Bob Haden
The ancient Hebrews and early Christians claimed that one of the
primary ways God speaks to God’s people is through dreams. In his book The
72 Names of God, Kabbalist Rabbi Yehuda Berg tells us that the three-letter
name for God is three Hebrew letters meaning “Dream State.” The ancient
Hebrews and early Christians claimed that one of the primary ways God
speaks to God’s people is through dreams — not “a” way, but the “primary”
way. Origen, the third-century Christian theologian from Alexandria, Egypt,
reflects this when he speaks of Somnia Deo, “Dreams sent from God.” The
third-century Babylonian sage Rabbi Hisda put it even more succinctly: “A
dream uninterpreted is like a letter (from God) unopened.”
Unfortunately, as time went on, people were encouraged not to take their
dreams so seriously and even to be wary of them. Jerome, the fourth-century
biblical scholar who authored the Vulgate Bible, translating the Greek Bible
into Latin, made several mistranslations that discouraged paying attention to
ones dreams. There are 10 passages in the Old Testament that use the word
“anan,” Latin for “witchcraft.” In two of these passages, Leviticus 19:26 and
Deuteronomy 18:10, Jerome used the Latin “observo somnia” (observing
dreams) rather than “anan.” The sentence “you shall not practice witchcraft”
became “you shall not practice observing dreams.” The influential sixth-
century pope, Gregory the Great, read this translation and began to
discourage people from giving too much attention to dreams. It is interesting
that the Eastern Christian world, which continued with the Greek Bible rather
than the Vulgate Latin translation, continued to honor the dream.
An even more serious detriment to taking dreams seriously was the Age
of Enlightenment in 18th-century Europe, which questioned religious dogmas
and advanced the scientific method, focusing on the material, rather than the
spiritual, world. Limiting our knowledge to things we can see, hear, taste,
touch, or feel left outside reality not only the dream world but much of the
spiritual world. People no longer believed dreams were “real” and therefore
discounted them.
I, too, was a nonbeliever in the reality of the dream world for 40 years.
Nothing anyone could have said would have changed my mind. I had to
experience the reality of the dream world for myself. At the age of 40, the
“God is dead” syndrome caught up with me, and I began to question much of
what I believed. Following the advice of a spiritual guide, I went for four
days of silence at the Jesuit Center for Spiritual Growth in Wernersville,
Pennsylvania. Prior to this life-changing experience I had never been in one
day of silence. So, I was climbing the walls and wanted to get out of there.
Then there was a breakthrough, and I once again experienced the Divine
Presence. Coming off that experience, I wanted a new spirituality for myself
and was led to the dream.
One of the early dreams I had was what I called “God in the Closet”
dream. I was a young priest at the time and I wanted to be the one who knew
all the answers about God: One night I get very excited because I know that
God is in the bedroom. I want to capture God in the bedroom. So, in my
dream, I tiptoe over and shut the bedroom door so I would have God in the
bedroom with me. When I do, the bathroom door opens, and God goes into
the bathroom. This goes on for a while with my closing one door and then the
other one opening. Finally, I get them both closed. When I do that, the sense I
have of God goes into the closet. Now in the closet, God turns into a round,
yellow, balloonlike object and gets bigger and bigger. It gets as big as the
closet and goes “poof,” and I hear the words: “You are not going to put me
in a closet.”
When I awoke, I really felt as if I had experienced God’s presence and
God’s message was that I will never totally know Him/Her. If I did, then I
would be God myself. Just relax. The essential message was: “Do not feel as
if you have to know everything about God, but be open and cherish the
experiences come when they come.”
Another dream I had when I started my 10-year weekly sessions with a
Jungian Analyst was my “Maltese Cross” dream: I see a priest friend of mine
kneeling down in front of the congregation holding a cross saying his
personal prayers. I feel embarrassed saying to myself: “He shouldn’t be
saying his personal prayers in front of the congregation.” My analyst points
out to me that I had been telling my personal dreams everywhere, and many
dreams, particularly when we are first learning about the dream world, we
need to keep private. She then takes me to a deeper level of the dream by
asking me what kind of cross it is. I answer, “It is a Maltese cross.” She then
says, “What is a Maltese cross?” I answer, “I don’t know.” She then tells
me, “Well, if it were me, I would want to find out what a Maltese cross is.”
So, I woke up at 4 a.m. the next day and got out my encyclopedias to
research the Maltese cross. That led me to the Knights of Malta, John of the
Cross, and Teresa of Avila, all of whom I had never heard of at that time. I
fell in love with them right away and read as much as I could about them.
They were some of the early founders of the Carmelite monastic community.
They have been my mainstay over theses past 20 years. Well, guess what? It
suddenly hit me that I was rector of St. John’s Church on Carmel Road. And
to top it all off, I had been teaching for the last 10 years at Mount Carmel
Spiritual Center in Niagara Falls, Ontario.
After having many similar dreams where I felt the touch of the Divine,
getting advice from priest and Jungian analyst Morton Kelsey, attending the
C.G. Jung Institute winter seminar, working with an analyst for 10 years on
my own dreams, recording hundreds of dreams, and getting a master’s degree
in “The Use of Dreams in Spiritual Direction” from The Center for Christian
Spiritual Direction at General Theological Seminary in New York, I
integrated dreamwork with my priestly, spiritual direction and counseling
duties and formed The Haden Institute for the study of Dreams and Spiritual
Direction.
Since my enlightenment, I have made many discoveries. Let’s face it.
Dreams are crazy; real crazy. They appear crazy to us because they are not
literal, but rather metaphorical, like Jesus’ parables. Metaphor is the primary
language of the Divine. Metaphor takes us to a deeper level of awareness. So,
the first thing with dreams is to look at them metaphorically. If your
neighbor, in waking life, throws trash on your yard, that is exactly what is
happening. But if you dream that your neighbor throws trash on your yard, it
might be wise to see how a part of yourself is trashing (putting down) another
aspect of yourself. When we look at dreams this way, insights begin to pop.
After a while, we realize that dreams are autonomous. They are like
another personality in us. They have a life of their own. Amazing.
Dreams deepen our belief in the afterlife. The aborigines believe that we
come from the dream world at birth and return to the dream world after death.
Dreams themselves point to a continuation beyond this life.
Many conversions, inventions, healings, vocational, and other life
changes have come through dreams as well as dangers being averted and
problems solved.
Dreams are particularly meaningful to those who have “been around the
block”; those in the second half of life who have experienced dead-end
streets, tragedies, failures, the dark night of the soul. The dream can be our
guide through this maze, leading us to a place where we begin to live on a
deeper level.
Dreams tell it like it is. They don’t sugarcoat things. They alert us when
we are going down the wrong road or are in danger. They also give us hope
and clues as to how to get back on the right road. We begin to learn that even
nightmares come in the service of healing and wholeness.
We often hear people say, “God doesn’t speak to me.” Does God speak
to you? The answer is a resounding “yes” to those who know the dream
world. The following four dreams illustrate how God does, indeed, speak in
dreams. Deacon Sylvie’s dream, “O Lord, Give Me a Rope,” changed her
view of God and her life completely. Rachelle Oppenhuizen’s dream, “Mount
Haden,” opened up a 10-year period of growth and healing in her marriage
and her theology. Mary Melinda Ziemer’s dream, “Annunciation,” was an
invitation to move more deeply within so something new could be born. And
Cynthya Rackerby Engdahl’s dream, “This Is to Recognize the Child
Within,” speaks of a dream and three visitations of Christ. All of these
dreams had a sense of The Divine Presence and healing that occurred as a
result.
Mount Haden
Rachelle Oppenhuizen
In this dream, Rachelle is not only given the opportunity to
experience and see her conflicted situation in a new light but is
given the guiding image – that of a mountain. She is left with an
irresistible urge to find the actual mountain, which triggers multiple
spiritually healing synchronicities.
The dream arrived as Pentecost approached. Due to the intense
emotional distress that I was experiencing within the context of trying to
discern if I should stay in my marriage of 20 years or seek a way out, I was
urgently and frequently praying “Come, Holy Spirit” and “Lord, send
Mercy!”
