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 Acknowledgements
IASD and the editors Robert Hoss and Robert Gongloff wish to express their
deep-felt gratitude to all those who participated in this project. To the IASD
Editing Team: Joy Fatooh, Janet Garrett, Curt Hoffman, Polly McCann, and
Melinda Ziemer. To all of the Authors and those Story Contributors who
are published in the following chapters in this book. To the dream artists who
provided the art for the nine sections: Sheila Asato, Elaine Drew, Joseph
Kemeny, Melissa McClanahan, Juan Obligado, Carol Spicuzza, and Julia
Still. Finally, to those who so generously contributed to this project but who
either preferred we use a pseudonym with their stories, who dedicated their
stories to our research database, or whose stories we were unable to publish
in this edition: Mary Fuller Ashmore, Jane Austin, Bruce Blair, Anthony
Dubetz, Evelyn Dues bury, James Duncan, Noelle Finnerty, Lorenza Fiori,
Jordi Borràs García, Pascale Gondolfo, Yvonne Gonzalez-Baez, Clara Dina
Hinojosa, Kristen Hoss, Julie Hoyle, Marla Ianello, Deborah Irvine, Johannes
K., Diakite Mamadou B, Tufani Mayfield, Pearl Natter, Marcia Nehemiah,
Regina O’Melveny, Orionario, Sharon Pastore, Walt Peterson, Mary Gossin
Priore, Sherry Puricelli, Martha A Taylor, Bijjala Surya Teja, Vicki Van
Vynckt, Tanvi Viswanath, Robert Elliot Wolff.

A Note About Our Stories

Please note that the stories submitted to this book are the heartfelt dreams and
experiences of those who submitted them, along with their own
interpretations of those experiences. Likewise, the work of the chapter
authors is their own. In compiling this book, IASD wishes to honor and
preserve these personal experiences even though they may not necessarily
represent the collective view of the IASD organization. To view IASD
policies on dreamwork, please refer to www.asdreams.org/ethics-and-
confidentiality/.
 About IASD
The International Association for the Study of Dreams is a nonprofit,
international, multidisciplinary organization founded in 1983, dedicated to
the pure and applied investigation of dreams and dreaming. Our purposes are
to promote an awareness and appreciation of dreams in both professional and
public arenas; to encourage research into the nature, function, and
significance of dreaming; to advance the application of the study of dreams;
and to provide a forum for the eclectic and interdisciplinary exchange of
ideas and information. We welcome you to discover more about IASD and
perhaps become a member at www.asdreams.org.
 Foreword

Stanley Krippner
The human psyche, like everything else on planet Earth, has resulted
from evolutionary forces, one of which is the 24-hour cycle of light and
darkness. In adapting to this cycle, most living creatures engaged in some
form of sleep, and for many creatures sleep was punctuated by one form or
another of dreaming. So what is dreaming?
Millennia ago, it was commonly thought that dreams resulted purely
from agencies (spirits, deities, etc.) that brought the dreamer information,
some of it beneficial and some of it malevolent. Although these concepts still
persist in some parts of the world, other explanations are more in vogue. For
some, dream content was considered simply the result of random neural
activity; that when people find meaning in dreams, they are projecting their
own scenarios the way people often see patterns in clouds, tea leaves, and
inkblots. For others, dream content is highly meaningful, and a skilled
practitioner can detect that meaning, at least in part, even without knowing
anything about the dreamer and his or her personal life. To yet others, dreams
resemble what in architecture are called a “spandrel” — decorative and
attractive additions to an arch which often tell stories that can add meaning to
the entire arch — in the same way working with dreams can tell stories that
provide useful information to the dreamer and even to the dreamer’s social
group.
Personally, I hold to an explanation more in keeping with an
evolutionary trajectory. My reading of the sleep and dream science literature
convinces me that dreaming evolved as an aid to human survival in several
ways. Useful information that is learned during waking hours is stored so it
can be put to use again; other information is discarded or, to use a common
psychological term, “extinguished.” This is especially the case of emotionally
tinged dream content; emotional downloading becomes adaptive in that it
enables people to function better the following day. However, dreams also
help dreamers plan for the future, not only by weaving together bits and
pieces of data that have been disregarded during waking hours but by taking
glimpses into the future through processes that remain anomalous. Finally,
dreams engage in creative problem-solving, often producing a “eureka”
moment upon awakening or, more commonly, come to one’s aid during the
day when a hitherto barrier to a solution seemed to have been removed.
So can dreams change someone’s life? Of course they can. If dreams
serve the evolutionary purposes that I purport, they have been adaptive over
the history of the species because they help dreamers store useful
information, process feelings and affect, prepare for the following day (or
even for a more distant future), and aid in the solution of a relationship
tangle, a vocational choice, a spiritual dilemma, a professional crisis, or a
transformational opportunity. Even if dreams result from spiritual
intervention, it can at times be to our benefit as the stories herein attest. If
dream meaning results from projection, it can also allow a latent solution to a
problem to manifest itself. If dreams are simply like spandrels, they can be
more than decorative; they can be the missing piece of a design that gives
direction and existential insight into a pattern that would be bland without
them.
There has never been a book like this one, a work that takes a
multidimensional approach to dreams at their most adaptive, to dreams that
— indeed — can make a crucial difference in dreamers’ lives as they wend
their way on life’s tumultuous yet quite remarkable pathway.
 Table of Contents

The Journey
Chapter 1: The Journey of
Robert Hoss
Transformation
The Journey Begins Graphic Cartoon Jeremy Taylor
Chapter 2: The Power Within Robert Hoss
The Journey Begins
Chapter 3: Little Children Big Dreams Alan Siegel
Childhood Dream Graphic Cartoon Jeremy Taylor
Chapter 4: The Power of the Image Patricia Garfield
Life Changes
Chapter 5: Conflict Resolution Robert Gongloff
Chapter 6: Love and Relationships Kelly Walden
Chapter 7: Family Dreams/Future
Gayle Delaney
Choices
Chapter 8: Dreams that Transform
Jacquie E. Lewis
Careers
Taking Charge
Chapter 9: The Power of Lucid
Robert Waggoner
Dreaming
Lucid Dreaming Graphic Cartoon Jeremy Taylor
Chapter 10: Breakthrough Nightmares Alan Siegel
Healing
Chapter 11: Dreams that Physically Heal Justina Lasley
Chapter 12: Healing Transformations Tallulah Lyons & Wendy
with Cancer Dreams Pannier
Creative Wisdom Within
Chapter 13: Wisdom of the Serpent Ed Kellogg
Creative Inspiration Graphic Cartoon Jeremy Taylor
Chapter 14: Creative Dreaming Deirdre Barrett
A Spiritual Presence
Chapter 15: Embracing Spirit Scott Sparrow
 Chapter 16: A Divine Presence Bob Haden
Reaching Beyond the Senses
Chapter 17: Transcending Space & Time Stanley Krippner
Chapter 18: The Power of Precognitive
Marcia Emery
Dreams
Journey’s End and Beyond
Chapter 19: The Healing Power of
Kelly Bulkeley
Mourning Dreams
Chapter 20: Life Continues Laurel Clark
Chapter 21: A Place in Time Susannah Benson
Appendix
Is There a Science Behind
Robert Hoss & Carlyle Smith
Life-Changing Dreams?
The Journey
Sheila Asato
 Chapter 1

