When I dreamed about the “Temple In the Wilderness” I was puzzled by my dream ego’s fascination with the beautiful waxy white flowers. I loved flowers, but in those days I saw nothing particularly meaningful about them. I do now. Here’s why.
In response to my second post, Dream Along With Me, William Horden wrote, “For the ancients of Mexico, the height of their Lifeway was expressed in the philosophy called ‘Flower-And-Song.’ By ‘Flower’ they meant the ability to perceive that everything is perfect as a flower, yet passing before our eyes. This boils down to grasping the emotional reality that everything I know and love is both perfect as it is and already dying. To be a warrior meant the ability to hold these two profound emotions in the heart-mind at the same time.”
At the heart of this enlightened philosophy is a deep reverence for feeling. The ancients of Mexico, like spirit persons everywhere, knew that living a full life was about more than being rational and clear-headed. It’s fine and good for me to work out an elegant theory about the meaning of life, but thoughts are abstractions, not concrete realities. Like dead flowers, they are dry, useless things when cut off from the juicy life of our bodies. The point is to merge our mental and physical lives in a sacred union of opposites.
In theory, this makes perfect sense to most of us, but it’s quite another thing to actually live and relate to others with this kind of balance. Some of us get so swamped with strong emotions at the least provocation that we become impervious to reason. Others habitually repress our feelings to the point you would swear we had no hearts at all. And of course, most of us vacillate between these two extremes, here overly emotional, there all business, forever buffeted about by unconscious compulsions we don’t understand and can’t seem to control no matter how hard we try.
Which brings me back to my white flowers. White, the color of light, purity, and perfection, is often worn at rituals of transformation like baptisms, first communions, marriages, initiations, and for some people, death rites. Wearing white signifies respect for the logos/thinking/spiritual side of life. Conversely, flowers symbolize the mythos/feeling/soulful side of life. We send flowers on sad occasions to represent our feelings of grief and caring, and on joyful occasions they convey our love.
The moist, creamy white flowers in the wilderness temple filled my dream ego with awe, symbolizing that after years of living in my head and dismissing my feelings I was awakening to the life of my soul. Kneeling in reverence before the flowers indicated that a hard place in my wounded heart was softening and melting away. And because I was honoring honest feeling, a Prince appeared to be my guide. Where did he want to take me? For me, the couple walking hand-in-hand through the distant mist prefigured a sacred wedding of balance between the opposites, a potential future reward if I persisted with my journey to self-knowledge.
I’m here to tell you that dreams are not “just our imagination”. These messages from the mist are factual events with profound meaning for us, and our souls know it even if our egos do not.
“Man, like the other animals, is originally simply the puppet of instinct, just as the infant is. Unless he is moved by instinct, he remains