In the dream, I’ve been lifted by helicopter to the peak of a high natural
formation somewhere out west where I have never visited in waking life. I’m
with a whole group of other very religious women, and we’re being brought
to this high pinnacle to attend a religious retreat of the pep-rally variety. The
admission to this event requires that we submit to a process of “reverse
mouth-to-mouth” by means of which our original, authentic spirit is replaced
with an artificial spirit in conformity with all the others. I feign compliance
but I actually resist the procedure by refusing to release my own spirit to
their purposes. No one notices that I retain my own spirit. For the next few
days, I’m faking it — all the “unity” of doing everything together. Being in
total conformity with all the others in this type of religious feeling is
oppressive to my spirit, and I’m suffering a nearly deadly dose of “nice”! It’s
suffocating. I desperately yearn to be released from this company of “happy”
women. I gaze across the canyon to read the inscription written in an ancient,
wordless text on the opposite canyon wall. This Wisdom-text speaks peace to
my authentic soul and seems to be older than time.
A few days after the dream, I was startled to be directly confronted by an
image of the exact pinnacle that had appeared in my dream. I was casually
flipping through an issue of The Artist’s magazine and the page fell open on a
painting titled “The Skirts of God” by Gil Dellinger, a professor of art at the
University of the Pacific in Stockton. I immediately called him on the phone
and asked him if the image in the painting actually existed some where in the
world or if it had been inspired by his imagination. He told me that it existed
and that he had painted it based on his study of Mount Hayden, a fairly well-
known formation that can be seen from the north rim of the Grand Canyon.
He casually suggested that perhaps I might go there someday. Within three
days, my car was packed, and I was on the road for a solitary vision quest
from Michigan to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, to spend some time in
communion with Mount Hayden.
The full humor of this whole story didn’t dawn on me until nearly a
decade later, when I was filling out my application to The Haden Institute for
the study of Dreams and Spiritual Direction for the purpose of furthering my
study of dreams. The connection hit me unexpectedly and hilariously. A few
years after completing my training at the Haden Institute, my husband and I
returned together to the Kanuga conference grounds in North Carolina to
attend another conference, and my husband finally met Bob Haden, the
founder of the Haden Institute. In the intervening years that had passed,
natural forces were carving and shaping my own being in ways very similar
to the forces of the mighty Colorado River. My theology underwent nearly as
radical a revisioning as my marriage. Much that was dysfunctional in both
was jettisoned, and I learned to tune into the ancient, (wordless) language of
the archetypes which continue to guide, heal and revitalize my authentic,
original spirit.
Annunciation
Mary Melinda Ziemer
At moments of urgent decision, prayer, a call to God for help, can
bring forth the most comforting of answers in our dreams. The
beauty and clarity of Mary Melinda’s dream illustrates how
immediate our connection with the Divine can be.
An apparently “simple” dream has changed the trajectory of my life in
profound ways. Before this dream, I had spent 25 years growing up in
Southern California. Since this dream, I have spent 25 years living in Europe.
I vividly recall the days before the dream. At that time, in 1990, I had to
decide whether to accept an offer from the United States Peace Corps to go to
Poland with the first volunteer group — in the newly independent Eastern
Europe — or to stay in California to pursue my doctorate in English
Literature and a new relationship. My mother had taken the news that I might
leave quite hard. When I told her of my plans she cried, “But if you go to
Europe, you’ll never come back!” The two of us had a tearful conversation.
To clear my mind and heart, the next day I took a walk in the sunny,
California foothills, taking in the view I loved. Standing there, I called out to
Jesus to send me a dream to help me with my difficult decision. Before going
to bed, I said another heartfelt prayer for guidance. That night, I had this
semi-lucid dream:
At the base of the golden, California hills of summer, I wander through
crowded carnival grounds, feeling alone. I only want a friend to go walking
with me in the hills. The pressure of the crowds pushes me out into the golden
foothills, where a man approaches me saying, “I’ve heard that you’ve been
looking for a friend.” His gentleness reassures me. I feel I can trust this
stranger who wears a royal-blue poet’s blouse and has wavy shoulder-length
blond hair. His fine features and form radiate beauty. As we walk in the hills,
we communicate without words. The sea-washed breeze cools us. I ask him
his name. He answers, “Gabriel.” I turn to him and say, “You know, that
name means ‘Child of God.’” He turns to me with a healing smile and says,
“I know.”
He invites me home to meet his family. His elderly parents and three
sisters greet me warmly. A gentle fire burns in the hearth. They feed me
freshly baked bread and fresh milk. I feel the meal makes me whole and gives
me new life.
After supper, Gabriel tells me we will take a journey into the night. Since
childhood, I had been terribly afraid of the dark, but now it feels like a friend.
Gabriel and I get into his invisible “car” and disappear at an incredible
speed into a velvety blackness. With this I awake.
Upon awakening, I felt suffused by the presence of the angelic being and
glad I had asked his name. To me, the dream experience clearly said, “If you
go into the unknown, Gabriel — God’s “Messenger Angel,” the Holy Spirit
— will guide, protect, and empower you. Fear not!” And, the end of the
dream illustrated that the Holy Spirit would support me whenever I moved
into the unknown. I felt, and still feel, a great relief and humility in accepting
this awareness. Physically and emotionally, I felt centered, replenished, as if
something new could be born through me. That morning I told my family I
had decided to go to Europe. I left the United States a few weeks later.
I grew up a great deal in Poland. In the outer world, I founded the
English Department in a new Teacher Training College and met the man who
would be my husband for 19 years. Since that time, I have also lived in
Switzerland and England. The energy of the “Gabriel Dream” also supported
me in the effort of directing the Charity HELP Counselling Centre in London,
a job I undertook in 2006.
Around this time, Gabriel visited me in a second dream and embraced
me. I understood this to be an invitation to the study of dreams and
psychotherapeutic work from a spiritual perspective. I completed the training
in Transpersonal Psychotherapy at the Centre for Counselling and
Psychotherapy Education, founded by Dr. Nigel Hamilton. In 2012, I became
the CoFounder and Director of its Dream Research Institute. In the process, I
also discovered the International Association for the Study of Dreams and
have had the pleasure of presenting at their conferences and serving on the
board.
In 2014, at another crossroads in my life, I found myself reflecting on
the “Gabriel Dream.” This time, I faced the end of my marriage and the new
journey that lay ahead. “Gabriel” has announced many pivotal turning points
in my life. Looking back, it strikes me that the dream comes as a metaphor,
inviting me to move more deeply within so that something new can be born.
The “Gabriel Dream” has become a touchstone for me, reminding me of who
I am and that “I belong to more than myself.”
Telepathic Intervention
Laurel Clark
This is a dream, and subsequent waking experience, both of an
extrasensory nature that was not only life-changing in nature but
literally lifesaving.
The dream itself was a brief snippet but quite profound. I believe it
helped me save my husband’s life. I was married at the time to a man with
juvenile diabetes, which had now become quite out of control.
I am dreaming that John is having a low–blood-sugar reaction and can’t
wake up.
I awakened suddenly from this dream with the clear perception that it
was not symbolic and that John, indeed, was having a low-blood-sugar
reaction and could not wake up. He worked about 50 miles from where we
lived and often spent the night in that city. When I had the dream, we were in
different cities, 50 miles apart
This was quite alarming to me because I thought he might die. When
insulin-dependent diabetics have too much insulin and not enough sugar in
their blood, they can go into a coma, which may result in death. So I
immediately called him on the telephone. The phone rang and rang, but he
didn’t answer. So, then I sent out a mental telepathic call, yelling his name in
my mind with the command to wake up! Then I called on the phone again.
This time he did answer, but I could tell from his groggy voice that he was,
indeed, having a low-blood-sugar reaction. I asked him to test his blood
sugar, but he sounded confused and couldn’t understand what I was asking.
I pleaded with him to stay awake, then got off the phone and called a
friend of ours who lived in the same town where he was. I asked her if she
could go over and check on him. She did, tested his blood sugar, and
discovered that it was indeed dangerously low. She was able to get him to
drink some orange juice to raise it and to get him some medical help.