The Journey of Transformation

Robert Hoss
In my first years out of college, as I was making my way out in the
world, I was struck with a growing urge to understand the purpose of life and
the nature of the universe at all levels of consciousness. I was voraciously
buying and reading books on scientific, metaphysical, and spiritual thought,
attending the lectures, and listening to experts in order to find the Truth. The
more I read and listened, the more confused I became — every expert had a
different Truth. One day, being totally fed up, I prayed for an answer — not
just any prayer — but one of total surrender to wherever it led me regardless
of consequences.
That night I had the following dream: I have been wandering all night,
dream after dream, journeying through bookstores and strange lands looking
for the “Book of Truth.” At the point of frustration, I spot a wise old man off
to my left who looks me straight in the eyes and points to a spiral slide, of a
beautiful natural wood, descending into the earth. He says, “Truth Lies
Within!” I am not sure what he means, but his wisdom seemed powerful, so I
descend. At the bottom I am again confused because I see no book — then
something catches my eye to the left. A beautiful feminine, almost angelic
being in an archway has descended a staircase and moves toward me. We
embrace. The feeling is “electric exhilaration” mixed with an instant
knowing in the dream of exactly where the “truth” is and what the wise old
man meant — it lies within my greater self, a merging and balancing of my
masculine intellectual pursuit with this feminine, intuitive, receptive, spiritual
higher self.
As a result, my life changed immediately — I abandoned the purely
intellectual search and opened myself to a more intuitive understanding
through deep and frequent meditation. I now seemed to tap into an inner
wisdom, which allowed me to discriminate truth from conjecture. Even more
interesting, I found myself spontaneously led to the sources of the knowledge
I had been searching for, with hardly any effort on my part — things just
happened! An opportunity opened up for professional training, and I soon
found myself transformed from seeker to teacher with no more effort than a
desire to share what I was learning. The more I tapped into the inner spirit,
the more I found that stimulating relationships, lectures and teaching
assignments, and even a flood of media engagements came with little effort.
So how does this work? Where do these characters and images come
from — the guiding old man who seems to contain more wisdom than I had
ever exhibited, the underworld within that I entered to find the “truth,” and
the embrace of the angelic feminine being that instantly gives birth to insight
and subsequent life changes? As I was to learn, there is no one thing that
brings about personal change and transformation. As you will discover from
the many diverse stories in this book, change is a complex interplay of many
biological, psychological, and spiritual forces at work: a sense of spiritual or
divine presence; lucid intervention; genetic or ancestral influences; forces
that appear to transcend space and time; or simply the natural creative,
healing and adaptive learning processes of the dreaming brain. The impactful
dreams that accompany change appear as guideposts, offering us direction
and insight along the path of our life’s journey. They manifest as true
learning experiences that alter our viewpoint and behavior from that point on.
So where to start? To begin with, I have found that one of the most
encompassing psychological, philosophical, and spiritual explanations comes
from the works of Carl Gustav Jung (who we may simply refer to as Carl
Jung or just Jung in this book). Carl Jung was a Swiss psychiatrist and
psychotherapist who founded analytical psychology. He is often considered
the father of transpersonal psychology, which is a “school” of psychology
that integrates the spiritual and transcendent aspects of the human experience
with the framework of modern psychology. He was a colleague of Freud but
broke with him in promoting the idea that there was a greater depth to what
he termed the human psyche (a word synonymous with soul or spirit) that has
a greater influence than personal experience on who we are to become as
individuals. Jung considered the human psyche as containing not only our
conscious personality, or ego — who we believe ourselves to be — but ever
deeper layers of the unconscious mind that can take on a cosmic and spiritual
nature. The most immediate layer, the personal unconscious, is easiest to
understand as a repository of memories and experience. It also includes stuff
we prefer not to remember or deal with, including parts of ourselves (perhaps
emotional behaviors and reactions or acquired beliefs) that we don’t like and
thus suppress. Jung, however, stressed that there is a greater depth that he
called the collective unconscious, which emerges from common human
evolution; containing material from our prehuman, genetic, and biological
ancestry, inclusive of our mystical or spiritual origins. It also contains a
pattern of our potential, our whole Self1, and acts on its own to bring about
our individuation — realizing our whole potential as an individual. While the
terms Jung used are not absolute, more a way of defining what he observed,
they can be helpful in understanding the dynamics of the forces at work in
our transformation — regardless of what we personally believe the origin of
those forces to be.
In my dream, I appear to have experienced what Jung termed the
transcendent function, a function of the individuation process that enables
transition from one attitude to another — manifesting as a new attitude
toward oneself and life.1 Jung indicated that this process begins with a
confrontation, a tension between and eventual merging of opposing forces —
conscious forces composed of beliefs and behaviors adopted by the ego
versus corrective or balancing forces that arise from within the unconscious.
But who was the wise old man and the angelic feminine character who
seemingly brought about this transformation in my dream? Jung taught that
the collective unconscious manifests imagery of a somewhat mystical or
cosmic nature that is universally observed not only in dreams but that are
common to myths and rituals across human cultures. He called these
archetypes2 (or original patterns) because they are part of our basic human
essence; an unconsciously driven, mental, and seemingly spiritual
evolutionary process arising from the deep within us. The many archetypes in
Jung’s writings are beyond the scope of this book, however I will describe a
few that are more obvious in the stories herein.
Perhaps the most influential of the archetypes he termed the Self (with a
capital S). It represents the pattern of wholeness and the ultimate potential
within each of us, a higher self, manifesting as the forces of guidance in our
dreams. Could the guiding wise old man, who exhibited a depth of knowing
greater than that contained within my conscious personality, be an
embodiment of the Self?
Jung also observed a duality appearing as unknown and sometimes
mystical male and female figures, which he recognized as aspects of the
masculine and feminine attributes that are within us all, regardless of gender.
They often appear as a pair or mixed group to represent our state of balance,
or individually to present a balancing force aimed at integrating us into a
whole individual. Could this unknown angelic feminine form that I embraced
be that inner feminine balancing force for my masculine ego — an intuitive
balance to my purely intellectual pursuit of truth?
There is another archetype that you will meet, one that is in opposition
to our conscious personality, or ego — the Shadow. The Shadow represents
the unconscious aspect of the personality, both positive and negative, which
the ego does not identify with; perhaps because it represents aspects that the
ego does not like or perhaps a potential not yet realized. It can appear in
dreams in many forms but often as an unknown person of the same gender,
acting in opposition or in conflict with the dreamer. It can manifest as a
source of unwanted negative thoughts and behaviors, but as you will see it is
also a source of creativity or the unrealized self.
In many of the dreams in this section, the journey begins with a “going
within” — I had to enter the underworld to find my “truth,” for example. The
journey itself often manifests as a symbolic death and rebirth2 — death of
the old self in order that the new can be reborn. The symbolic death may
occur when we are stuck (as I was) when our ego’s perceptions no longer
work. It may begin as a search, but often the search leads to a “going within,”
a need to first journey into our unconscious, where the deeper truth lies. You
will see this imagery appear in many of the dreams in this book, sometimes
almost literally and others metaphorically. Our unconscious is where we meet
ourselves — the parts that we have discarded as well as the parts we have yet
to adopt. Here in my dream I was literally told that I must “go within” to find
the truth I was seeking; where I indeed encountered a more intuitive and
spiritually focused part of myself that I was yet to adopt.
In order to bring about change, there is a discovery process by which the
dream generally introduces an opposing viewpoint to that of the ego, a “what-
if” scenario or form of guidance — as that of the wise old man in my dream.
It can also appear as the actions of the Shadow, or a surprise, a discovery or
new insight — as was the surprise and insight in my dream when the “book
of truth” was presented as “embracing the feminine.” Jung called this process
compensation.2 Researchers call the opposing scenario a counterfactual.
Whatever term is used, if the confrontation results in an eventual
reconciliation of the two juxtaposed viewpoints, it is often accompanied by a
symbolic union, a reversal or acceptance — manifesting as a new awareness.
In my case it was an embracing of the opposing feminine and the intuitive,
spiritual nature it represented. Often this reconciliation is accompanied by
emotional reinforcement, a rewarding ending like the “electric exhilaration”
that I felt, a symbolic rebirth of the new self.
Dreams are not simply reflections of our life, they are true learning
experiences that change us. They are a place where our mind can bring the
conflicts of our daily lives into a creative space where we can safely explore
alternatives without the interference of the rationality and fear that our
conscious personality imposes on waking life explorations. At a neurological
level we are consolidating new learning or “making new connections” guided
by emotional reinforcement, as researcher Ernest Hartmann, M.D. described
it.
As you read through the dream stories in this book, you may observe
evidence of compensation within many of the dreams. Roughly 70 percent of
the dream stories exhibit an event or dream plot that presents new insight or a
viewpoint in opposition to a prior belief or behavior. In about 60 percent of
these cases the dream story engages the dreamer to experience the alternative.
Many end with a reward or emotional reinforcement — either within the
dream or upon awakening. In any case, since they are reported as “life
changing,” the insight was ultimately adopted after the dream either upon
reflection or as alternative behavior learned from within the dream.
Most of the stories in this book, like my dream, are what might be called
big dreams — a single dream so dramatic or inclusive of the transcendent
function that it alone appears to bring about a life change. But the
transformation process is rarely a single dream event. It is more often a
journey: a lengthy, cyclic, and sometimes even lifelong learning process. In
this introductory chapter, I therefore begin with an example of how
transformation is more often a journey, initiated and illuminated by big
dreams that act as guideposts, growth and learning experiences along the
way. This is the story of an 18-month cycle in the life’s journey of a dreamer
whom I will call Gail G; a cycle that brought about six important changes
necessary to break a pattern where she was stuck.

The Greater Journey

When I met Gail, she had a desire to abandon who she was, who she had
become along with her rewarding technical management career, to pursue an
emerging passion to become a full-time dream worker. However, she felt
totally stuck. She felt trapped by roughly six daunting conflicts involving
self-image, inability to assert herself, multiple family and role-model issues,
guilt, and various other insecurities. This cycle in her journey lasted about 18
months, accompanied by dreams that dealt with each conflict, illuminating
and guiding her progress along the way.
Her journey begins with what Jung might call the initiation dream, and
in this case Jung did the honors himself: I find myself descending a rickety
wooden staircase. It is a long, long way down. The walls are like field stone
— lit by torches — and the passage is very narrow. It gets darker and darker
as I descend. I come to an opening at the bottom. I look off to the right and
notice Carl Jung is sitting in a huge mahogany chair — almost like a throne.
There are elaborate snake carvings on the upper back over his head. He
points to something behind me, and I turn around. I see a sea and a beautiful
ship with elaborate representations of serpents at the bow & stern. It pulls up
to the shore. He says, “Go ahead.” I ask if he is coming too. He says, “Yes.”
I walk up the wooden plank and get on board. Suddenly it takes off, sailing
wildly through an underground river. I am frightened and call to Jung, but he
is not there. Finally, the ship stops at a beach. I get off. There is a round
grass hut there. Carl Jung is there. He says, “Go in. Stay until you are
done.” I wonder how long that means.
It is barren inside with the exception of a fire pit in the middle and a
hole in the roof for the smoke to escape. I look, but Carl Jung is gone again. I
look for the door, but it is gone as well. I feel all around the hut, but there is
no way out. I start to panic. Finally, I realize that I have no choice except to
surrender to being there. I sit by the fire then begin to have visions. First, a
beautiful woman is flying around in a circle high in the hut on a green fire-
breathing dragon. As I look up, the scene forms a mandala with the opening
of the sky in the middle, the thatched roof forms lines radiating out from the
center and the woman with the dragon going around. She tosses me a large
red ball. I catch it. Then there are bears going around behind her and then
rabbits. Finally, I get drowsy, lie down by the fire, and start to fall asleep.
Note: At this point she recalled an earlier dream in which she was in the
woods, and a beautiful woman tossed her a large red ball, but that time she
dropped it.
The journey began. This dream introduced the theme that transformation
often begins when we give up and go within. It is interesting that the dream
instructs the dreamer to let the process take place within the unconscious,
“stay there until it is done.” Gail is asked to release control (an issue she had
in waking life) to embrace the unconscious as the dream concludes with her
metaphorically falling asleep to allow the inner forces time to do their work.
It was fascinating to observe the scenario-testing and self-learning process
taking place within each of Gail’s subsequent dreams. While there is not
enough space here to discuss all of the dreams, I will present a few of the
impactful dreams that act as guideposts in this phase of her journey.

Discovering Her Own Inner Value

This dream initiated the first change, a discovery of her own inner
strength — symbolically the emergence of the masculine in this next dream: I
am in my back yard, a beautiful huge yard with many gardens. A man (the
leader of a group that is circling around me) ascends a hidden staircase. I
think, “How can this be? I have walked this way many times and never ran
into this invisible staircase?” A voice says, “That’s because you didn’t
believe it was there.” I feel like a whole new world that I didn’t even know
was there has opened to me! I take a confident stance and proceed slowly but
steadily toward the staircase. When I reach where I believe the stairs are, I
step out with my right foot and to my amazement, “I am on the first step!”
This initiated a “first step” toward breaking a pattern of rejecting who
she currently was to pursue becoming something totally new. The dream then
ends with a reflection of the growth that is to come, appearing as the first in a
recurring tree motif, the first of six trees to be planted in a confirming dream
at the end of this 18-month cycle. A man comes from the local nursery and
delivers a small lemon tree — perfectly shaped, healthy, green, and young.
Carl Jung considered the appearance of a tree to be symbolic of
individuation, the process of psychic growth (becoming all that you can be) a
slow, powerful, involuntary growth that fulfills a definite pattern.

Integrating the Masculine and Feminine

The process Jung spoke of, that of guiding people toward who they are
meant to be, their whole personality, involves integrating aspects in
opposition or out of balance. With Gail, it involved a process of finding a
balance between asserting herself to achieve her personal goals versus simply
accepting things as they were. Here, we see an almost literal picture of the
brain attempting to bring a primitive integration of masculine and feminine
from within the unconscious to the conscious personality: I am living in an
insane asylum where there are two tall towers. My task is to get “these
things” which are in a pool at our feet from one side to the other. They look
like little pink pig-fish. A commanding voice says, “This is your brain. Get up
and write this down.”
When we explored the pig-fish associations, she revealed a reason why
her “brain” might have been having trouble with the integration. She stated:
“Pigs are cuddly, loving, nurturing (which she related to the feminine). Fish
are slimy and scaly (which she related to the masculine — feeling “slimy”
when she tries to speak up and assert herself).” This next dream struggles
with her view of the masculine as both good and evil: I am in the basement of
my parents’ house. I am there with a pair of brothers, one good and one evil.
The good one (whom I am married to) feels like someone who should take
care of me, but he shares me with the evil one, who hurts me.
The following dreams appear to introduce and test a compensating
scenario — replacing a poor masculine association with a more positive one:
I am in a medieval castle in the busy central courtyard with my ex-husband,
who is behaving badly. He walks away. I catch the eye of a handsome young
man who walks over and engages me. I realize he is courting me. I am
surprised and coy at first, but in the end we take each other’s hands and walk
off together.
 Healing the Relationship with “Mother”
As she progresses, an egg motif begins to appear, perhaps as a symbolic
rebirth: I arrive at a beautiful place filled with trees and sunlight. I scoot
down the side of a deep canyon containing beautiful, iridescent blue rocks
with gold specks, about the size of eggs. An old man on horseback, who
seems to know me, appears above and calls down, “I put those there for you
— they are yours.”
Before Gail can continue, however, she must confront issues with her
mother. Gail perceives that her mother considers dreamwork as “nonsense”: I
am on a circular path. The girl with me reaches up to touch a beautiful
hatching baby bird in the tree. I say, “No, leave it alone, the mother may
reject it.”
As she progressed, her perceptions began to change from the viewpoint
of “I can’t do dreamwork, my mother would not approve” to a new waking-
life relationship with her mother where her mother eventually asks her for
advice about a dream.

