DREAM that me, Michael, and our cat Nemo were all in the bathtub and Michael got up and got out, but his body, like a twin, was still floating in the tub. I said, “Aren’t you going to take your body with you?”, as I tried to get his body up. He replied, “No, I have to meditate on Our Father first.” His face was a bit screwed up, his eyes crossed, and he looked like he was sick. In fact, he looked like Ryan Gosling (we had just watched “Lars and the Real Girl” the other day).
In another part I was in our upstairs neighbour’s apartment, although it seemed like the ground floor and quite well lit with natural light coming through big windows. I was trying very hard to clean the mess that others have made. Nemo was there. Other people were there too, coming in now and then. Then she came in after work, tired, and sat down. She had her little daughter with her. I don’t recall much of this part now… I was just trying to clean everything before she noticed anything dirty…
DREAMWORK:
The first part is about the masculine. Michael is my beloved masculine, Nemo is my masculine animal instinct and nature. They are also the two beings I love the most. We are all at home emotionally, safe and secure in our bond. But Michael, my masculine, is sick. In the movie, Ryan Gosling played a young man with a mental illness, a delusion about love which manifested as a projection of his shadow. His mother died giving birth to him and his father became depressed so could not give him the love and nurture a child needed. He grew up without knowing real human connection, and had a phobia of being touched. In my dream, my masculine left his body behind because he had to find and connect to the Great Masculine first, before he could truly own his physical body. This reminds me of Christ’s ascension, leaving his physical body through death while his spirit returned to God the Father in heaven, so that 3 days later he could return to his body through rebirth to show us that we can all be reborn, if we do as he did.
Yesterday I spent much of the day reflecting and writing about the relationship between my father and his father, and consequently my own relationship with my father. And how it all carries on in perpetuity. It began with writing a story about my conversation with my father the night before, and how all these conversations we’ve had define our relationship. I haven’t finished writing the story yet, but I believe it led to this dream, telling me that I need to ‘meditate on my Father’ – in all of his manifestations – to heal, make whole my connection to my masculine. That there is some delusion I have regarding love with the Father needing balance.
It is true that I’ve no memory of connecting with my father as a child, he was so much in absentia, that even as I want to connect to him now as an adult I am not sure how or where to begin. He probably feels the same way with his own father, even more difficult that so much water has gone under that bridge.
Our upstairs neighbour, on the other hand, is also tall, blond and pretty, but much more high-maintenance. She appears to be highly sensitive (and therefore critical) and averse to ‘invasive’ agents or contagions environmentally, though only of the old-fashioned kind: cat, smells, dirt, germs, but not store-bought cleansers, sprays, detergents that are loaded with chemicals and toxins, just as long as they disguise the ‘darker’ manifestations of nature. She seems to me the ever-cheerful type who is mostly concerned about appearance and image, all lightness and pleasantry, but terrified of anything dark or ugly or socially unacceptable. Of course, there is a part of me that is like that, wanting to cover up what’s embarrassing or ‘not nice’, and being so fearful of it that an over-active immune response develops, manifesting mental/emotional fear into physical symptoms, making it ‘real’.
In the dream I was giving my all to ‘erasing’ any trace of mess, dirt, or disorder, because I did not want her to have anything to complain or criticize me for. But when she did come home, she was so tired that she just sat down, her eyes downcast, not noticing anything in her surroundings. Her apartment was half glass and full of light, much like a fishbowl with everything inside on exhibit, though her energy was heavy and dark, the opposite of what she tries to be usually. She is a part of my shadow, and a part of my feminine, but she is sad and tired from trying to uphold that sparkling image of perfection our society deems worthy, just as I am. Her little daughter is the little young me who was taught to reach for that standard, be a good girl, be nice, look nice, please others so they’ll love you. That good girl replaced and stifled the real me, who could never touch that bar.
I am still trying to be ‘good’, the way the world wants me to be. I don’t know how to shake that, but the dream must have the answer in it. Hmmm… the little girl is the key, she is the one who was shaped by society into believing that she has to be good and conform so as to be showered with love and light, that she is not good the way she really is, the way she really wants to be.
She needs to be held in the arms of her mother, who understands because she has been through the same thing, who now throws open her heart and body and spirit to embrace her daughter without reservation, demand, or condition, just pure, soothing, mother love. In my mind, the visual drama plays out between mother and daughter. Everything is golden, everything is love. Incubate in this love until I am healed. I give gratitude for this healing.
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Saturday, November 6, 2010
DREAM that I had a beehive hairdo, jet black, not huge but shaped slightly like a mushroom cap with a bit of a point. This part is somewhat vague now but I think I was doing something ‘good’ for the group…
Then I went out with a large group of people into the streets and we were all working on some event or task. When it was just about over and night was falling, Julius Freilich, the vice-president of the first ad agency I worked for, handed me a device with a cord attached to it, which he disconnected from the device or machine he held, and asked me to download it for him. I took it and said I’ll go get my car and come back, and whoever wants to go back now can come with me. Next thing I was in the car and a guy was in the passenger seat with me. I knew him in the dream because he was part of the group but we were just acquaintances. He was tall and his head on the large side. We were on a wide 4-lane road and I did a u-turn but the car began to fishtail out of control. The guy tried to look out for me and warned me a second before the car brushed by a big pile of kids all heaped on top of each other. I think they were all wearing blue, very ‘uniform’ looking. Even though the car seemed to be spinning wildly its movements were somehow ‘gentle’, so no damage was done. There was even a police car nearby. My passenger was gentle-spoken and never freaked out.
DREAMWORK:
Beehive… busy, up in the head… pointing up, aspiring… my head, is what I can best offer the group…
Julius was a wild-card kind of guy, though small in stature, he always managed to be the centre of attention. He loved the good life and company, always treating the employees in the restaurants and bars we frequented, at his invitation. He was forthright and loud, his every gesture big and forceful. Almost a buffoon sometimes, I think now that was how he disarmed people without ingratiating himself. A good guy, but you wouldn’t want to cross him. I think he is the wild-card in me, but also the part that loves the spice of life and the world, and knows how to get along in the world with savvy and ease, so even work becomes drama and play. And I need to download him in myself.
My passenger in the car was an animus figure as well, but more like a wise guardian angel. He exuded steadfast strength, peace, and safety, and covered me where I could not. I think he was there to keep company and calm, even in a situation where I had no control whatsoever. That situation would be my life, and I am in the process of letting go of the need to control, although I’m scared witless most of the time.
That heap of blue-clad children are the innocent young life I would not want to harm. They were not dead in the dream though they were face down and I couldn’t see their faces. I realize now they are not alive yet either. They are the future emotional life of children, dormant like seeds. They can be nurtured, or they can be destroyed. It is where children are most vulnerable, but also pivotal to their future growth, who they will grow up to be and how. I feel much tenderness toward this, perhaps it is part of my work to help protect and nurture their potentials.
I feel as if my guardian angel is telling me: “Don’t be afraid. I am always with you, and you are under the best kind of control there is. Just let go and enjoy the ride!”
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