Had I not had that dream or if I had ignored it, John would probably
have slipped into a coma in his sleep. He might never have awakened. It was
life-changing not only for my husband but for me as well because it showed
me how powerful telepathic connections can be in the dream state. John and I
had a strong telepathic connection while awake, but this was the first time I
was aware of it entering into the dream state. I feel very grateful for this
dream, for my response, for our generous and kind friend, and for listening to
my dream helping me to help John.
_______________
Author’s note: There are no symbols or metaphors in this dream; the content
reflects an actual event that was playing out at the same time that Laurel’s
dream took place. Most of the tribal shamans I have visited acknowledge the
role that dream symbols (i.e., dream images with a deeper meaning) and
dream metaphors (i.e., activities with a deeper meaning) often play. But these
shamans claim that there are occasions when the dream must be taken
literally, especially if someone’s life is in danger. Rita Dwyer, a past
president of IASD, worked as a chemist; a coworker once had a dream in
which there was an explosion in Rita’s laboratory and he saved her life by
dragging her to safety. Not long after, this event actually took place and
because he had “rehearsed” it in the dream, the coworker was able to locate
Rita in the smoke-filled room and drag her to safety. Laurel was not
physically present but reacted quickly and was fortunate to find a helpful
friend who acted promptly. They were also fortunate that the friend did not
respond to her urgent call by saying, “Go back to sleep. It’s just a dream.”
Technically this dream may have been “clairvoyant” (viewing an event at a
distance), but then Laurel sent out “a mental telepathic call,” one that aroused
her husband and confirmed her impression.
Who Am I? – Part 2
Bob Hoss
You may recall reading about Bob Hoss’ lucid dream “Who Am I”
in Chapter 9, The Power of Lucid Dreaming. What Bob Hoss did
not know at the end of the dream is that the adventure had only just
begun. The dream, and his subsequent inquiries, would immediately
trigger a sequence of synchronicities that placed what meaning he
initially got out of the dream into a much greater “universal”
context than he could ever have imagined. So as not to repeat the
entire story Bob gives only a brief summary of the dream itself,
then goes on to tell the amazing series of events that transpired
afterward.
In 2015, I decided to join the IASD online PsiberDreaming Conference
(PDC) to present a paper called Is There a Science to Life Changing Dreams?
I was unaware of the powerful psychic energy that can get generated at that
annual IASD event — but I was about to find out! I was extremely exhausted
from all of the activities I had gotten myself involved in, trying to make too
many of my “visions” happen all at once. I was asking myself, “Who am I”
and “Are my visions really of any value.” A couple of days into the PDC, I
had the lucid dream that introduced me to four parts of myself that I later
realized matched my Myers-Briggs ENTJ personality type (a dream that
Robert Waggoner discusses in Chapter 9, which I briefly summarize here). It
subsequently started an amazing chain of synchronous events.
When the dream goes lucid I am introduced to four characters that I
eventually understand to be parts of myself. The first is a tall man who says
he is “my fun loving party side” (“E”, my extrovert). Then I meet an
impatient artist, frustrated with the amount of work it takes to make a clay
sun sculpture come out as he envisioned (“J”, my judging side). Then I meet
a “tin man” made of technology who says, “I am your wise and learned past
… and your future” (“T”, my thinking side). Finally, a beautiful woman
comes by. She has black hair surrounded by sparkles of light. I am instantly
and deeply attracted to her, and pick her up and place her in front of me and
ask, “What part of me are you?” She looks straight into my eyes and says, “I
am your visions — I am like diamonds” (“N”, my intuitive).
I woke with a sense of great joy, with a renewed sense that my visions
were of great value. But that is only where the story begins — before doubts
and frustrations could convince me that it was just a lovely dream, the
universe was about to shock me into an awareness of the deeper wisdom it
really represented.
When I was with the tin man, I thought about his answer, that he was my
past and future, so I asked him in the dream, “Well, if you are my future, then
what will become of me?” He answers, “Come back after the 13th dream,
and I will tell you.” This answer felt very profound even in the dream, but I
had no idea what it meant then or after waking. I knew I could not count the
13th dream because we don’t recall all of our dreams — so it must be a
metaphor, memory association or perhaps an archetypal symbol (1 plus 3
becoming 4 and such). Nothing fit, so I decided to share it with the
participants in the PDC conference to get their ideas on the number 13. The
feedback that evoked the strongest inner response was from Maria Carla
Cernuto, who said, “13 in the Tarot is the Death card!” I replied that this
didn’t sound good: Getting the Death card has always been pretty scary to
me! Maria corrected me, stating, “The Death card is positive; it is a total
transformation and rebirth.” I joked that maybe on the 13th of the month (a
few days away), I would draw a card from the Tarot and see what happens;
but I could not find my Tarot deck, so I put the whole thing out of my mind.
But the “universe” had other ideas.
The next day I received an email from a total stranger. It said, “My name
is Mary Nason, and in a dream today, I received a call from a gentleman by
the name of Bob Hoss. After awaking, when I Googled your name, I was
quite surprised to find your website with your work on dreams as the number
one result. I have no conscious memory of knowing about your work
previously. This seemed like an important dream, and I decided there would
be no one better to tell it to than you. If you are interested, here is the dream.”
I answer the phone, and an older gentleman with a very sophisticated,
distinguished voice, greets me. He says, “I found you on Body-Unconscious.”
I “know” in the dream that it is a website about a book that studies the topic
of death and dreams. I “know” the cover art (I see it, a painting of an elderly
man on the brink of death with dreams illustrated above his head) and I
“know” there are two writers. I ask this man’s name, hoping he is one of
them. The man says, “Some call me Bob HossAZ.” I know he is a coauthor of
the book, and I’m overjoyed. He then says, “When you draw a card that is
usually considered to be negative, you know in this case it should be
considered positive because of where you are and where you’ve been. I
understand him and add, “Yes! How we view things is all a matter of
context.”
The hair stood up on my neck when I read this note. The parallels with
my personal conflict at that point, as well as the PDC discussion of the Death
card and the Tarot, were astounding. My reaction of negativity toward the
Death card and the message Maria gave me during the PDC — “No, the
Death card is positive!” — was identical to the message that the “dream Bob
Hoss” gave Mary over the phone.
Other elements of the dream were astounding as well. The cover of my
Dream Language book looks like what she describes; my other dream book
does have two authors, my wife and I; and as to Bob HossAZ, I live in
Arizona, which is abbreviated as AZ. There is also a similarity in the names
of the two involved in delivering this message to me: Mary and Maria! We
know from experience that often telepathic information comes in dreams with
telephone imagery — and if this be the case, then my “dream Bob Hoss”
seems to have made a call on that telepathic “body-unconscious” network
through a total stranger to reinforce something that my waking “Bob Hoss”
again needed to hear. But why?
After this, I searched again and finally found my Tarot of the Moon
Garden deck and patiently waited a couple of days until the 13th of the month
to pull a card. I shuffled and split the deck — and with all this synchronicity I
of course fully expected the Death Card — but again the universe had other
ideas. It was the Queen of Cups. WHAT? How can this be?
So I again thoroughly shuffled the deck and split it. Again the Queen of
Cups! Now I got it: Obviously, there must be a message here! So I looked for
the meaning for the Queen of Cups in the little book that came with the deck,
and it read, “The Gift of Vision!” I had been taken full circle back to the
dream, back to the message of the beautiful black haired woman with
sparkles who said, “I am your visions. … I am like diamonds!”
And it didn’t stop there. I knew that I was going to want to share this
experience at some point, so I wanted to find an image on the internet that
looked like this woman. I went online searching for “black-haired woman
with sparkles,” and in almost no time I actually found … her! There were
many beautiful images, but my heart “jumped” when that one image came up
— she had the same face, black hair, and sparkles of light surrounding her as
in the dream. I wanted to find the reference to the artist, but nothing; no
credits, title, or copyrights, just an image of the woman I saw in my dream.
So I decided to click on the URL. It led me to the “Tarot Project” — it was a
picture from a Tarot card … and you guessed it — the Queen of Cups!
_______________
Author’s notes: Of note is how this dream illustrates the nature of
synchronicity. As Mary’s dream suggests, “How we view things is all a
matter of context.” I would suggest that these synchronicities be considered
in the context surrounding their appearance. The online conference, in which
the focus is psi-related dreams, coincided with an examination of his own
life, which provided the context for his lucid dream about the various aspects
of himself — in a Jungian context. The response from Maria provides another
context, that of the Tarot. The “Death card” coincides with Bob’s
introspective journeying, again in a Jungian context of transcendence. All of
these experiences combine as synchronistic linkages to Bob’s search for
meaning.
But Jungians note that synchronicities often contain archetypal
“trickster” surprises. The surprising email from Mary and her “discovery” of
Bob Hoss in her dream: Is this coincidental? Dream telepathy? Dream
clairvoyance? Dream precognition? The world of dreams, particularly
transformative ones, is not neat and tidy and does not always reflect the
dream’s intent — often quite the opposite. In any event, Mary’s dream
reinforces Maria’s earlier message that the Death card is not a negative but a
positive. As Bob then randomly selects a Tarot card, expecting the Death
card, the “trickster” once again intervenes and the Queen of Cups emerges
(twice), inviting another cluster of synchronicities. The search for the
meaning of the Tarot card links back to the “gift of visions” and the beautiful,
black-haired woman, which links to the image from a Tarot card of the Queen
of Cups.
There may be yet another important linkage in the Tin Man, whom he
equated with his thinking self. The Tin Man in The Wizard of Oz sings, “If I
only had a heart.” The juxtaposition of the tin man and attraction to the
woman is perhaps balancing or tempering of masculine intellectual pursuits
with the “feeling” feminine. Reflecting on Blaise Pascal’s injunction, “The
heart has its reasons that reason does not know.”
A Warning in Threes
Ms. Toby Fesler Heathcotte
Such a blessing that, when we don’t pay attention to a warning in
our dreams, our mother might still be there watching over us.
One summer night in 2010, I have the following dream: I am watching a
woman work on my alarm system in my house. She tells me it doesn’t work
properly.
The next morning, remembering the brief dream, I decided I was
probably the woman in question, as I’d been putting off cleaning the
windows that contain the alarm boxes attached to them. I decided to do the
work over three Saturdays since it’s a big chore. The first day, as I was
washing windows, I considered running a security check to make sure
everything functioned all right. The check involves opening each window and
door to ensure you hear three beeps to indicate a charged battery, ensuring
that the security company receives a strong signal. Because someone needs to
stand near the alarm box to hear the beeps, I decided to wait until my grand-
twins arrived. Previously, they’d helped me run the checks. That night I had
three dreams of unusual clarity:
In the first dream, I am sitting in my living room when a coworker
arrives to help me with a project. As he tries to open the metal screen door, I
yell to him, “Wait, I haven’t got the alarms turned off.” Too late. His hand
stretches through as if the screen door were nothing more than thick air, a
diaphanous substance, pliable and easy to pierce. I feel afraid. If he could
enter my house, anyone could.
The dream locale then changes to one difficult to describe. I stand alone
in clear air as if there were no location, no environment, just empty space or
a thought of space. Mother walks toward me wearing a long, white, loose-
fitting gown. She looks about 60 and wears her white hair much longer than
in physical life. Her image looks clearer and more vibrant than I can ever
recall when dreaming about her. I say, “Mother, you look great.” Mother
laughs and holds out her arms for a hug. I put my arms around her and can
feel her shoulders, sturdy and strong, beneath my palms. It is wonderful to
see her, hear her laugh, hug her.
Then a third dream begins to unfold: I am back in my living room
watching my coworker’s hand pass through my screen door. I yell at him in
fear that I hadn’t turned off the alarms, a repeat of the first dream with the
same thick air and threatening scenario.
I awoke concerned that my alarm system had gone down. I went around
the house doing the security check on the windows and doors, dashing back
toward the alarm box when necessary to hear the beeps myself. Of the 13
stations, three failed to return the three beeps that indicated good batteries. I
called the security company, which sent a repairman out that afternoon. He
resolved all the issues, installed new batteries throughout, and checked the
system for any potential problems. Both the repairman and I found it odd that
three batteries failed at the same time.
Later in the day, I began to absorb the implications of my experience.
Now I had a whole different take on the dream scenario. Of course, my
coworker could put his hand through the screen door without tripping the
alarms because the alarms weren’t working. The message of three turned out
to be important symbolically: three beeps in the alarm system, three
Saturdays that I intended to work, three dreams in a row with the same
message, and the three beeps of the alarm system all to demonstrate that three
batteries weren’t working. And then the caring appearance of my mother who
had passed over 10 years before these dreams. I’ve had many dreams about
her but none like this one. Not even close. Was she also the unrecognized
woman in my first dream? When I didn’t respond correctly the first night, she
went to a great effort to get my attention the second night. For a few hours
after the repairman left, I didn’t analyze or dissect the dream. I just lived with
the acceptance of it as truth. I wanted to know how it felt to believe she’s out
there and still cares about me. Joy! If she’s there, so are all the others I’ve
loved and lost to death. Bliss!
_______________
Author’s note: The story begins with what is called a “clairvoyant” dream,
the ability to view something at a distance. The recurring number three: three
dreams, three Saturdays, three alarm systems, and three beeps could be
coincidental or a synchronicity, the psyche’s way of getting Toby’s attention.
When Toby ignores the warning, her deceased mother intervenes in what
appears to be a “visitation dream” based on the nature of the experience. She
states that her mother has never appeared in her dreams in this manner before,
a manner in which she was able to hug her mother and experience kinesthetic
sensations, itself a rarity in dream reports. After all, this is what good mothers
are supposed to do!
Ghost Girl
Katy Kane
At times of tragedy, our dreams can be touched by the emotional
fabric of the universe around us, picturing traumatic events
occurring or about to occur to others in other places and times.
The following two dreams foreshadowed a horrific event of which I had
no previous knowledge. The year was 2012, and I was staying alone at our
family vacation house in Florida, having arrived early to prepare for holiday
festivities with our family. I had two unusual dreams on December 12 and
December 14 — I recorded both of them in a dream journal, as I had been
taught to do in a dream class I had taken at Atlantic University the previous
year. The following are the relevant excerpts from the dreams put into a
narrative form. For reference, Mike and Rob are my sons, and the unnamed
career schoolteacher is a family member.
In the first dream, recorded on December 12, 2012: I see there is blood
pouring out its mouth (I didn’t record what “it” was). Wearing a knight’s
costume, I am trying to escape with my kids by sneaking out the side doors of
an auditorium. I see a ghost girl sitting on top of a big carved coffin with a
brown vinyl top. The coffin is at the side of the road along with a pile of junk
for the trash man. I am directly in front of an old abandoned school. There is
a lady asking the ghost girl, “Why did you end up dying here?” I think it is so
disrespectful to put a coffin at the side of the road in that manner. As we
drive away, I hear the theme song from the old TV show “Gidget.” The song
seems inappropriate for what I am seeing, as it is such a happy tune.
Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, we are in a closet with a gun called a Glock
3 — it is blue. I am thinking of getting a two-way mirror put in the hallway
so if somebody broke in I could see who it was before I had to shoot him. I
think the gun on the floor is loaded and cocked, but Rob says it isn’t.
In the second dream, recorded on December 14, 2012: My sons are little
boys again, and they have to share with a child we don’t know. I see the face
of a career schoolteacher who is normally always smiling and extremely
upbeat — but this time she is not smiling. My son Mike gets a pained
expression on his face and starts to cry — I wake up with a violent jolt.
My heart hammering, I shakily wrote the dream in my journal. I
assumed my now-grown son must have been having problems, so I planned
to call him as soon as I thought he’d be up, as he was in a later time zone.
Meanwhile, I got up, made my coffee and glanced at the clock. It was 9:45
a.m., and I was surprised at having slept so late. I sat down in front of the TV
with my coffee and turned on the news.
The newscaster described a school shooting that had taken place just
moments before in Connecticut, at approximately 9:40 a.m. Some of the
details described then and later that day mirrored the ones in my dreams, such
as a school, a gun, a Glock, hiding in a closet, attempting to escape from an
auditorium, children, the concerned face of a teacher, and a pained expression
on a child’s face followed by a child’s cry.
Over the next few days, I pondered the dreams and the horrible event,
trying to make some sense of the senseless. As the first dream opened, I was
dressed in a knight’s costume while trying to help my children escape. Could
this represent the traditional view of a knight as a hero who saves people,
much as the heroic acts performed by the teachers as they tried to protect the
children and help them escape? Could the school being abandoned mean that
in the future, no one would want to go there anymore after what had
happened? Could the coffin and the ghost girl being put out with the trash
symbolize how the shooter felt about his victims — that their lives were
worth so little? And could “blood pouring out its mouth” be describing the
shooter himself after he took his own life with a gunshot to the head — with
a Glock? Then there was the song from “Gidget.” I found the lyrics, and here
are some of the words: “If you’re in doubt about angels being real, I can
arrange to change any doubts you feel.” Trying to find some sense of peace in
this whole experience, I choose to believe that the happy tune represents that
the little ghost girl, along with the other children who had lost their lives that
day, had all become angels on the morning of December 14, 2012.
This dream changed my life because it not only showed me the potential
power of dreamwork, it emphasized the importance of timing in recording
my dreams in a journal immediately upon awakening.
Chapter 18
Focus
Marcia Emery (by permission of Jeffrey Mishlove)
In this story, Jeffrey Mishlove discovers that following your dream
can sometimes change your life and your career.
Years ago, Jeffrey Mishlove was a graduate student in the University of
California, Berkeley School of Criminology, struggling to study the positive
forms of human deviant behavior. He wasn’t getting anywhere, and after
months he said to himself, “Tonight, the answer will come to me in a dream.”
His dreaming mind honored that request by sending him this dream:
I’m visiting some friends who live across town in Berkeley. I get to their
home, and no one is there. I knock on the door, and there’s no answer. In the
dream, I know where they keep the key. I find the key, open the door, and
walk into the living room. In the middle of the floor I see a popular magazine
called Eye. I’m paging through it in the dream.
Upon awakening, Jeffrey knew he had the answer, though he was not
completely clear what the answer meant. Acting out the dream drama, he put
on his sneakers, ran across town, got to his friends’ home, knocked on the
door, and just as in dream, no one was there. He knew where the key was
hidden and let himself into the house. As he had dreamed, a magazine was
sitting in the middle of the floor. The title, much like the Eye in his dream,
was Focus. He began paging through the magazine, which literally brought
focus into his life.
Focus magazine was about listener-sponsored radio and television
programs in the Bay Area. His “Eureka!” moment was realizing that he could
pursue this interest in the positive forms of human deviance through
educational broadcast media. Following this insight, Jeffrey took a volunteer
position as a receptionist at a local public-interest station. Soon after, he was
trained in producing radio programs and began hosting his own show. A
month after having the dream, he found himself sitting across the table
interviewing leading figures in the consciousness movement. This gave him
the confidence to create an individual, interdisciplinary doctoral major in
parapsychology at the U.C., Berkeley. Six years after receiving his unique
doctoral degree, Jeffrey began hosting the nationally broadcast public
television series Thinking Allowed.
Journey’s End and Beyond
Joseph Kemeny
Chapter 19
Life Continues
Laurel Clark
John, the love of my life, died too soon. He was 42. We had been
married only six years, and I felt as if I had been robbed of the future we
dreamed about together. I missed his friendship, companionship, laughter,
warm and loving presence. His absence left a hole so gut-wrenchingly deep
nothing could fill it. We had not even said goodbye. We had been apart from
each other for six days, and I was away teaching at a retreat when he died.
As a student and teacher of metaphysics, I fully believed that he would
come to me in a dream to say farewell, for one last hug so that we could have
some closure. To my dismay that did not happen. Weeks passed. One night,
distraught, I prayed fervently for John to come to me in my dream. I
meditated and went to bed.
That night, I dreamed: I am at a graduation ceremony. The stage seems
far away. I see people lined up, and there is John, wearing a baseball cap he
used to wear when young. Although I can see him, it doesn’t seem that he
sees me. After the ceremony is over, someone comes up to me and hands me
my Bible that apparently I have left on the edge of the stage. When I pick it
up, a small piece of paper flutters out. On it is a heart in John’s handwriting.
I realize it is his way of telling me that he loves me.
I awakened with a bittersweet feeling. Finally, John communicated with
me, but it was not the reunion I expected. I thought we would embrace,
perhaps say parting words. John did the best he could. He was still
“graduating” to the other side and did not yet have the facility for verbal
communication.
This dream changed my life by showing me that we can, indeed, reach
those who have left their physical bodies. It proved to me that John was not
“gone” but merely in a different place. Knowing that he existed somewhere
and could hear me gave me comfort. It humbled me, showing that I needed to
be patient and allow John his own process. The dream gave me hope that we
might have future contact.
This dream exemplifies one characteristic of visitation dreams: a
profound knowing that love is eternal and that death is only a change, not
annihilation. It demonstrates two other qualities that commonly appear in
such dreams: The dead person appears alive and healthy, and the dreamer has
a profound sense of knowing that the person who died is actually there, that it
is not symbolic.
Patrick McNamara writes in Psychology Today that researchers have
discovered some common characteristics of visitation dreams: “The deceased
appeared as they did in life rather than as they did when they fell ill. They
often appeared much younger or more healthy than when they died. The
deceased conveyed reassurance to the dreamer: ‘I am okay and still with
you.’ This message tended to be conveyed telepathically or mentally rather
than via spoken word. The dream structure was not disorganized or bizarre.
Instead visitation dreams are typically clear, vivid, intense and experienced as
real visits when the dreamer awakens. The dreamer is always changed by the
experience. There is resolution of the grieving process and/or a wider
spiritual perspective.”
In addition, I have found that visitation dreams seem clear and objective,
without fear, anxiety, or worry. They also may contain universal messages
beyond the scope of the deceased’s personal relationship with the dreamer.
On the morning of September 12, 2001, I had a profound dream that
seems to contain all of these elements. My husband died on September 10,
2000. After a year of mourning, I wanted to spend a day alone,
contemplating, praying, meditating, and reflecting. Since I was teaching all
day on September 10, 2001, I chose to celebrate John’s memory the next day,
September 11.
I awakened, meditated, and got into my car to drive to a nearby church
for some prayers. Turning on the radio, I heard the announcer shout in alarm,
“The second tower has been hit!” In horror I listened to the unfolding story of
what was happening in New York City. The day was surreal. Everyone
seemed to be in a daze. Every place I went I saw televisions with images of
people jumping out of the buildings, smoke billowing everywhere.
I grew up in a suburb of Manhattan and have friends who live and work
there. My sister-in-law and her then-10-year-old son lived there. I was in
Missouri, halfway across the country, and wanted to know if my friends and
family were OK. I tried to call, but all of the phone lines were down and the
cell phone towers disabled. I had no idea if they were dead or alive.
That night I had the following dream: John is in New York, helping the
people who have died in the World Trade Center. He looks beautiful, radiant,
and healthy. I ask him with alarm, “Are they OK?” When I say that, he
beams a brilliant smile, and his whole being lights up with an effulgence I
have never before experienced. “Yes,” he responds emphatically, “They’re
fine. Once they’re out, they’re fine!” I feel a “whoosh” of exhilaration. I
know he means that once the people who have died are out of the body, they
are fine. Their spirits are free!
This dream changed my life. It was personally healing, because I saw
John in his glory. Had he still been alive, he would probably have traveled to
New York to help. He looked so healthy and radiant; I could tell that he was
no longer limited by the ravages of diabetes on his physical body. I felt a
great sense of peace, calm, and exhilaration when John radiated light and
smiled his beautiful smile. I was no longer afraid or worried. I had the sense
that whatever happened would be part of a divine plan.