Facing & Extinguishing Her Fears

One place where Gail was “stuck” involved enabling her two grown
sons to remain at home with her. Her dreams began to tackle the guilt of
feeling like a “dirty rat” when she thinks about pursuing her own growth
instead of continuing to nurture her sons. The dream begins again with the
tree motif morphing into something evil: I see two trees sprout up in the
middle of the living room. An evil energy manifests as two dirty rat heads.
Something tells me I have to look at them even though I do not want to.
Finally, I go nose to nose with one of the rat heads & stare it right in the
eyes. I command it out again. Suddenly they both turn into tiny little mice that
scurry away into the heat register. I am not afraid of them anymore. My
mother and I then plant the two trees in the yard where they can thrive.
Dealing with these fears leads to her being confident and in waking life
asserting that her sons “leave the nest,” which they do. Rather than feeling
bad about it, she has a sense that it is in everyone’s best interest.
 Self Confidence
One of the dominant sticking points in the transformation appeared to be
an unyielding lack of self-assurance and the need for approval or validation
from others considered as authority figures. Although being formally trained
in dream leadership, she didn’t have the confidence to even begin a dream
group. She contrasted herself with a friend with a formal psychology degree
and certification. She had the following dream that helped her reinforce her
own inner authority: I am in a school, and a friendly pastor whom I once
worked with is handing out our diplomas. I look at the name on my diploma
— Gail T (the name of the therapist friend). I say (3 times loudly as I wake),
“No, no, no! I’m not Gail T, I am Gail G” (me!). I woke hearing these words.
After this dream, she felt perfectly capable of starting her own dream group.
She did so, and more!

Overcoming Insecurities
Gail’s challenge throughout this journey: to overcome insecurities
preventing her from stepping forward to pursue her passion for dreamwork
and other spiritual pursuits. The graduation dream above gave her a sense of
progress with her feeling of inner worth. However, there was a more practical
concern — the fear of financial security if she were to quit her job. As she
begins to accept a realization that she might be able to pursue her dreamwork
passions in parallel with her “day job,” she has the following dream: A small
airplane flies overhead. The door opens, and a woman jumps out with three
parachutes. She breaks away from the others and lands with only one chute. I
clap, everyone cheers!
She “breaks away” from the old fears, yet she can remain financially
secure; subsequently switching from a viewpoint of “I need to quit my job
and abandon my career” to “I can stay with my job, get promoted, love my
new management position, and pursue my dreamwork in parallel.”

The Confirming Dream

 You may have noticed Gail’s dream journey was accompanied by the
recurring image of a tree — perhaps an aspect of the great tree motif which
Jung considered symbolic of transformation2 — the roots derive nourishment
from deep within the unconscious to become new growth within the
conscious personality. At the conclusion of this part of her journey, the tree
motif appears, in a major way, perhaps to illustrate not only the growth
achieved from dealing with these six issues but also her acceptance of who
she was (the old tree filled with light) and who she was now becoming (the
flowering tree of rebirth): I am walking on a path. There is a row of 6 newly
planted young trees to the left. I see an old tree in the distance with the sun
glowing behind it. To the right I notice another beautiful tree in the distance
covered with flowers. I go to explore it.
Gail’s life had changed in dramatic ways. While these dreams marked
the end of one important cycle (only to begin working on the next), gone was
much of the dysfunction that held her back and threatened her career, family
relationships, emotional well-being, and inner vision. The next five dreams
came from other dreamers who had similar transformative experiences.
However, in each of these cases, a singular big dream with a compensating
storyline marked a guidepost on their life’s journey and a moment of learning
and lasting change.

Reaching Higher Ground

Charlotte Crabaugh
Our dreams often transform us by immersing us physically and
emotionally in a new learning experience. Here, Charlotte
experiences the role of becoming that newly evolving, sometimes
unsure, part of herself with an encouraging, “Go on, you can make
it.”
I had this dream over 40 years ago. At that time my husband, who died
33 years ago, and I were homesteading on some rural land owned by my
father. We had just returned from Los Angeles and the “hippie experience”;
to a place I thought of as home. We were growing much of our food and
building our house, which was not completed at the time of the dream. More
important to me than the physical things we were doing was the larger
question of “what is my purpose in life?”
In the dream, my husband and I are sitting outside on the road by the
dome house we had just built, looking at the Milky Way. It was extremely
thick and filmy-looking. Then I notice that the stars are very large and began
to get larger and brighter, until they are so large I can see the colors of them
and their moons, and rings around some. As they get larger, the continents
became visible. The colors are incredible in intensity with every hue and
color imaginable, and the sky is the blackest black. One planet is enormous,
and I can see the surface of it. There was a large area like the surface of the
moon or a desert with three airplanes crashed in it. A deep canyon
separating this from the next area, which was a large grassland with all
kinds of animals living wild in it. The animals were unaware of the area of
the airplanes or of the planes, and the planes were unaware of the animals
and were unable to get to them. They had crashed when trying to discover
them.
Then I see huge cliffs with roaring water crashing at the bottom, rising
and crashing higher and higher. One animal breaks free from the others and
is at the bottom trying to climb up the rocks, out of reach of the water. It is a
little like a goat, only more magnificent, perhaps a Dahl Sheep. I begin to
watch it intently and urge it on, “come on, come on up.” It climbs up and
looks back at the water every time it gets out of reach of the water. It seems
reluctant to leave the rocks below. It doesn’t want to come to the top of the
cliffs, but every time it stops and looks back, the water crashes higher and
forces it finally to the top. At some point in this struggle I am the goat, and
there are voices out in the darkness urging me up the cliff, as I had done for
the goat at first. Constantly calling out, “Go on, you’re almost there. Go on,
you can make it,” giving me hope, keeping me going. As the beast climbs up,
I look right into its face. It is fierce and almost human. It seems very
frightened to be coming to the top, but it is strong and determined. As soon as
it is at the top, it changes immediately into a man. He is hairy and still
resembles very much the animal, but he is human. He stands for a moment on
two feet; then returns to all four, as if not realizing yet that he is human, and
runs away on his hands and feet.
 Wonder and awe has never been greater than when I opened my eyes
and saw the sunlight on every surface in the room where my husband and I
slept. Turning to David I said, “You will never believe what happened to me,
what I’ve seen. It was real. It really happened!!” It was not “just a dream”. It
was one of the most powerful experiences of my life.
It has been a great inspiration. I continue to ponder the meaning of this
dream. It has been my constant companion, like a muse holding a lantern
with a strange light. It has given me courage, like the voices calling to the
goat as I have continued on a spiritual journey to know myself and my
Creator. The many times I have started some new undertaking which has
failed, I think of it as one of the crashed airplanes. It seemed clear that the
goat was the very image of myself struggling against something, employing
my dharma, to overcome all obstacles to arrive at higher understanding, to
get to a higher, or better place.

One Step Higher Up the Beanstalk

Joan Harthan
In Joan’s dream, we see the death and rebirth mo tif as a funeral
and subsequent wedding, as her dreaming ego rejects her fateful
viewpoint and eventually experiences reintegration with her
creative childhood self that had been abandoned years before.
At the time of the dream, I was writing a book that was progressing at a
snail’s pace. I’d been writing it for five years and was still only on chapter
three. I had written a novel in my early twenties, but two rejection slips from
publishers had resulted in me filing it away in a dusty cupboard. I expected
this book would suffer the same fate. As a child, I was always writing; I
couldn’t stop myself. It was all I wanted to do. But these memories were
tinged with sadness because I longed for my creations to be read and
appreciated by others. They never were. Then I had a dream after having just
attended a wedding and a funeral the week before.
I’m at a funeral with a friend, but we arrive at the church too late; it’s
over. We get out of the car and look at two fresh graves. I feel great sadness,
loneliness; the inevitability of death and the finality of it. It makes me realize
how short life is and how it’s too late for these poor souls, but not for me. My
friend says, “We should have got here sooner.” I reply, “No, we’ve been to
enough funerals.” I have a sudden urge to leave and get on with my life. We
go inside the church. There’s a wedding in progress. We don’t want to
intrude, so we walk through the room and out of a door at the back that leads
into a courtyard beyond. It’s a market place, but today there is only one stall
selling many different dishes of butterbeans, all cooked in a slightly different
way. I find it hilarious and laugh out loud. I ask the stallholder for his
recommendation. He points to a dish that is just one huge bean, it fills the
plate and is garnished with pale blue herbs. He says, “It will plant really well
and produce a beautiful crop.” I wander farther down the stall and find some
poems and stories that I remember writing as a child. I’m amazed to find
them here. How has he gotten hold of them? He tells me that he isn’t selling
them; they are just for display. My name is written at the top left of each
sheet. He says he has treasured them over the years and they are of great
value now. He picks one up and says, “I developed this one . . .” then he
picks up another one “. . . and this.” I can feel again the passion and
excitement that created these stories, it’s still there inside me, and I feel a
great love for the child who created them; the child whose only ambition was
to be a writer. I’m so happy to have rediscovered them but sad that they
aren’t in my possession any longer. If I’d known someone would treasure
them one day, I wouldn’t have discarded them.
Reflecting on the graves made me realize that I had spent a lot of my life
trying to hold on to things that I should have let go of; mourning the loss of
people and places that would never return. Wasting time. Wasting my life.
The peak moment came in the marketplace where I learned what was really
important on a spiritual level. I felt so happy at finding the stories I’d written
as a child; felt again the excitement, passion, and optimism that had been
there when they were written. And there was my dream teacher telling me
that if I plant this seed, it will grow into something beautiful. He made me
realize that the child I once was remained alive inside me. I must honor that
little girl who still dreamed of becoming a writer — for she is in my soul and
was not a childish whim.
The butterbeans being sold in the market reminded me of the wonderful
tale of Jack and the Beanstalk; especially one version where Jack reclaimed
his rightful inheritance the Giant had stolen from his father many years
before. This analogy kept me focused, and every page I wrote took me one
step higher up the beanstalk. I finished writing the book three months later.
Over 10 years have passed since then. In that time, this dream spurred me on
to leave academia and become a full-time writer. I have written, and
published, nine books to date, and whilst I may never reach the land of the
giants, at least the goose is now out of the bottle and is laying beautiful eggs.

Most of Them are Young Enough to Teach

Don’ Angelica Silva
Many of our great luminaries, among them Jung and Perls,
understood the characters and other elements in dreams to be parts
of ourselves. They may be Shadow parts that we have abandoned or
parts we need but no longer think we can resurrect. In Don’
Angelica’s dream, the symbolic death and rebirth cycle is again
pictured as the inner wisdom of the dream introduces an alternative
viewpoint.
I had recently sent my youngest child off to college and soon after began
feeling depressed. Although I had a good-paying job, I didn’t feel fulfilled
because I couldn’t serve in the role of mother in the way I had for the past 20
years. I wanted to learn something new, find a new passion, but was drawn
down by the thought that I was too old to go back to school or get new
certifications in a completely different field, so I became more depressed.
Then I had the following dream: There are all these people lined up
outside on their way to a funeral. I am choosing clothes for them to wear out
of a suitcase. I am thinking that a lot of these people are going to be cold and
would probably die because they aren’t prepared or dressed properly. Each
of them takes a drink of water from a fountain where the water is shooting up
very high. I adjust the water so that we all could have a drink. Suddenly, I
hear a voice from over my shoulder say, “Most of them are young enough to
teach.”
When I woke up, I realized that all of the people lined up in the dream
were some aspect of myself. Some were going off to die because I no longer
needed those parts. Others would not be prepared, so they may not be useful
for what I wanted to do. But the rest of me was getting ready to move on to
something different in my life. I just needed to adjust my thinking and work
with who I am becoming. Tears filled my eyes, and I understood immediately
that we die many deaths in our lives so that we can start something new.

