 |
| Photo collage by Dan Macken |
It's so hard to talk about dreams and dreamwork sometimes. It is often not "speech-ripe" as my father likes to say. It's also hard to narrow down "the beginning" of the story, but here goes:
I had this dream the morning of March 12, 2008. I call it Tattooed Hands.
I'm driving up a steep hill [just like in San Francisco, which I did learn to drive on] in an old VW bug from the 60's. I'm with my Uncle John. I have to slow way down because there is another car in front of us that is going really, really slowly. I am getting more and more pissed off because I cannot keep the car in gear and we keep stalling. John puts his hand on my knee and says, "I know that guy. He's having a hard time." My attitude immediately shifts to empathy for the man in front of me.
We stop the car and get out, because honestly, it's faster to walk at this point. John disappears and I begin to walk up the hill, which has turned into a mountain. The path starts to get muddy and I realize that I am walking the path of a pilgrimage. There are brown-skinned women - they look Mestizo or Mayan - flanking both sides of the path. They are dressed completely in white.
I realize that I am essentially "cutting in line." These women are on the pilgrimage too and they are waiting, whereas I am walking on the muddy path. I feel bad, but I can feel good energy coming from these women - they want me to keep walking. At one point I slip in the mud and fall flat on my face, and no one helps me up, yet I still feel nothing but encouragement from them.
I get to the top of the mountain and there are older women in a circle. I realize that they are here for me. They have been waiting for me. I walk to the center of the circle and one-by-one they walk up to me and take various parts of my body. Holding my hand, or elbow, or ear, they "divine" my future. But they are speaking a native language that I do not understand. I notice that their hands are elaborately tattooed in blue ink. It's a square Aztec kind of design and it is breathtakingly beautiful against their dark skin and white robes.
I realize that I am supposed to be blind, but I am not. I try closing my eyes, to pretend that I am blind, but the overwhelming sensation in my body is almost too much to bear. It feels like nausea and it feels like I am spinning out of control and then I wake up.
The night of May 2, 2008, I was at the Mercy Center, doing another dream workshop with my Father and I woke up with the memory of this dream and a feeling of urgency to work with it in some way. I ended up staying up most of the night drawing on my hands in blue ink and taking photos with my cell phone.
I had a lot of insights that night about my creative life and how I would like to make more time for ritual and ceremony in my life.
Flash forward to the weekend of the San Damiano workshop. I found out that we were going to do Dream Theater and this dream popped into my head with a solid BANG! I felt bad about putting my name in the hat to be chosen because I was a Teaching Assistant and didn't have to pay go, as others did. But my soul kept asking that I write my name down. When I started to fill out the slip of paper, the pen that was given to me, didn't work. "It's a sign!" I thought. "I'm not supposed to work today." The man who later played my Uncle John in the dream theater experience asked me what was wrong. "My pen doesn't work. It's a sign..." He said, "Yeah. A sign that you need a new pen!" and handed me a new pen. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!
So I got to share my dream with everyone and use the Dream Theater process. Everyone present got to play various parts of the dream.
In Dream Theater, people play different parts of the dream (both animate and inanimate objects) and then the Dreamer has the option to shift in and feel what it is like to be that part as well. It's a very Gestalt kind of technique and it is amazing how visceral things can feel when I pretend to be "mud" or "the beginning of the path." I again, refer you to Beth's comments on her post, describing what it felt like to be the mud that I fall into. Amazing!
So what was my experience like? Honestly, it was one of the most intense and transformational experiences I have had in many years. I was very moved by falling into Sister Mud and feeling how deeply I was held, even though I had fallen down. I learned that falling down is part of the process of transformation. It's not about being perfect and walking the path with no injury or pain. It's about falling down and getting back up again and continuing on. And it's about knowing that Mother Earth is most definitely here for me. She will hold me whenever I need her. I just have to go lay down on the ground or even, let myself fall.
When Sister Mud and I changed places, I got to feel how amazing it is to be mud! To be rich, living earth! I also had a moment of feeling how powerful and joyful the Earth is. Growing up in the 70's and being around very hard-core environmentalists (and being quite conscious of the earth myself), I was used to a paradigm of the earth being a victim. Like the Earth was going to get so hurt at some point that she would die or break. But when I embodied Mother Earth in that moment, I felt strong and powerful and not like a victim at all. In fact, I felt this very visceral truth that all the digging and mining and poisoning that is happening to the Earth doesn't actually hurt her at all. It's all interaction and she loves interaction of any kind. There is no good or bad in her consciousness. Now of course, this doesn't mean that I'm going to go around telling people to do whatever they want to the Earth because she likes it all. I got the distinct message that no matter what, the Earth will be fine, but people are going to die off very soon, if we keep things up the way we have been going.
I also learned to really honor my slowness. After the Mercy Center retreat, when I stayed up all night drawing on my hands and taking photos(!) I came home energized and excited about my life and immediately got incredibly sick. I was so angry that I was sick. I couldn't believe God would knock me down when I was feeling so good. But now I realize that the dream is also coming to tell me that slowing down, just like falling down, is also part of the journey. Sometimes I am that man in the car in front of me who is having a hard time, and that is OK and natural and will pass.
The divination part of the Dream Theater was amazing. There really are no words for that aspect. All I can say is that I feel intimately connected to every person involved. All the women who blessed me into what I can only say now is some kind of womankind earth ministry. And the two men present, who spun me around, to give me the feeling of dizziness but really succeeded in keeping the woman playing nausea at bay and supporting me when I felt too dizzy. The spinning actually kept me upright, whereas if they had stopped, I surely would have fallen down.
And yes, oddly enough, no one played the tattoos on the hands. I would be curious to know what they represent, although one wonderful person pointed out that the Aztecs often sacrificed the best healers and if the ritual felt anything like that blessing/divination/re-initiation that I felt, I would have happily given my life at that moment. Tear out my heart! Eat it with hot sauce! Devour me!
So there is my experience of Dream Theater. I highly recommend it to anyone who has the chance to do it. It's incredible to be the dreamer, but it is almost as powerful to participate in someone else's dream.
I'm considering doing a Dream Theater Group soon, so be sure to e-mail me for more information. Thanks for making it to the end of this long post!
1 comment: