It’s been 16 years since Dream Theatres of the Soul was published. I am not the same person I was then, nor do I work with my dreams in exactly the same ways. But I still yearn for self-knowledge, and draining the cup of a dream is still the best way I know to satisfy my thirst!
What is this compulsion all about? Can I bear the truth? Can you? Well then, here it is: at bottom it is about being a vulnerable animal poised on the precipice of consciousness, filled with primal apprehension and eager to ease the anxiety of self-awareness. For this moment I am alive, but death and oblivion surround me. I hear them coming now.
What thoughts and images will remind me that no matter what happens I am good enough and all shall be well? What sparks of meaning will keep the tiny candle of my soul lit so I can bear the burden of knowing I am alive without surrendering to darkness and despair? What insights will reduce my inner discord and activate my creativity so that I can experience eternity by being lost in joy? I find answers to these and many other questions in my dreams. My thirst is the curse of consciousness, Eve’s gift to the universe, and quenching it with dreamwork beats Gatorade or wine.
Simply put, I seek Truth and dreams are maps to the mother lode of Mystery.
Like every explorer who discovers precious treasures, I enjoy sharing my findings with others. The ideal setting for dream sharing is small groups. Over time dream groups become sacred containers that facilitate positive change because of the unusually high levels of trust, safety, honesty, and mutual respect that are established.
But while I love teaching small groups and adore my students, the medium that truly satisfies my soul is writing. This presents me with an impossible problem. If I dare to do the same thing in writing that I do with my students, I will be laying open my soul to anyone who wishes to cut it into tiny pieces and have it for lunch. Even if I could be assured of the good will of readers, the written word inhibits the organic interplay of questions and ideas between mentor and mentee that leads to clarification and deeper understanding. And if, despite all my misgivings, I take this risk and pin down my living dreams into printed words, like so many dead butterflies on a display board, how do I avoid the traps of self-revelation: banality, self-importance, self-deprecation, a little varnishing of the truth here and there?
Yet, I write about my dreams. Maybe my Writer’s need for expression is greater than my Wisewoman’s sense. Or maybe my Warrior can’t resist the challenge. Whatever the reason, I’m determined to do what I must do the best way I can. And what I must do is strengthen my psychological awareness, spiritual meaning, and connectedness, and keep sharing what I have learned in the hope of helping others do the same.
“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