A Rite of Purification
Mary Trouba
Often the core lessons of childhood, at first useful, can become
dysfunctional as they conflict with our life experiences. At that
point our dreams may compensate with a more healthy or
functional alternative view. Here in Mary’s dream we see a striking
example of the death and rebirth cycle and a new transforming
viewpoint.
The day before Thanksgiving in November 1990, I had a dream of such
intensity that I still vividly recall the details: I am in a college dormitory and
being confronted by “the Face of Death” in the guise of a television actor —
whose persona and good looks I found attractive in waking life. In the dream,
the actor’s face was stony, white — and I instantaneously “died” upon
seeing this face (struck with a terror such as I had never known nor have
known since). I had awareness in the dream that I was going to go to “hell”
and remember thinking that I should have lived my life differently so as to
prevent such a fate. I also remember thinking (like a good Roman Catholic,
which I was raised to be) that I should feel fearful and sorrowfully heart-
wrenched, given that hell was said to signify a state of eternal damnation, but
instead I was not especially worried nor upset.
Now dead in my dream, I walked down a short flight of stairs and
through a turnstile. Soon I was walking along a broad, tree-lined avenue with
medieval and literary characters such as corrupt clergy as are described in
Dante’s “Inferno.” We were all on a journey, and the atmosphere was one of
a festival. Corrupt bishops and cardinals were gambling and telling bawdy
jokes. Medieval servants and merchants were chatting in a friendly way.
Fellow travelers sometimes greeted and smiled at me. I remember thinking
that hell was not such a bad place after all.
Interestingly, in hell everyone spoke in limericks. I saw Hester Prynne
from Nathaniel Hawthorne’s “The Scarlet Letter” wearing a red “A” on the
breast of a red and white gingham dress and returning the teasing of the
bawdy but fun-loving bishops. The unusual rhyme that I particularly
remember from the dream went as follows: Hester Prynne Walked in sin.
Now she will begin again.
As the dream progressed, we walked through more turnstiles, many of
which led us into Catholic churches where Mass was being said. I had an
awareness our attendance at Mass constituted our participation in a rite of
purification. As we continued through a labyrinth of turnstiles, I had the
sensation of ascending to higher levels. In my mind, I knew that we were
going to end up in “heaven,” that the purifications were for the purpose of
preparing us for heaven. I had an awareness that some people “go straight to
heaven” when they die, but that going through hell was the usual path. This
was how “most people did it.” Most importantly, hell was not a permanent
condition.
At the time, although I did not rationally believe in a hell of eternal
damnation and punishment, the dream brought about a new integration of
belief in the benevolence of the Divine and in the benevolence of what occurs
after death. The dream revealed a more solid belief, a kind of somatic and
emotional knowledge, which was very reassuring to me. I experienced a
kinship with other humans. I was not whisked off to a heaven gained by
following the “rules and regulations” of an organized religion. Rather, I —
along with myriad other humans — embarked upon a shared journey, one
that involved purification and a great deal of interaction. I felt much less fear
of death after the dream and a satisfaction that I could release elements of my
upbringing that did not feel right to me. It grounded me more fully in the
present and gave me the reassurance that imperfection is OK, simply a part of
the human journey, not something to obsess about eliminating. Happiness
does not depend upon perfection, upon “avoiding hell” and “going straight to
heaven.” Instead, happiness is a mood or tone that can surround the journey,
especially as we greet, joke with, play with and entertain our fellow traveling
companions on this shared path.

Hopefully these stories, and those you are about to read, illustrate how
dreams and even nightmares can bring about change. Change driven not only
by the unconscious forces Jung spoke of, but by tapping into all available
physical, mental, and spiritual forces “in the service of health and wholeness”
— a Jungian principle Jeremy Taylor reminds us of. But even big dreams
require the conscious self to embrace the new learning. We begin with the
dream ego in the dream, continue with the waking ego reflecting on the
dream, and finally embrace and adapt what we learn to our waking life. As
you will see from the stories shared in the following chapters, this has indeed
been the case.
The Journey Begins - Graphic Cartoon by
Jeremy Taylor
 Chapter 2

The Power Within

As many of the stories in this book will attest, dreams seem to be able to
tap into a mystical power or wisdom — a power that can spontaneously
transform us as we engage and embrace it. Some understand this to be a
divine intervention, a power beyond ourselves that knows and loves us, that
is there to guide us when we most need or ask for it. Others experience it as a
“higher self” or power inherent to our greater spiritual being we need only
embrace or tap into. Still others see it as a natural function of the human brain
to learn to adapt to what life throws our way and maintain a healthy sense of
self. Jung identified these as natural, archetypal unifying and transforming
forces within the human psyche common to all of us. None of these
explanations can be dismissed, as the various chapters in this book will
illustrate.
One common element is that transformation is an “inner” experience,
something that changes who we are inside, regardless of the origin of the
transforming agent. Jung claimed that it is the natural aim of our psyche to
come to know that inner self — to become a whole individual, where the
inner and outer forces, conscious and unconscious, move together so as to
engage the whole range of one’s capabilities. He considered dreams to be the
“most readily accessible expression of the unconscious” and observed that
dream images arising from the unconscious can represent powerful forces
toward achieving this aim. The symbolic act of going “within” implies
tapping into the unconscious depths of our psyche, which includes not only
the discarded and adopted residue of our conscious experience but also the
genetically human, mystical, and spiritual origins of our being that reach
beyond our physical experience.
Although simply experiencing these forces may be adequate for change,
Jung gave them identities, some of which were presented in Chapter 1: the
balancing masculine and feminine forces, the Shadow or opposing force to
the ego, and the unifying and organizing force of the Self. Again these are
just definitions Jung used, but they are useful in understanding the complex
and beautiful transcendent process he was observing. The soul force, or Self,2
which Jung considered the central organizing principle of the personality,
contains a pattern for the ultimate potential within each of us and is perhaps
one of the most powerful forces. It can manifest itself in any number of ways
that represent this natural unity and process of integrating one’s personality.
It can appear as divine or guiding figures and voices; imposing images of our
natural origins such as the great tree or a great stone; powerful or primitive
animal forms such as the dragon or serpent; the depths of a great body of
water or perhaps the cosmos; or geometric figures depicting wholeness,
balance, and centering such as a circle, sphere, square, and various mandala
images.
In the four dream stories that follow, you can see manifestations of what
Jung called the Self as well as all of these powerful balancing and unifying
forces — some accompanied by mythical and ritualistic imagery —
representations of inner forces of change within the dreamer.

There is Not Only an Earth… There Is a Sun!

Christoph Gassmann
Christoph’s dream provides a most glorious and appropriate
symbolic image of the Self, the power within — a huge sun. This is
a beautiful example of how at a moment when the waking ego gives
up on itself, the unconscious provides an image of who we really
are within.
At the time when I was about 17 years old, I lived in a boarding school
in the mountains of Switzerland. I felt banished, imprisoned, and depressed
there. In that situation, I had this dream: I see an immensely huge sun, which
rises over the horizon. It is morning. The sun covers my whole sight from the
left to the right, and I can see how the fires and protuberances give it great
power. But in spite its overwhelming size and strength, I am not frightened at
all but very reassured. I feel safe and secure. A class comrade stands by my
side, and I ask him, if he sees this incredible huge and beautiful sun? He
denies it and ridicules me, suspecting that I had taken psychedelic drugs.
After that dream I woke up in a very uplifted mood, which remained for
about two weeks, then it faded slowly and disappeared in the background of
my daily concerns. But the depression was gone. I was deeply impressed by
this extremely powerful dream and realized that an incredible source of
strength and meaning can be found — within me! My interest in dreams and
psychology was triggered. I decided to begin a psychoanalysis and to study
psychology. My life theme was set: Dreams, Psychology, Mysticism.
But, as the dream indicated, I was alone — nobody understood me or my
dream really. Nobody could understand how a 17-year-old boy could have a
deep mystical experience. I asked several psychologists about my dream.
Some feared that it might indicate a beginning psychosis; some urged me to
have a girlfriend instead and think about my professional career. I am now
over 60, well-rooted yet still mystically inclined. I still record my dreams,
many of which also influenced the course of my life, and some helped me
literally to survive. It is my personal interest to promote the remembrance of
dreams and to open the often too rigid approach to dream interpretation. I
learned all those years ago there is not only an Earth and its earthly concerns
— there is a sun!

The Healing Anointing

Diana McKendree
Here in Diana’s dream the wisdom and power of the inner Self
again knows the full potential of the dreamer. Regardless of the
struggle with her shadow, the repeated doubts and the rejection of
her situation, the inner wisdom persists with an anointing ritual that
brings about a realization of the beautiful and capable person she
really is.
While flying to a conference where I had been hired to give a keynote
address, three discs in my lumbar spine blew out. I had to be carried off the
plane, put in a wheelchair, and left at the mercy of airplane employees to get
me to my destination. (For a variety of reasons, returning home at that time
was not an option.) Over the previous two years, I had undergone two
separate spinal surgeries. Despite my apprehension and physical distress, I
was able to do the work I had contracted to do, while feeling inadequate and
weak. I was conscious of the fact that I was “my father’s daughter”; a person
who relies on her stubborn strength to make it through all manner of
challenge(s). I felt like a failure (despite the positive feedback I was given
following my presentation).
I returned home, and after weeks of severe pain and limitation, I
eventually had to have four rods surgically implanted in my spine. I was
optimistic initially, but the pain returned and I discovered that a fourth disc
had ruptured. This required a second surgery, during which the four rods
were removed and replaced with six. This entire time was one of feeling
weak and all-but-defeated on every level of my being. It sapped my energy,
my confidence in my body, and my voice. Despite continuing to work and
putting on a “good face” for four more years, I felt overwhelmed, weak and
less than, increasingly doubting my ability to continue.
At this time, one of the lowest points in my life, I was given the
following dream, which felt like I was anointed with the Magdalene’s healing
balm: I am being led by a nondescript man into and through the undercroft of
an old, large, wood-paneled church for an event where selected people are to
tell their life stories. A retired woman friend of mine is already there. When I
arrive, she goes off to another area to tell her story. I decide to go home until
it is my turn. I feel I cannot compete with her academic knowledge. I am
thinking I should have a few words written on a small piece of paper I can
refer to, as I am not confident that I will present the story accurately.
I am now walking along the same long wooden paneled passageway.
After going up five steps that are on my right, I know that I am in the same
church but in a different area. I enter a large, well-lit, open space where a
round, wooden table covered with a white tablecloth stands in the middle. I
think to myself that it looks like a round altar. I sit down in a pew with a man
on my right, and my academic friend is seated on my left facing me. I am
looking at my notes as my friend begins to speak when the man — an
orthodox priest or rabbi — indicates it is not her turn to speak, but mine. She
is to remain silent but present. I am wearing a white shawl or long priestly
veil that hangs behind me. The priest/rabbi directs me to sit in a front pew
facing a large antique intricate wall hanging that reminds me of the unicorn
tapestries. The tapestry is very close to me, and my veil is now draped behind
me over four or five pews. I explain that I am not comfortable sitting in this
place to tell my story to a woven wall hanging, despite it being a favorite of
mine, and I walk away, leaving the veil behind on the pews.
I am now standing in the church, but the environment is not specific. The
rabbi gently puts a long, lace shawl over my head. It covers my body and
reaches the floor, giving me the feeling of being “held” within this
extraordinary, delicate covering. It is a deep, rich blue color that embodies
the energy of the sacred feminine. I feel I am looking out from under this
delicate but substantial covering. I awake feeling I have been affirmed and
ordained within my sacred feminine self.
This dream is a gift that was given to me at a time of feeling my work
was hitting a wall — I was hitting a wall. It helped me to realize I am not an
academic, rather I am a creative intuitive who speaks from the heart and from
integrated experience.
During the stressful period of my successive back surgeries, I was
depressed and feeling “less than” my peers. After working with this dream, I
was “embodied” with the realization that my conscious ego was “ordained”
to speak my truth as a sacred feminine being. My shadow linear, academic,
feminine voice is present but does not need to supersede my conscious sense
of myself.
The dream enabled a deep shift to occur in me psychologically,
emotionally, and physically. I have since felt a humble confidence, an
emotional sense of self-acceptance, and my body has healed. My work
continues to deepen, and my sense of self has enabled a shift that encourages
me to risk new and expanding fields of work, while encouraging others to
risk revealing their stories in their own unique ways. I feel blessed and
committed to the wisdom of the dream knowing “she” never lies.

