DREAM: I am working in an ad agency and we are all gathered around a table (again!) for a meeting. There were many of us and it was a tight squeene. One of the young guys was the boss and he was calling out names, as if he doesn’t know who everyone is. He called my name and I squeezed myself forward so I could show myself. I don’t remember who, but someone informed him that I was a part-timer, implying that that’s why he doesn’t know me. I looked like a young girl with a sweet, fresh face and short pixie hair, a bit shy but with a direct gaze. Later, I found some hanging displays of who’s-who of the principals of the company, pictures and names of them. I browsed through them. I only remember seeing men.
I am shopping in a store and came to the cosmetic and accessories aisle. It was quite narrow and already packed with people. I tried to go down nevertheless. The place was brightly lit with artificial light, and everything looked bleached.
I am sitting on the toilet pulling off toilet paper, which looked like regular paper folded into tiny pleats and dyed a deep red. I pulled off too much and decided to rip it into small sections, but it was difficult finding the ends because the whole thing was messed up. I made one rip anyway. Then I tried to roll up what was left on the roll, although it wasn’t much. It was like toilet paper but also dyed a deep red. Then I realized the end of my skirt has fallen in, so I pulled it up, but with too much force and I splashed myself. It was even in my lips and tasted salty, that’s all. It looked like melted butter or ghee. I thought I would just strip down and put everything in the washing machine outside. Cindy was walking by.
DREAMWORK:
I’m still having that fractious feeling of the last few days, unsettled, scrambled inside, as if something is wrong with my writing and what I’m doing day-to-day. I feel tired after writing and it doesn’t give me that good feeling that I used to get from writing. It feels like effort and much less enjoyable. My body agrees that I am using my head too much, even though I had said I would let my body do the dreamwork, I hadn’t completely. So I will now. I will also go back and do that with dreams of the last few days that I haven’t worked on.
This is the collective of my creativity, each a different manifestation, and there are many. I don’t know them all. The young girl is what I am manifesting now. She is just starting out, part-time, but full of promise, just waiting to grow into herself. The principals were all men because it is the masculine in all of us that leads, initiates, and goes out into the world. I was a bit timid and humbled in the dream, but felt I belonged, and happy to be part of the group, ready to do the work.
Next part: Deep down inside I am still buying into superficial cover-ups to make myself more attractive, believing that sex and beauty still sells. What I did not realize is that in the cold, harsh light of the world of artifice, everyone looks dead and hopes to deceive otherwise, but no one is.
I’ve got to let that go, that belief that others won’t like or accept me if I don’t look good enough, that I have to look for ways to contrive and deceive and entice. I let go of that fear now, and I welcome the expansiveness and loving feeling of knowing I am good and beautiful and loved by all, just as I am. Uncover, and let my light shine through.
Next part: The mess of toilet paper that weren’t toilet paper is how I feel inside. I’ve pulled so much, too much, out of my head, my dreams, ideas, beginnings of trains of thought, lists of to-do’s and to-try’s. It’s just a big jumbo of a tangled disorder. It is deep red because I had put a lot of passion and love into it, but now it’s out of control. This creative output was supposed to be an expressive, cleansing, and healing outlet for me, and it had started out this way. In my neglect I’ve become soiled with my own waste – what I no longer need – as things backfired on me. I backfired on myself.
Mercifully, there is a little bit of ‘real’ toilet paper left on the roll, deep red, as I still feel passionate about this work. I will now strip and wash and let go, and start over again. Cindy, guard and guardian of my spirit and rightful action, is always close by.
I need to write from my body, work from my body, decide and plan from my body, eat from my body, live from my body.
This way of working with my dreams, by taking each chunk of the dream whole into my body – down into my belly, so it doesn’t float up to my head – and just leaving it there to sit, and wait for what I need to know to rise up into my consciousness. I do not feel drained or tired, in fact, I feel alert and energized, and emptied out.
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