The dream was healing in a global sense as well. I knew that this
message was not just for me. I am a minister and counselor. People came to
me for counsel in the aftermath of 9/11. It helped me to give them some
measure of comfort and peace in the face of their fear, anger, and distress. I
have since been in a position to help people who are grieving the loss of a
loved one or facing their own impending death. This message, “Once we are
out of the body, we’re fine,” seems universal. This dream changed me from
being a “believer” to a “knower” that life exists eternally beyond the physical
form.
Streaks of Life
Tanvi Deepak
This final dream is different from the rest. Rather than a visitation
from someone who has died, it is the dream that precedes the
dreamer’s death. The author of the story is not the dreamer, but the
dreamer’s granddaughter. Tanvi writes that hearing her
grandfather’s dream “altered my outlook to life.”
I was brought up in a very rational environment. Both my grandparents
and parents being highly educated, I was told to regard only the noumenon. I
had a very neutral emotion to the experience of my senses. As a child, I grew
up in the footsteps of my grandfather whom I loved the most. He was tall and
fit, drove his Luna like a teenager in heavy Bangalore traffic and played
badminton even in his eighties. He never complained of any illness, and I
only saw him buy spectacles in his nineties to read the morning newspaper.
He never visited a temple or prayed at home. As a very logical individual, he
was clear cut that office was his temple and hard work his god. “There is no
hell and heaven above,” he would say. “What we sow in this world is what
we reap.”
One Sunday morning I dragged my lazy self up from the bed and got up
to stumble upon a pond of water that my house had become. My feet were
completely immersed, and I was alarmed for a minute. I pinched myself to
confirm whether it was a dream, except it wasn’t. I slowly balanced myself
and reached my parents’ room and found them asleep. I woke them up and
asked, “Is there a leak in any of our taps? The entire house is flooded.” My
dad got up immediately and rushed to my grandfather’s room to check up on
him. The room was empty, and the bathroom door was locked from within.
My parents banged on the door and received no response. My dad decided on
breaking the door and did just that with some help from our neighbors.
My grandfather was discovered on the floor stupefied with his eyes
widely fixed on the flowing water and his body numb. He was unconscious
and unable to move. My dad switched off the on-flowing tap. We admitted
my grandpa to the nearby hospital. He was completely comatose. He was
shifted to ICU and kept under surveillance, and no family member was
allowed in. I had tons of unanswered questions in my mind and not a soul to
account.
At one point the medics ran into the ICU, and after some time one of
them came out to inform us, “Sorry, we have lost him” — but shortly
thereafter a nurse came out of the ICU and uttered these magical words: “His
pulse has returned.” My grandpa was discharged after a day.
We had the plumber examine the entire house, and there was no issue
with any of our taps, and none were leaking. All my granddad had to do was
to turn it off when the water was pouring out, and yet he did not. The strong
nonagenarian who was sound and healthy couldn’t shut down a tap that had
absolutely no problem and was under shock that no one could explain.
From the time he came home, he kept on murmuring and secluded
himself. He was very fragile. Two days passed, and he never spoke a word to
us. I finally decided to break the ice and questioned him, “Are you not able to
open up or do not want to?” He looked at me with his pale eyes, and I saw
more than exhaustion. It was vulnerability. He felt defenseless. I calmed
down and asked him subtly, “What happened? Why didn’t you switch off the
tap?”
“I tried. It would just not listen to me. You know I don’t quit, so I tried
for an hour, and it could never be shut. Then I fell down and felt as if the
water completely enveloped me. I started to suffocate.” He continued “When
I close my eyes I am floating amidst white clouds for a while and then see a
lofty dark shadow with horns. While he fastens a rope around my throat, I
hear a lash on the ground. As he tries to haul, I feel a sprain in my neck so
agonizing. I begin to palpitate with fear. Then all of a sudden, another
apparition whom I feel like Lord Shiva liberates me from that lofty figure and
unties the rope. The shadow with horns is still standing. Lord Shiva instructs:
‘Five days more, not until then’ and they both disappear.”
“My mother always prayed to Lord Shiva, but I never believed in any of
those things and considered them hocus-pocus. This episode has annihilated
the principles, credence, theory I have been following for ninety-four years. I
feel like I know nothing at all. Maybe I misguided you by incorporating my
ideology. I do not feel wise anymore. It would bring me harmony to know if I
were hallucinating. But the worst part is three days have passed and I will
leave this world in two more days. Nobody should ever know when they are
going to perish. Certain knowledge needs to be kept under wraps. Counting
your last days is a very disturbing ordeal. I should have deceased in the
hospital,” he said and went to sleep.
I sat beside him and tried to convince and cheer him up: “You are tired,
and that’s why you have become delusional. Nothing of that sort will happen.
It is too far-fetched. You will cross a hundred, and I will take you on a world
tour as promised.” He never replied, which left me cold. He breathed his last
exactly two days later, which left me flabbergasted.
I began asking myself irrational questions. Do heaven and hell really
exist? Was this a premonition or mere coincidence? The incident crumbled
my ground. I could no more distinguish the line between the virtual and real.
Everybody consoled me that my grandpa departed peacefully in his sleep,
whereas only I knew that he died of trauma worse than solitude. He had a
brush with death and bounced back alive only to get consumed by it all over
again. That day in extreme silence, I heard a little voice in me that evolved
my view that there could be something more.
Gran’s Story
Jo-Ann Morin
Most people report that visitation dreams give them great comfort,
aiding them to know that their loved ones are not “lost” or “gone.”
In some cases, dreamers have a chance to communicate and resolve
unfinished business. Jo’s dream exemplifies this kind of
reassurance that allowed her to heal.
It was the first time I had lost someone close to me. Gran had lived with
us since I was born. For several years we had shared a room. My mother and
father both had full-time jobs, and although they were home in the evenings
and on weekends, Gran was always there. She was the one who got me off to
school, had a meal ready for me each day when I came home at lunchtime,
and greeted me when I got home. She was the one who comforted me and
helped me to figure out who I was when I first found out I was adopted.
She was my rock. I was 18 when she took ill. I couldn’t bear to go into
her room. I didn’t know what to do, how to cope. I had always been a
sensitive person and I’m sure on some level I knew what was coming but
didn’t have the ability to deal with it at the time. My mother was at her wits’
end working all day and coming home to look after my ailing grandmother
with no help from me. I felt as though I was abandoning them, but I just
couldn’t bring myself to face what was happening.
One night my mother came downstairs and said, “We need to call an
ambulance.” Gran had pneumonia, she was having trouble breathing, and my
mother could no longer care for her. I remember looking at Gran at the
hospital that night. She was conscious but unable to speak. Our eyes met, and
I knew. She was saying goodbye. I wished I had done more, I wished I had
been there for her; I wished she would get better. I told her I loved her and
that I would be back tomorrow. The next day my grandmother passed. I was
overwhelmed with the loss of my grandmother and the incredible feeling of
guilt that I had let everyone down. How could I have not been there for Gran
after all she had done for me? How could I not be there to help and support
my mother? Perhaps if I had stepped up and helped out, this wouldn’t have
happened. How could I have been so selfish?
A week or two after Gran passed, I had the following dream. The funeral
was over, and I was having a very difficult time moving forward. I couldn’t
move past my sense of loss and guilt at not being able to give back what she
had always given me, love and support.
I am with my grandmother in her bedroom. The same room,
coincidentally, that is my room now, some 30-odd years later. We sit together
on the window seat, and it is a beautiful, bright sunny day. She is holding my
hand and telling me that everything is OK. “You don’t need to worry about
me; you don’t need to worry at all,” she says. She is happier and more joyful
than I have ever seen her. Her presence is so strong: such love and
contentment. We are chatting as we have so many times before, but somehow
this time is different. As always, Gran is looking out for me, picking me up
when I fall and kissing my “boo-boos.” She is looking after me now. “It’s all
right,” she says. “It’s all all right.” She gives me a big hug and smiles at me.
I know that whatever is troubling me will be fine; she is here to support me
and she loves me.
I awakened feeling incredibly peaceful, calm, and loved. I felt forgiven.
I was confused and somewhat disoriented. How did I get from Grannie’s
room, which is at the other end of the hall, to my bed? I felt as if I were in a
time warp. I was just speaking to her; I just heard her voice and felt her
touch. Each moment was so tangible, so real.
I had an overwhelming feeling of calm and relief. The heartache of
losing my grandmother and the incredible guilt that I felt around the
circumstances of her passing had disappeared in an instant. It took me several
minutes to come back to reality and to remember that Gran was gone, at least
physically. The incredible sense of sadness, guilt, and loss that I had gone to
bed with was also gone. It had evaporated. Gran came to tell me she was fine,
that she loved me, and that everything was all right. She was happy. I knew
this was not an ordinary dream.
My dream was so incredibly real. I felt it, in my heart and in my soul.
Gran was not upset or disappointed by what I had done. She was happy. All
was well. She loved me. I was with her in her room. The immediate and
complete release of grief and of my overwhelming feeling of guilt when I
awoke was something so incredible, so miraculous that my life was changed.
Over 30 years have passed since that event, and the profound effect of that
experience continues to impact my perception of events today. Ever since the
beautiful gift that my grandmother had given me, whether it was from beyond
or simply from the love that she and I shared, I know in my heart that she is
always with me. I know that love and support, those beautiful “intangibles,”
never die. They are always there for me; I just need to open my heart and let
them in.
A Place in Time
Susannah Benson
“The human emerges not only as an earthling, but also a worldling.
We bear the universe in our beings as the universe bears us in its
being. The two have a total presence to each other and to that
deeper mystery out of which both the universe and ourselves have
emerged” (Thomas Berry).1
In this chapter we look at dreams that feature a relationship to nature and
our ancestral or cultural identity, and sense of place — often beginning in an
alluring landscape setting. We learn from the dreamers who share their
dreams how this relationship can give rise to a profound sense of connection,
leading to a significant change in each dreamer’s sense of self and, in some
cases, life calling.
My interest in this area of dream imagery developed during my Ph.D.
research, when I experienced a dream that I called Coming Alive in the
Landscape. This dream came at a significant point in the research and was a
life-changing dream on two significant levels: First, it helped renew my
commitment to continue with the research study that I had been considering
not completing; and second, it connected me to a sense of belonging and
profound connection to the Australian landscape. I had been out of Australia
for 17 years, and this dream connected me once again to my homeland. The
themes of land, of a sense of place, and of belonging also echoed with other
participants in the research, several of whom were born outside Australia.
Over the course of the study, I heard many dreams of land and place, dreams
of longing to be in familiar environments and dreams of wanting to know and
feel a sense of being at home in the Australian environment.
In my dream, it is a warm, sunny day. It feels like early or midmorning.
The sky comes into view — a soft jacaranda blue. I see a woman to the left of
the landscape, and she is walking on and around the rim of a beautiful
canyon landscape. The rugged, sandstone rock face is a burnished orange
and reddish-yellow ochre. The woman continues to walk, taking out her
camera, which is hanging from her waist near her right hip, and bringing it
up to her face. She begins to slowly rotate, bringing the landscape into focus
with her eye and camera. She stops to capture an image when her attention is
caught by something of special interest or beauty. She continues to walk,
looking across and through the deep gorge walls. It is a large vista, but still
the horizon and landforms feel very close and present. She doesn’t seem on
top of the landscape, but in the landscape. Finally, her gaze settles onto the
riverbed flowing at the bottom of the gorge. It is a harmonious scene — soft
filtered light, the trees hugging the riverbank, casting shade and a light,
green-yellow hue.
This dream seemed to break into my consciousness, expanding my view
and inviting me to take a closer look and new perspective about inner and
outer boundaries. It deepened my inquiry about my sense of self and
ultimately my sense of relationship to nature. From the dream I gained a felt
sense of spaciousness, of layering and depth, and complex systems. It was
these feelings that helped me to reconnect to the Ph.D. study with renewed
purpose.
This initial dream and the experience of others in the research study
sparked my continuing interest in these themes of interior landscapes, sense
of place, and feeling at “home” — of belonging. To belong and feel part of a
family, group, culture, and ultimately natural world is a key existential
animator or driver.
My dream of landscape connected me through image with feelings that I
had not been consciously aware of. Carl Jung emphasized the compensatory
as well as transformative function of dream, and the power of symbol, to
enable integration and emotional processing. He also warned in many of his
writings of the dangers inherent in modernity consciousness that overvalues
scientific rationalism and, as a consequence, contributes to continuing and
deepening a feeling of isolation from nature and natural processes, and loss
of a sense of place.
These reflections have been confirmed in the last 30 years within the
fields of social ecology, ecopsychology, and ecotherapy, which recognize
that while humanity is shaped by consciousness of the modern world, its deep
foundations are underpinned by the more-than-human environment in which
we have evolved. These fields of study recognize human beings have an
innate instinct to connect emotionally with nature, emphasize the
interconnectivity of the “web of life,” and discuss how the growing lack of
connection with natural environments results in important loss of sensory
information and information-processing ability.
What is also becoming increasingly obvious is that large-scale forced
migration from ancestral homes and cultural connections is contributing to a
growing sense of grief and anxiety in many populations. My dream of
Coming Alive in the Landscape brought these issues into the foreground of
my awareness and connected me also with my own sense of loss. It also
energized me, compelling me, in a sense, to continue to focus on the broader
picture of biodiversity and well-being.
As we see in this chapter, our dreams can shed a bright light and provide
a doorway into engaging with complex feelings connected to nature and
ancestral ties, enabling the possibility of healing and transformation. While
each dream narrative is unique, there are two common threads woven through
the stories shared in this chapter: the vivid, felt relationship to a natural
environment; and the lasting impact of the dreams on the dreamer’s life.
Some of the dreams focus on life direction and career change. Some also
invite reflection around the collective and social function of our dreams.
These point to the importance of warning dreams that can transcend the
concerns of the individual dreamer to embody shared psychological, spiritual,
and existential concerns.
C.G. Jung wrote, “At times I feel as if I am spread out over the
landscape and inside things, and am myself living in every tree, in the
splashing of the waves, in the clouds and the animals that come and go, in the
procession of the seasons.” 2
As we are part of nature giving expression to ourselves, I invite you,
after reading these dreams, to reflect and consider: What are the gifts of your
dreams, and what might nature be communicating to you?
Woman in the Desert
J.D.
For this dreamer, a vivid image of a young woman standing in a
desert staring at the dreamer was the theme of a recurring dream
image. The dream of the Woman in the Desert and those that
followed resulted in a fusion of the dreamer’s typical Anglo-
American identity with a previously unknown sense of an
indigenous identity that he came to embrace in his own way as a
positive influence in his life.
In 1968, I took a noon nap on my pickup truck front seat before going
back into work as a microwave technician. When I was half-awake just
before getting up: There is a vivid dream image of a young woman standing
in a desert and staring at me. After a moment, she turns and walks away, and
I wake up.
Simple dream, but it really struck me. This was no big deal, except it
then happened over and over for many years as a brief recurring dream: She
would make gestures with her face, body, and hands as if to say I had to
come along with her into the background desert scene.
I thought maybe this regular visitor is my “dream babe?” For years I
kept trying to figure out who she might be. At first, I thought southern
Mediterranean, then perhaps Latina, since she had long black hair and tan
complexion. In 1993, one night I was watching “The Real West” on the
History Channel and got a breakthrough. I even yelled out loud in my TV
chair, “She’s an Indian!”
This changed the dream completely, as when it happened from then on:
There is a whole group of indigenous looking people among some rocks in
the desert. They are all furiously gesturing to me to come with them. They
can talk among themselves but only wildly gesture to me to join them. The
“young lady” is no more. However, I can’t tell the gender of the folks I see.
It’s as if they’re both male and female together. The young “woman” I saw
could’ve been male, I later realized. Impossible to tell actually.
Years later I learned that in a half-awake (hypnopompic) state, I could
participate in dreams, so after a lot of practice and reading, I taught myself to
lucid dream after reading a couple of books. So once when the dream
recurred: I am finally able to walk into it and join the folks there! But as soon
as I do, the whole scene explodes into a spray of color and light, and I get a
“high” feeling that lasts 10-15 minutes after being jolted awake.