Waking Up
 Jason Cragg
As dreams emerge from the unconscious, they can bring forth
knowledge of our true potential — who we really are. In Jason’s
dream the inner balancing force becomes apparent as a feminine
figure guides him to adopt a viewpoint in direct opposition to his
severely damaged ego misconception. The dream then affords the
opportunity for him to experience this new possibility for himself
and provides a rewarding reinforcement that carries that new
learning into his waking life.
I’ve been battling depression since I was very young, manifesting in
suicidal thoughts, addiction, low self-esteem, frustrating and unsatisfactory
relationships (including emotional, mental, physical, and sexual abuse), poor
performance in school, loneliness, anger, hatred of myself and others, etc. I
grew up poor, never feeling that I fit in anywhere. It seemed that no matter if
I was at home, school, church, or in any other social situation, I was always
getting picked on, teased, or misunderstood whenever I tried to express
myself. Over the years, I turned off the emotional side of myself and started
building walls around my heart. It seemed as if no matter who I let in close to
me, I always got hurt — so the walls just kept getting higher and thicker, and
my view of myself and the world kept getting more and more negative and
bleak.
I became a very quiet person, easily provoked to nervous anxiety, and
uncomfortable in all social situations; it didn’t matter if the group was five,
10, or 20, I just felt so unsure of myself I found it hard to talk to people
because I was always second-guessing myself as to whether or not “I should
have said that, or maybe I should have said something else instead, and what
do they think of me ... I sound like such an idiot, maybe I shouldn’t have said
anything at all ...” The internal litany was never-ending. I had come to the
conclusion that my life was meaningless and everything else was nothing but
a waste of time — my own and everybody else’s.
Then in March of 2012, on a whim, I decided to attend a six-day
personal development program called the Gateway Voyage. The first night
home after the program I had this life-changing dream: I am standing in front
of a crowd of 400-plus people that includes my immediate and extended
family. I am trying to do a presentation to the crowd, but everyone is talking,
being noisy, rude, and paying no attention to me. I am unable to get anyone
to pay any attention or listen to me at all. ... I am getting extremely frustrated
and upset, and so I say I’ve had enough and that I’m quitting — and so I
walk out of the room. Once I’m in the hallway trying to calm myself down,
this woman comes out of nowhere and appears in front of me. She asks me
why I am so upset, and I tell her that no one will listen and that I’m just not
able to do a presentation or lecture like this. She looks straight into my eyes
and tells me that I can do the speech and that I do have what it takes to make
all those people listen to what I have to say. The whole time she never stops
looking deep into my eyes. As she keeps reassuring me, never averting her
gaze, it’s like something instantly strikes me that I know this woman, and
waves of confidence, empowerment, and courage flood into the depths of my
being, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I do have the ability to
say what I need to say and that people will listen. She tells me to go back into
the room and not give up, and so with all these positive feelings surging
through me, I walk back into the room. As I open the door to walk back into
the room, the person who is sitting closest to the door moves backward as I
walked past them and says, “Wow, the energy in the room feels different.” As
I start to walk back up to the front, the crowd starts to quiet down without me
having to say or do anything, and by the time I am back up at the front, the
room is so quiet you could hear a pin drop, and I have 400-plus pairs of eyes
looking at me. I immediately start the presentation with confidence and then
after a few minutes of talking ... I wake up. ... It’s around 2am.
I remember waking up so suddenly that I almost jumped out of bed. I
was breathing so hard, and my heart was pounding as if I’d just run a
marathon. I ended up going out for a walk to try and process everything,
since this was the most vivid and strangest dream I’d ever experienced.
I now know from the very depths of my being that I was supposed to be
a teacher and help people. There was no question about the knowing I had
burning inside me of what the direction of my life was going to be. I even
tried to talk myself out of it many times, but synchronistic events kept
happening that kept showing me confirmation of what the dream was telling
me. It was as if I had instantly woken up in an alternate universe or reality
after the dream because all the pieces of the puzzle started falling into place,
and within two months of the dream, I was standing in front of a group of 15
people sharing my experience.
This was an event that I had organized, and these people came out just to
hear what I had to share. Up until this point, I never thought I could organize
anything, let alone an event where people would come out just to listen to
me. Within six months of my dream, I organized an event for a friend of mine
who has had multiple near-death experiences to come into town to share his
story, and over 100 people showed up — including the person who turned out
to be my soul mate/twin flame.
Within a year of having the dream, I became a Certified Outreach
Facilitator/Trainer with The Monroe Institute, giving lectures, presentations,
workshops, and classes for people. I’ve also become an English as a
Secondary Language instructor. My partner (now wife) is a Certified Reiki
Practitioner — as am I now — teaching classes and workshops alongside me
and on her own as well. The relationship that we have is the most amazing
and special I have ever experienced in my life. It was as if the universe knew
all my innermost desires and brought the perfect woman to me through
synchronicities and confirmation as soon as I started doing what I was meant
to do.

Standing on a Darkling Plain

Madelyn Freeman
Symbols of the Self can appear as a powerful image or guiding
figure as in the previous dreams, or as geometric images picturing a
state of wholeness as here in Madelyn’s dream; images that might
emerge from the cosmic blackness of the immense collective
unconscious.
I am standing on a “darkling plain” (from Matthew Arnold’s poem
“Dover Beach”). Below me flicker the lights of civilization. Suddenly, my
attention is taken by the movement of something crossing the cosmos above
me at the very highest point of awareness, and I then begin to notice it is
crisscrossing and falling down through the ionosphere, stratosphere,
biosphere, atmosphere, and then, suddenly, like a glowing ember, it lands
directly at my feet.
I am shocked. I think, “You hear about these things happening to
someone else, but you NEVER think it can happen to you . . .”
The glowing white four-cornered rectangular block is too hot as it lies
on the ground since it has fallen from another dimension of cosmic height
(like an asteroid or meteorite hitting the ground). Eventually, two
representatives wearing white laboratory coats arrive — each a
representative from the scientific and medical world and eventually carry the
rectangular block away after it has cooled down sufficiently to allow them to
do so.
Upon investigation I found Jung’s explanation regarding rectangular
shapes denoting the arrival of “Self” as part of what he called the
“individuation process.” It is true. This is what my inner life consists of — a
journey toward the recognition of an essential or core “energy field” within
myself, guided by the symbolic impact of this and other dreams I have
experienced. With the guidance of my dreams I have proceeded with renewed
confidence to seek and accept my destiny.
Currently and within the context of depth psychology and quantum field
theory, I am beginning to make more sense of what we call “reality” ... my
dreams have ALWAYS told me what to do, but the question remains: From
where is this knowledge ... this data ... this information coming from?
The Journey Begins
Carol Spicuzza
 Chapter 3

Little Children Big Dreams

Alan Siegel
Dreaming plays a crucial role in brain maturation, and is linked to
learning and memory and processing emotional experience. Research has
demonstrated that newborns enter the REM state (a peak dreaming period)
during 50 percent of their sleep time, with an even greater occurrence in
premature infants. The overwhelming occurrence of REM in the first months
of life corresponds to an explosive phase of cognitive development that
includes the acquisition of language, making close attachments with parents,
gaining mobility, and becoming aware of one’s existence.
Overwhelming, confusing, and unmanageable forces and creatures
predominate in the dreams of young children. This parallels the sense of
vulnerability and dependency featured in early childhood. Young children
frequently dream about animals; many of their dreams feature themes of
threat and victimization with minimal interaction between characters. They
have difficulty distinguishing dreams from waking reality and other fantasies.
As children mature cognitively, their dream content evolves: Animal
characters decrease, and human interaction increases. Dreams where the child
is passive or threatened decrease. There is a gradual increase in dreams
featuring attempts to solve problems or master the dream threats posed by
humans and creatures.
Why encourage children to share their dreams? Parents who encourage
the sharing of dreams will often find that not only will their children recall
dreams more frequently, but they are often excited to share their dreams
verbally, to explore them through various forms of artistic expression. The
dreams shared will likely include upsetting nightmares, memorable dreams,
and inspirational dreams, which may even have a magical or mystical quality.
Dreams quickly become a part of family conversations and lead to
meaningful emotional exchanges for parents and children — a rewarding
alternative to both children and parents who are busy (often overscheduled
with activities and responsibilities), or too often lost in the screens of their
electronic devices and games while at home.
Parents can encourage their children’s creativity by praising the
originality and unique images and stories. Another valuable strategy is to
keep a journal of your child’s dreams. This journal will become both an
interesting and enlightening way to understand your child, a vivid record of
your child’s inner life that he or she will appreciate later in life.
For some children who are very sensitive to their emotions, or who are
experiencing stress or trauma, a few childhood dreams are unforgettable!
Some of these are terrifying; others are startling in their beauty or powerful
imagery. As a 4-year-old future psychoanalyst, Carl Jung had a profound and
disturbing dream that stayed with him his entire life. In the dream, he entered
a hole in the ground, descended a stone staircase, and finally arrived at a
throne where a terrifying man-eating Cyclops was sitting. Although he awoke
in terror and kept the dream secret for many years, Jung attributed this dream
as the inspiration for his lifelong interest in dreams and mystical
experiences1.
The novelist Stephen King had many joyful childhood dreams of flying.
However, he also had distressing dreams, including a ghoulish nightmare that
haunted him well into adulthood. In the dream, he had a horrific vision of a
man hanged on the gallows. The hangman was still present, and there were
birds flying all around him. As a child, King respected the power of his
dreams and kept the memory of this nightmare alive. Ultimately, he
transformed his childhood fear into the best-selling novel and later motion
picture Salem’s Lot, which incorporated all the elements of his childhood
dream2.
Children’s dreams can also provide career visions that help shape
dreamers’ vocations. As a psychotherapist, I have worked with adults who
had early vocational vision dreams. One was a future physicist whose early
nightmares about bizarre and threatening distortions of space, in part,
inspired him to spend his career researching the mathematics of space. In
another instance, a young child who dreamed of gold and bicycles during an
early period of passion for biking, ultimately inspired him to become a
bicycle designer as an adult.3
Native American tribes knew the value of these childhood vision dreams
and utilized vision quests, with a solo journey into the wilderness and days of
fasting, to help young adolescents experience a vocational vision and to
receive a guiding animal spirit that stayed with them for life as an inner ally.
The five dreamers featured in this chapter will follow in the footsteps of
Carl Jung, Stephen King, the Native Americans, and many other creative
dreamers over the centuries. Their dreams are unique both to their lives and
circumstances. Many universal themes may be observed in children’s dreams
and in creative individuals. Their powerful childhood dreams and alertness to
their inner life may have shaped their career paths in psychotherapy, dream
research, teaching, writing, art, and photography. The compelling visual,
emotional, and spiritual power of these childhood dreams continues to
fascinate them both and is still very much alive. The dreams became central
to their identity and part of their personal mythology, motivating them to give
dreaming a central role in their vocations and personal relationships.
I can offer some suggestions to help readers use their dreams to change
their lives. Stay in touch with your dreams by keeping a journal and sharing
them with family and friends. Dreams have many levels of meaning best
discovered through exploration, discussion, and artistic expression over time.
Without the dreamer’s participation, interpretations and discussion must be
viewed tentatively. Play with the metaphors in the dream rather than settling
for a concrete interpretation. Make the dream matter in your life by applying
something you learned from your dream. Look for links to your personal life
and universal themes in the dream characters and themes.

Powerful Themes in Childhood Dreams

A number of recurring or universal themes appear in one or more of the
childhood dream stories below: powerful forces that can be threatening or
inspiring, natural disasters such as tornadoes, and incredibly vivid and
colorful images and landscapes. For many, dreams of powerful natural forces
may occur at turning points in life or when stress is more acute. Most
children have not yet achieved the cognitive and psychological capability to
fully understand the internal and external forces affecting their lives.
Paralysis or being unable to escape a threat is a very common dream
theme for children and even adults. For example, historical records of dreams
of paralysis and suffocation date back centuries. Paralysis in dreams may be
linked to the fact that major muscles are paralyzed during REM sleep, the
time when most vivid dreams occur. However, it might also symbolize being
emotionally paralyzed or a perceived lack of coping resources. If you have
had paralysis dreams, check out a possible metaphorical relationship to
situations in your present or past to see if you are feeling emotionally
paralyzed in some way.
Ghosts and witches occur in more than one dream story below. For
children, these threatening figures may represent general anxieties or may be
linked in part to relationships with close family members. Supernatural
characters that range between the emotions of fear and excitement can be
linked to stress or trauma but may also reveal special powers fascinating to
children on the edge.
When I began keeping a dream journal in college, the first recurring
theme I noticed was being threatened by a snake. This was illuminating
because the snake dreams I had as an undergraduate appeared to be closely
linked to periods of stress and trauma: when I was mugged and slightly
injured; when I had severe gastrointestinal problems after a trip to Mexico,
etc. When dreaming of threats, storms, tornadoes, or natural disasters — it
can help to reflect on the dreams to see if they are linked to stress or trauma
in your waking life.
In this chapter, these young dreamers were enchanted and even haunted
by their powerful inner lives. They did not settle for simple or concrete
answers. They continued to explore the mystery of their dreams and followed
a general principle espoused by Carl Jung. Rather than looking for a quick
and sometimes satisfying explanation or insight, they chose to live with the
dream, continued to investigate, and wonder.

Learning to Love the Storms

 Bob Hoss
Bob’s recurring childhood dream and his subsequent discovery that
he could begin to influence and actually enjoy the oncoming “dark
threatening storm” contributed to a lifelong interest.
The earliest dreams of any significance I can recall were nightmares that
came when I was about 6 or 7 years old — a period of stressful family- and
peer-related growing pains. There were frequent dreams of ghosts and other
frightening things in the basement. One evolving series of nightmares had the
greatest impact on my life at the time, an impact that has lasted until today.
The first dream’s setting began outside in my home in Dayton, Ohio.
I am outside in the front yard playing with some friends. Suddenly, a
dark threatening storm begins to form in the sky. My friends all run away to
the safety of their homes. I am trying to run as well, but my legs are like lead,
and I can barely move. The sky is getting darker and scarier, and I wake in
terror.
This dream recurred two more times, but then the situation began to
change as I began to recognize the dream while in the dream.
I am once again outside in the front yard playing with some friends.
Again a dark threatening storm begins to form in the sky, and my friends all
run away to the safety of their homes. I again try to run but can’t move. I
suddenly remember that I have been through all this before and am getting a
bit tired of it, so instead of trying to run again, I turn to face the storm in the
sky. This time instead of fear, I become thrilled at the growing intensity, and
at that moment colors begin to appear in the clouds. I wake feeling both
delighted and very curious about this dream.
The dream occurred again, but this time I am ready for it.
I am once again outside in the front yard, but now alone as a dark
threatening storm begins to form in the sky. I again turn to the storm with
excitement as the clouds form and fill with color. This time I will it to get
bigger and bigger with more and more color — and the dream responds with
a fabulous display of swirling clouds in brilliant rainbow colors. My feet are
no longer immobile, but I choose to stay and watch the somewhat scary fun
and fabulous display — until the excitement wakes me up.
 This dream changed my life at that moment and set in motion an intense
lifelong in-depth interest in dreams. With that dream, I realized that I am the
dream as well as the dreamer; that it is a “magical world” within me where I
am not simply a victim of its fearful taunts, but a player in its evolution. At
that early age I even had a vague sense that the events in the dream mirrored
my waking life in some way! That particular dream never recurred, however I
have had many storm dreams since then. They all begin with a terrifying
storm or tornado about to destroy myself and my surroundings but quickly
morph into my excitement as they evolve and outright joy at the prospect of
watching them tear things apart. Unfortunately (for me the dreamer), the
more I begin to embrace the excitement of the storm, the more it diminishes
— which likely has a positive psychological significance (for me the waking
self).
Today I enjoy the full impact that this early, semilucid, colorful storm
dream has had on my life. It drove me to explore the study of dreams with
intensity. Once I discovered that dreams had a solid psychological
significance and scientific basis, I was hooked. Although my career was that
of a scientist, I began a period of psychological training and eventually began
teaching dream studies at various institutions. As an applied research scientist
by trade, I also became drawn to researching the nature of dreams. Without
realizing the connection with that earliest dream, until Alan Siegel pointed it
out to me, the first content analysis research studies that I pursued and
published were on color!
_______________
Author’s note: This recurring childhood dream contains a number of
universal themes, including the appearance of powerful natural forces — the
“dark threatening storm” perhaps a representation of stress. Dreams may
recur with the same threatening imagery when other stressful situations arise.
In my research on the posttraumatic dreams of the 1991 Oakland/Berkeley
Firestorm survivors, I discovered that as time passed and people worked
through the trauma, subsequent nightmares about fire or other disasters would
re-emerge at times of stress. Sometimes, as in Bob Hoss’ storm dreams, the
struggle to fight back against adversarial forces in dreams can lead to insights
carried over into waking life or may reflect a process of resolution. His
powerful dreams contributed to his lifelong interest: both the teaching and
research on dreams, even foreshadowing his future research and writings on
color and dreams.

The Knotted Rainbow

Polly Alice McCann
Artist and writer Polly McCann had powerful childhood dreams,
which like the dreams of Bob Hoss, involved landscapes with
powerful natural forces with brilliant and compelling colors.
Likewise, her dreams provided inspiration that led in part to her
career path — in her case an artist and writer.
Sometime after my baby brother was born — around the age of 6 or 7 —
I moved into the guest room in the basement of my parents’ suburban Kansas
home. In that cold, dark place full of cupboards, my first memory is a dream.
In the dream, I see a vast plain with a few smooth trees. Like the Roger
Haine illustrations on the boxed set of Narnia books I poured over before I
could read, this landscape glows from an unseen light. There in the
darkening sky, I see a rainbow. Not just any rainbow; it is a beautiful shape
held by undulating twists and turns. More than a circle with no end, it is a
knot. I shout for my family, who are standing with their backs to the vision, to
turn and see the amazing rainbow, but they do not. No one else sees the
knotted rainbow, except me.
That dream in my “guest room” left me feeling like a guest in my own
family and in many situations thereafter, a placement I struggled with but
later cherished. As a child, I didn’t see the dream influencing my life — other
than the few times I whispered my memory of this vision to friends at
sleepovers. But slowly the dream became more prominent until it began to
completely change my life. First, the dream led me to consciously try to
remember important dreams and to talk with others about their remembered
dreams. Second, it led me to recognize the language of dreams. Third, it led
me to feel open to faith. I hungrily read the Old and New Testaments before
finishing high school. There was the place I found dreams were an accepted
and important form of aid, not only in life decisions, but also in emotional
and spiritual sustenance.
In college, I studied art and writing. I spent long hours in the library
studying symbols for my art research. I almost forgot about my dream until I
found that knotted shape in a book of symbols. It was a mandala! A few years
later, a spiritual director shared a few chapters of a book with me, Dreams
and Spiritual Growth: A Judeo-Christian Way of Dreamwork, coauthored by
Strephon Kaplan Williams. I felt a dreamwork method was something I
desperately needed to help me understand my buried thoughts and feelings.
While walking through the stacks one day at the library, a sunbeam fell upon
a yellow book as I walked past. The spine lit up a bit, and I recognized the
font and woodcarving illustrations. I picked it up. The book on dreamwork —
now I had the whole thing!
I spent seven years teaching myself to do dreamwork. I worked through
childhood dreams, early memories, present emotions and relationships, and
my crisis of vocation. Through that dreamwork, I discovered I longed to
return home to Kansas City — and did so, enrolling in a master’s degree
program at Hamline University with the aim of writing books for children
and young adults. I chose the exploration of dreams as my thesis topic, which
led to my researching symbolic dream imagery in the works of Maurice
Sendak. I adored studying Carl Jung and Joseph Campbell, among others.
After graduating, I said it was time to honor my “rainbow dream.” Three
years later, I finished my first painting of that dream. And just as I hoped, the
exploration of that personal and mythical symbol led me to have the courage
to write my own novel series — a goal I’ve had since childhood. I had also
discovered IASD, where I submitted my revised thesis for the IASD Ernest
Hartmann student research award — and won! A momentous day. Afterward,
I opened my own art studio to paint and write full time. The rainbow dream
still gives me energy. Being an artist and a writer means that I now have the
means to share something with others. As in my childhood dream, I ask
people to turn and see something unexpected.
_______________
Author’s note: A unique aspect of Polly’s dream, which was both mysterious
and challenging to understand and resolve, is that others could not see what
she saw. Through extensive study of her dreams and inner life, Polly found a
way to understand and communicate her unique vision and perspective to
others through her artwork.