Very amazing, and I was able to do that several more times before the
dream never ever happened again. However, it seems they are still there. I
just never see them anymore in dreams.
Over the years, this recurring dream greatly influenced my life. I had
never given any thought to Indians or indigenous peoples at all; now I did.
Indians largely had been treated as shootout fodder in Western movies. That
completely changed for me. I protest to my banks when they celebrate
Columbus Day as a holiday. I had been a Republican conservative — that
changed. From 1968 onward to the present, I always take vacations in the
desert. Although my background implies big city, I always feel like a
“boonies” person and often tell people that. I routinely take walks in the dark.
My neighbors ask how I see without a flashlight, and I tell them I always
have done that. No artificial light. It was great when there was a moon.
Recently, I got obsessed with picking wild blackberries in the nearby woods.
I can easily buy them at the supermarket, but I had to do this instead. This
seems sort of indigenous to me. I liked looking at these “dream people” so
much that I finally decided one day never to cut my hair again. Now when I
look in a mirror, I roughly look like the people I see in my dream, and it
causes a pleasant feeling. My favorite entertainment for years became Indian
powwow attendance. During the intertribals and round dances, I go in the
arena and dance with the folks, and several years ago even won a prize doing
that. I don’t know why I would have an influential dream like this, since I
have zero real-world connection to indigenous people and cultures.
What has happened is that the dream seems to have resulted in a fusion
of my typical Anglo-European identity with this “visiting” influence. It has
been benign, and I just let it happen. In fact, I feel as if I have no choice since
those “folks” don’t seem to take “no” for an answer.
Sacred Hill
N. Jagan Mohana Laxmi
Mohana shares a recurring dream of a large, smooth hill and a
beautiful lake filled with fresh rainwater. She eventually discovers
that the vivid imagery is a real landscape — a discovery that totally
changed her life. It ultimately led her to change careers and to move
to the real locale of her dream to undertake Ph.D. studies. Such a
dream reminds us of the calling power of our interior landscapes to
engage us and also carry us forward as dreams frequently have an
anticipatory quality.
In my dream, I see one hill, which is very big, very smooth on three
sides, and very beautiful. In the middle of this place is a lake and a tamarind
tree near that lake. The lake is filled with fresh rainwater.
I had this dream repeatedly frequently from age 17 or 19 until age 30. I
always used to ask trekkers about this place and look at their pictures
curiously, never finding the place of my dreams. By now, most of my friends
became vexed and advised me to stop looking for the Hill.
Professionally, I became a financial and recruitment consultant. My life
became busy, and there was good money in what I was doing. However,
there was some unknown thirst in me that prompted me to enroll in an
undergraduate course in psychology. Eventually, it became a passion, and I
completed a postgraduate degree. My job no longer made me happy, so I quit
to fully dedicate my time and energies to a Ph.D. in psychology. Quite
naturally, the topic I chose for my Ph.D. was dreams.
Life passed by while I was engrossed in preparing my synopsis. At one
point, I received a call from a friend and in the conversation casually referred
to my recurrent childhood dream. To my astonishment, he said he is well-
aware of such a place. He did not have any pictures of the place, however, as
it was a protected area and restricted. He said he works on a project there and
could get me permission for a visit. When I reached the location, I could not
believe my eyes! It was exactly the same place, the same as I have dreamed
of all these years. Same smooth hill with a beautiful, small lake by a tamarind
tree. I found the place of my dreams, thanks to this friend of mine. I will
always be indebted to him.
All my happiness of visiting this beautiful place was crushed, however,
as my synopsis got rejected by the university. It was because the university
did not have an adviser on my chosen topic. I now had to find a different
university, one that did have an adviser for dreams, and start my Ph.D. again
from the beginning. During my search I came across someone from a
university that was located exactly at the same place as the hill in my dreams.
I was amazed!
A year later, I enrolled into the Ph.D. program at that university.
This vivid dream, which I always thought was just a dream until I
actually visited it as a real place, has changed my life, changed my career and
my university, too. In the end, I am a happy and better person.
Dropping to Earth
Sally Gillespie
Carl Jung said that some dreams do not belong to the individual;
they have a collective meaning. Sally Gillespie shares one such
powerful dream, that of imagined impending climate disaster. Her
dream impacted on her so powerfully that she changed her life path
and career as a Jungian psychotherapist to take up and complete
doctoral studies focused on a depth psychological approach to
climate change.
In 2008, after completing some writing and speaking about climate
change and depth psychology, I was ready to shift my focus. But then I had a
dream experience that was so intense it not only halted my backpedaling
from further climate change work, but it also forged a resolve to commit the
rest of my life to it. My dream catapulted me into a terrifying vision of
climate change.
In it, I see whole continents sinking beneath rising seas while millions of
people attempt to cling to land and their lives. Meanwhile, I swing on a rope
high above the Earth as the landmasses shift around beneath me until finally
I let go and drop into this catastrophic world, becoming one of many
grasping for the heaving shores. Then, into the midst of this overwhelming
horror creeps some tenderness, when a desperate poodle swims into my
arms. I care for it as best I can, even while feeling the futility of everyone’s
struggle to survive.
I awoke from this dream gasping, my heart thumping. Urgent questions
pressed in on me: “How do I respond to this? How can I respond to this?”
Any possibility of distancing myself from climate change reports
collapsed through the experience of this night vision, which left me shaking
for the vulnerability of all beings on Earth. My personal consciousness
crashed into collective realities. I did not believe my dream was precognitive
or prophetic, but I felt my psychological foundations crack as myths about
the primacy of personal autonomy and independence were ruptured. The
dream breached my habitual boundaries, crashing through all justifications
and denials with its insistence that I live fully in the know ledge of the
seriousness of global warming.
Carl Jung wrote that dreams about the world or social concerns “have a
character which forces people to instinctively to tell them … such dreams do
not belong to the individual; they have a collective meaning.” This is how my
dream felt. While I could conjure up personal interpretations related to major
changes in myself and my life around this time, such interpretations felt
reductive and dismissive of both my own instincts and of the world out there.
They arose from a split that I could no longer hold, one where personal and
collective concerns existed in separate and disconnected realms. In all its
vividness, my dream captured the way in which my growing awareness of
global warming pitched me into a disordered world where the old life was
impossible.
After this dream, unable to keep my attention within the confines of my
psychotherapy practice, I made the decision to commence a doctorate on
psychological responses to climate change engagement. This research has
since become the basis for my work today as a writer, speaker, and workshop
facilitator.
APPENDIX
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Robert Gongloff, MA, is a director and past president of IASD and author of
Dream Exploration: A New Approach. He is the program cochair for the
IASD international dream conferences and prior host of three of them. He is
also a coeditor of Dreams that Change Our Lives plus a pending two-volume
reference book for Greenwood.
Robert Hoss, MS, is a director and past president and board chair of IASD,
directs the DreamScience Foundation for research grants, is a faculty trainer
for the Haden Institute, and advisory board-member of the National Institute
for Integrative Healthcare. He is author of Dream Language and Dream to
Freedom, is published in 12 other books, and is managing editor of Dreams
That Change Our Lives plus an upcoming two-volume reference book on
dreams.
Tallulah Lyons, M.Ed., has facilitated dream groups and guided imagery in
hospital cancer wellness centers for many years. She is the author of Dreams
and Guided Imagery: Gifts for Transforming Illness and Crisis, and Dream
Prayers: Dreams as a Spiritual Path.
Wendy Pannier has led dreamwork in cancer settings for 20 years. She is a
past president of IASD and has had extensive training with Montague
Ullman, MD. She is cocreator with Tallulah Lyons of an IASD project,
Healing Power of Dreams.
Jeremy Taylor, D.Min., cofounder and past president of IASD, and the
founder/director of the Marin Institute for Projective Dream Work, serves on
the board of the Unitarian Universalist Society for Community Ministries. He
is the author of many globally influential books in the field. In an effort to
extend the audience for dream exploration, he has written and illustrated
graphic cartoon books about basic dream work principles.