Making Peace with the Lone Ranger

Jean Benedict Raffa
The childhood dream of renowned Jungian analyst and author Jean
Benedict Raffa occurred at a time of family crisis and transition.
Her vow never to forget this dream became a source of intrigue as
well as inspiration for decades.
I was 10 years old at the time of this dream. I lived with my mother and
older brother in Tampa, Florida. My parents had come to Florida from
Michigan a few years earlier, hoping to repair a marriage that had been
damaged by Daddy’s infidelity. At the time of this dream, they were
separated, and Mama supported us with her full-time job as a nurse. Within a
year they divorced. Daddy was a policeman, my hero, who died of a heart
attack three months later.
In the dream, I am walking between railroad tracks that curve into a
distant horizon. I see only earth, sky, this hard metal road with rock-covered
banks that fall away on either side into dark woods below. I know this place.
I walked these tracks with Daddy when I was 5 and we lived in Tallahassee.
Daddy wanted me to feel the magical allure of trains, but also to know their
danger. There were hobos in tent camps in the woods, and I should stay away
from them. I should stay away from the tracks too. Little girls could get
crushed by the metal monsters that rode them. Are there hobos in the woods
now? Will a train come soon? Why am I here? Where am I going? Where’s
Daddy? I don’t know. I only know I am alone and must keep walking. From
behind me a voice calls, “Jean!” I turn, and there is Tonto. “Come,” he
beckons. “Lone Ranger wants you.” I am thrilled. The Lone Ranger is my
hero and he wants to see me! I push away a niggling shadow of apprehension
and follow Tonto. The Lone Ranger stands in a clearing. Behind him his
magnificent white horse, Silver, munches grass contentedly. Beyond them, the
dark woods. I feel wonder, excitement, curiosity. Beneath these, that tiny knot
of anxiety. “Stand there.” The masked man points to a spot on the ground in
front of the steep embankment. I obey and wait for the words that will reveal
his regard for me, tell me why I’m here, confirm my mission. The Lone
Ranger pulls his gun out if its holster, aims at me, pulls the trigger, shoots. I
feel the kick in my midsection, clutch my body at the point of impact, wait for
the blood and pain. Is this it? Will I die now?
I wake up screaming, “Nooooo!” between great heaving sobs, outraged
by this inconceivable betrayal from a man I have admired second to no one
but Daddy. Mama rushes up the stairs into my bedroom and holds me in her
arms. “Shhh, you’re OK. You’re OK. It was only a dream.” Only a dream.
That’s when I tell myself, stunned with incomprehension but fierce in my
determination, “This is important. I am 10 years old and I will never forget
this dream!”
I am now a college professor and writer, and found myself dealing with
the impact of the Lone Ranger dream in two of my books: The Bridge to
Wholeness: A Feminine Alternative to the Hero Myth where I dealt with the
standards of my family and my Christian god; and Dream Theatres of the
Soul: Empowering the Feminine Through Jungian Dreamwork, after
discovering Jungian psychology and my inner life, especially my dreams.
Then, thinking I was done with him, I set him aside. For the next several
years I tried to complete these two books with a third, but nothing quite
jelled. Now I know the Lone Ranger and I had unfinished business.
The Lone Ranger “gave me” my mission: “You want to know why you
are here and where you are going? I will tell you. These tracks represent your
spiritual journey. I have given you an experience that will shape it. Never
forget the pain of being betrayed by the god of your childhood: a lone,
remote, and mysterious masked man who doesn’t value your significance and
holds the power of life and death over you. The spirit of this time is ruled by
masculine values. Men are heroes who make the rules, and women and
children are victims to be feared, dismissed, and abused. Your task is to
develop and use your gifts to correct this dangerous imbalance. Remember
this dream and explore its fullest meaning. Work to empower femininity. The
world cannot survive much longer without respect and loving cooperation
between these two foundations of all life. This is your life’s work.”
That mission came together in the third book, Healing the Sacred
Divide: Making Peace with Ourselves, Each Other, and the World. Its
theme? Healing the polarization between masculinity and femininity that’s
tearing us and our world apart. It received the Wilbur Award for excellence in
communicating religious faith and values in the public arena and for
encouraging understanding among faith groups on a national level. I owe
everything to the deep wisdom of the “Dream Mother” who directed me to
my soul’s path — and to the Lone Ranger who inspired me to follow it.
_______________
Author’s note: The dream begins with a broad, natural landscape and deals
with coping with the emotional wounds of the loss of and unrequited
memories of her father along with many other issues. Her vow that “I will
never forget this dream!” was taken very seriously by this future analyst,
teacher, and author. In doing so, the main dream character, the Lone Ranger,
became a touchstone and a source of many levels of insight about her family,
her identity, and broader issues integrating divisions within the individual and
collective psyche.
Childhood Dream - A Graphic Cartoon by
Jeremy Taylor
Witch’s Shed
 Jessica Lewis Watson
In this dream story, photographer Jessica Lewis Watson continued
to search for photographic images that captured or illuminated the
striking images from her childhood dream with a rewarding result.
When I was 4 years old, I had the following recurring dream: I am
playing alone in a side yard of an old house. At the end of the yard is a shed
out of which would come a scary witch with a black pointed hat and long
black dress. Each time I am terrified and run in the house to tell my Mother.
She comes out to see the witch, but every time my Mom comes out, the witch
has disappeared. No one believes me about there being an evil witch out to
get me. I am doubly traumatized by the witch herself and by my Mother not
believing me.
Upon growing up into my forties, I recalled the dream, and since I am a
professional fine art photographer, I wanted to illustrate this dream from my
childhood. I bought a pointy witch’s hat, which I intended to place by the
door of a shed to photograph it, implying that the witch was inside the shed.
So, I started looking for a shed.
“Spirit” must have heard my request, because halfway through the
sidewalk circuit I took every day in my neighborhood, a flock of cardinals
came out of the bushes suddenly and caught my attention. My eyes followed
them over the hedge and down farther into the yard than I usually looked.
There, at the end of the green yard, was a quaint shed just the shape of the
one in my dream over 40 years ago. The door was just slightly ajar as if the
witch had just gone back into the shed. I knew this was the shed I must
photograph. I knocked on the house door to ask permission of the owner to
take a photo of the shed. A kind lady came to the door and said sure I could.
She said I could use and show the photograph but not to identify her address.
It turned out she was a professional art teacher, so she understood my desire
to make art in unlikely places. I returned with my camera and the witch’s hat,
and set the hat on the ground of the path leading to the shed’s open door. I
took the photo, and just as I had hoped, the result was just like what I had
seen in my traumatic dream. It looked like the witch was hidden in the shed!
When I printed this photo for a solo exhibit of 215 photographs in Indigo
Gallery of Champaign, Illinois, an acquaintance of mine purchased this very
photo. I did not tell her the story behind the photograph I had created. She
liked it just because “it spoke to her.” At a later time, when we bumped into
each other, she told me that she looks at the photograph every day, and it
makes her so happy. Not only has the action of working with my dream
through artistic expression given me a sense of closure, but also a sense of
transformation in that an image in my mind in a dream that made me so
scared and unhappy as a child became a joyful image to another when I
communicated it in an art form. Now, I am no longer haunted by this witch
dream!
_______________
Author’s note: Jung encouraged this practice, which he called “dreaming the
dream onward.” Continuing the search for photographic images that captured
or illuminated the striking images from her childhood dream led to a
rewarding outcome that continues the dreamwork into her waking life. When
she found them and displayed the photos as part of a gallery show of her
work, she was able to share her sense of meaning and inspire others to
explore their response.

Memory of the Bardo

A Girl Six Years of Age
This dream from a 6-year-old captures a moment in her developing
the perception of reality.
When I was around 6 or 7 years of age, one day in the early morning
hours I suddenly woke up after having had this very short dream: I am lying
horizontally in the lawn in front of my grandparents’ country house, under
the chestnut trees, head toward the trees, feet toward the house; I perceive
for the first time the world around me, the sky above, the rustling leaves, the
summer heat, the breeze, the various sounds and smells of the garden. In
acknowledging all those different and separate perceptions, I realize that I
have lost a previous state where everything was one and all-encompassing, a
sort of universal consciousness that I had lost in that very moment, but the
existence of which I had experienced and retained as the recollection of
something that I knew but had forgotten; in the dream I also knew that the
two states (universal consciousness and perception of the world in its
separate specific aspects) cannot coexist.
When I woke up, I had the distinct feeling that this dream regarded
something very real and of the utmost importance, but I could not express it
in words or understand it. Also because of my young age at the time, I never
forgot this dream and always tried throughout all my life to understand what
it meant and why I though it to be so important.
Several years later I learned that, a few days after I was born, my parents
took me to my grandparents’ country house (it was summer), and my mother
used to put me to sleep during the day in a pram on the lawn in front of the
house under the chestnut trees, exactly where I am in the dream. More
recently, I came across concepts that resemble the elements of my dream in
the Tao Te Ching, where it describes the relation between the “Unnamed”
(the eternal) and the “Named” (the origin of all particular things); and in the
Bardo Thodol, where it describes the “bardo,” or state of existence between
death and rebirth, and the passage from one life into another.
_______________
Author’s note: This dream appears to capture a moment in child’s
development of the perception of reality, in particular the specific aspects of
outer reality versus the fluid and evolving inner reality of the child’s own
consciousness being all that exists. The dream also illustrates the often
mystical themes that populate dreams of children of this age — appearing
here as a separation from universal oneness to suddenly being thrust into a
world of specifics and limited physical laws.
 Chapter 4

Power of the Image

Patricia Garfield
Have you ever awakened from a dream that left you feeling stunned? By
stunned, I mean awed, astounded, marveling in wonder. You might have seen
an unusual image that made you ask yourself, “What was that all about?
What could that mean?”
If so, you have probably experienced a big dream, what Jungians would
call a “numinous” dream. Numinous comes from the Latin word numen,
which means divine will. Divinity, deity, is related to nuere, meaning “to nod
or give assent.” Ancient folk believed that when the gods approved of a
mortal’s behavior, they nodded to indicate the individual is on the right path.
Ernest Hartmann labels such a powerful image the “central dream image.”
Ernest Rossi would say that any idiosyncratic dream image indicates the
“growing tip of the Self.” I call it the key image because understanding it
(though it may take decades) unlocks a whole area of yourself previously
closed off.
In this chapter, I hope to share with you the journey heralded for me by
such a key image. I hope to demonstrate: how to understand or unlock this
kind of image; find what I call personal ancestors by developing stages of the
image in prior dreams; seek personal descendants, dreams where the key
image develops over time; and highlight the possibility of influenced
descendants — the influence of the key image in your waking life in other
forms — its legacy.
On March 9, 1973, I had such a remarkable dream. I titled it “The
Branching Woman.” I was 37 years old, three years into a gloriously happy
second marriage. The dream came after I had received my Ph.D. in Clinical
Psychology; worked as a full-time Psychology teacher at the university level;
recently returned from two years living in Europe after a six-month trip
around the world. My husband, Zal, and I had recently moved to San
Francisco, and I was again teaching at what was then Sonoma State College. I
taught a single course that I had devised called “The Creative Use of
Dreams.” My entire life was about to change.
This dream, “The Branching Woman,” heralded this lifetime shift: I am
with a group of professionals at a conference. We are discussing various
aspects of dreaming. Several people have spoken earlier about the symbolism
involved in “leaving,” referring to leaves dropping from a tree. Zal and I are
seated in chairs at the front. All of us are eating. I stand up and say, “We’ve
talked about ‘leaving.’ I’d like to discuss the concept ‘branching.’ I’ve had
several dreams in which there was a growth. There was a woman’s head and
from it grew branches, almost like antlers, but many more and more, each
subdividing, until it grew very thick, dense.”
I describe more and more, feeling interested and excited. I finish, and
there is a slight pause as the head person to whom I’ve mainly addressed the
remarks, gets up and ducks under a kind of tabletop to get more food.
Meantime, Zal says to me, “You did that really well,” and kisses me on the
cheek …
The dream continues with my going for food and eating, too, but not
getting anything I especially want. Although everyone ignores my comments
except Zal, I felt good in the dream for expressing myself.
The key image in this dream is the strange one of antler-like branches
sprouting in every direction from a woman’s head. And in the dream I had
said, “I have had several dreams… (of this image)….” Could that possibly be
true? I didn’t recall any similar images in past dreams, so I checked.

“Personal Ancestors” to the Key Dream Image

Scanning back through my dream records, it was easy to search for
unusual images because I almost always sketch them in the left-hand margin
of my dream journal. At this point I have 49 binders of handwritten dream
records, beginning in 1948, when I was 13 until my present age of 80. Sixty-
nine years of dream records. I didn’t have to go back very far before locating
images related to the “Branching Woman.” They just hadn’t caught my full
attention before.
To understand their significance, I need to mention the earlier scene in
the dream of the Branching Woman: Zal and I are seated with a group of the
conference people on the floor or a bench talking. Zal is talking to someone
about a baby brother. I look into a mirror and hold my hair up. I look good
that way. I’ll have to try it after I shower. Then I let some of the hair fall in a
piece near each cheek. It looks even prettier. I wear a long skirt. I am
surprised how I’d thought there was nothing from the freedom movement I
wanted for myself. There actually were some things like this I’d enjoy
changing and experimenting with. My hair was long and wavy. I’d have to let
it grow longer.
Although this segment of the dream does not contain any images that are
odd or idiosyncratic, the idea of putting my hair up proved to be pivotal. Both
hair and antlers are “growths” from the head, giving them a kind of dream
equality.
Skimming my dream records, I was startled to come across a drawing of
all the hair on my head standing straight up. This dream, in 1971, occurred
while we were living in London. I named it “The Dream of the Blue Vine.”
Here is the key excerpt: Then a long story about the great power I discovered
in myself. We had been flying in airplanes. I am waiting for Zal to finish
something and am watching a funny plant. The blue flower part begins to
move its mouth, to open it and shut it, to pout out a lip. I am a little alarmed
and back away, fearful that it might bite. I tell Zal, and he laughs, but I
persist. I find I can make vines of a plant come toward me by willing it
intentionally. I am demonstrating to Zal. Telling him, “Look, I willed it.”
Then I can say, “Up!” or “Down!” and the vine will obey. Then I find that
my own hair will do the same thing, then my whole body. This rather alarms
me because I had said, “Down” meaning just my hair, but my whole body
came down from the air and then I lay down on the floor. Didn’t mean to do
that, as tho’ the power had gotten out of control. I was trying to express this
to Zal. When he saw me rising into the air, he was impressed and believed
what was going on …
These dreams continued. However, now I was sensitized to images
relating to any kind of “growth” from the head or a plant that could go up or
down. In other dreams between the “Blue Vine” and the “Branching Woman”
dream, I observed:

A main female character who has two small curly antlers.

A background female character wearing a cap with green leafy
branches.
I am a mythical being called Xerxes on a hilltop; I wear something
special on my head, perhaps a hat of flowers, feel its shape and
weight. People passing on a river call to me to stay.
I descend into an underground grotto where I see, across a clear
pool with marvelous submerged statues, a beautiful priestess or
goddess with fresh flowers in her long dark hair. She is talking to a
boy.

These personal ancestors of my “Branching Woman” dream reveal a

constellation of related images involving not only branches, but antlers,
horns, hair as objects growing from the head, as well as objects worn on the
head, such as hats, caps, or flowers.

“Personal Descendants” to the Key Dream Image

A key dream image continues to develop and speak over time, appearing
in other forms. To give you two examples, the following dream images
continued the theme of my dream of Branching Woman:
“The White Fawn Princess” — I save a man from drowning, then a
princess appears; her head and naked upper torso are that of a shapely
woman while her lower body is that of a fawn. Her fur is snow white with a
circlet of scarlet drops circling the base of her throat. On her head grows a
crown like arrangement of small, rounded horns. Along her flank she
embraces four children (I have a daughter and three stepchildren).
“The Light-Headed Dancer” — I see a woman dancer who wears a
helmet covered with luminous circles of radiating light.

“Influenced Descendants” to the Key Dream Image

 — Its Legacy
Eventually I realized that my personal key dream image taps into the
pool of universal archetypes (patterns common among all humans). In my
case, I felt driven to express the dream image of the Branching Woman in
many forms. I first made sketches of the figure then I shaped her in clay.
Somehow, I needed to depict the three-dimensional reach of her antler-horns
in space. I later made Chinese brush paintings and wrote poems about her.
Part of the mystery for me was that the image held appeal to many other
people. When Creative Dreaming was first published in 1974, The San
Francisco Chronicle ran a two-page spread on the book, with a photograph of
my clay sculpture of the Branching Woman. I received a lot of mail,
including several comments that were variations of “I loved your sculpture of
the Horned Goddess.” The what? I was mystified, but a little research at the
Jung Institute Library in San Francisco revealed this figure was, indeed, an
archetype with a long history including the Egyptian goddess Isis.
When San Francisco artist Sheldon Schoneberg was doing a pastel
drawing of me and wanted to depict me painting, the piece he chose was that
of “The Branching Woman.” When Denver artist Brenda Ferrimani decided
to do an oil painting of one of my dreams from Creative Dreaming, she opted
for the Branching Woman. Without my realizing it, this particular image
went on to influence numerous others.
To give only one example, graduate student Yasmin Mund chose to
photographically illustrate as her Master’s Thesis concepts from another of
my books, The Universal Dream Key. One of these original photos captures
the essence of elements of, yes, “The Branching Woman.”
A key dream not only heralds a change in the dreamer’s life, it continues
to influence and change other lives. I call this “The Legacy of the Branching
Woman.”
The four dream stories below illustrate a key dream image that impacts
the dreamer’s life. In some we see the personal descendants as the image
develops over time and continues to influence the dreamer. We also see the
legacies of those key images as they take form in the lives of the dreamer,
trigger synchronicities, and influence the lives of others as well.
 The Diamond
Fiona Bell
Fiona’s dream illustrates how the introduction of an image, its
personal ancestor, can often form as a visual pattern representative
of an eventual legacy, in this case a synchronistic pattern at work,
the cooperation of the outer world with the grown and changes
taking place in our inner world.
In my dream I meet a woman whose face is an inverted triangle. The
lower tip of the triangle extends deeply downward. She appears as a very
good friend. I feel so well. I walk through half an archway; it’s a stone arch
on the left side, and the right side is missing. I turn left, then left again. I
expect to see the triangle face again. Instead, I see a diamond head emerging
from an old hand-hewn stone wall. This was a deep spiritual experience for
me, and I felt so profoundly well and whole. A state of completeness that I
have never before felt.
The dream occurred several years ago but still holds energy for me. At
the time I was struggling with decision about where to live — stay in
Melbourne or go back to Ireland. Also about career choice — stay in social
work or move into career involving art and dreams. I was part of a dream
group, and we explored the dream. Insight from the group included (from the
double left turn) that I was going back in the direction that I came from, and
another was the “V” shape, which is on the Australian license plate — which
states underneath it “Moving Melbourne Through Art.”
Shortly thereafter, I became pregnant with my son, and moved back to
Ireland. The dream stayed with me, but I knew that it hadn’t revealed itself
fully to me. Returning to work after a family trip back to Australia, I felt I
could no longer continue in this job. It was as if my higher Self stepped out of
the job and refused to continue. Of course, this invoked great fear and distress
for me.
In a chance conversation, a friend recommended I enroll in a craft
development business talk being held in the city where I lived. I signed up
and, to my surprise, was accepted at the last minute. It turned out to be a
series of workshops, including access to mentoring to set up in self-
employment. Wow! I started to seriously explore the idea of developing art
and dreamwork through self-employment. Doors just seemed to open to me.
I was due to meet Valarie, my mentor (could this be the V from my
dream?). I was taken aback when she contacted me to say that our first
meeting would be held an office in the “Diamond.” This is located within
ancient stone walls, which are famous in the city I live in (the Walled City of
Derry). I immediately thought of my dream but didn’t give it any further
thought. All of our meetings, and hard work, took place in the Diamond. In
the process, another synchronicity occurred that felt like a further
confirmation. In December of 2015, I held my first dream workshop in a
holistic workshop inside the Diamond. Another woman named Valerie
worked there and took the first bookings for my workshop.
So, I made a massive life transition and am just beginning a career as an
intuitive artist, dreamworker, and “Personal and Spiritual Growth
Facilitator.” To work with people using art and dreams feels as if it is
authentic to who I am. It feels like a spiritual calling. It brings back my
feeling of being so whole and complete in the dream.
I am now attending exhibitions and getting good reviews, writing
articles on dreamwork, and planning my first dream groups. All quite
terrifying for me, but also exciting, and I feel myself moving forward as I
draw on the energy of the dream.

Wolves Pulling Me North

Rosemary Gosselin
As in Rosemary’s dream, sometimes an archetypal image enters as
a harbinger of things to come, a hint of unconscious forces of inner
growth and transformation at work. When the dream’s personal
descendants persist in a series, it is as though the soil of the psyche
 is being tilled for growth. Thus, dreams energize us to unfold
toward wholeness and new life.
In 1995, I was nervously on the cusp of entering Jungian
psychoanalytical training at the Westchester Institute in New York. To
prepare, I went to my first BodySoul Intensive in Ontario, Canada, with
Marion Woodman. I was 59 and ripe for initiation. The experience stirred my
depths, with its focus on dreams and the primordial feminine — swimming
naked and howling at the moon. And the landscape was gorgeous, sculpted
by ancient glaciers of the Niagara Escarpment, a UNESCO treasure.
My daughter was living in Toronto and came to drive me to the airport.
First, we hiked the Bruce Trail. Gazing at the valley from a high point of
land, she said, “Mum, I’d love to live up here one day!” “It’s so beautiful,” I
agreed. (But to myself, “Nice for you dear. Not me!” I had fled dreary
Ontario for New York many years ago and never looked back.)
Two years later, Margot was married, pregnant, and living in a village
on the shores of Lake Huron beneath the brow of the escarpment. My
husband, Roland, and I drove up from Manhattan, with our husky, Natasha,
to visit our new grandson. Natasha was thrilled with the wide-open spaces,
the fields and orchards, but Roland and I said privately, “How do people live
here? There’s nothing to do. There’s no one around.” We were addicted to
our city: the beat of the streets; the jostle of possibilities; creative impulses,
noise, smells — human life in action! And we had cheap rent near Central
Park and work we loved. Consciously, we had no desire to move anywhere.
But the “unconscious” had other plans. Since my BodySoul Intensive, I
had been having dreams of wolves. In the first dream: I am cornered in a
room at an airport by a wolf. In order to leave, I have to befriend her.
Eventually, she leads me out.
Every month or so after that I would dream about wolves — sometimes
huskies — pulling me north — my private Iditarod — lots of motion and
white expanses. Nothing threatening.
In 2000, out of the blue, my son-in-law called to say, “There’s a little log
house across the orchard from us. It’s for sale and has your name on it.” We
slept on it and decided to go for it the next day. Roland and I are not
impulsive people. What accounts for this sudden decision, this shift in our
consciousness? We closed up shop, saying goodbye to patients, students,
friends, and family, and set the moving date for September 27, 2001.
On 9/11 the sky fell in while we were in packing boxes. It was not easy
then to leave our beloved city. However, we began our trek north with a
backseat of huskies (by then Natasha’s brother Nikolai had joined the
family). I won’t speak for Roland — his process is different — but in
retrospect I believe my psyche was being prepared by my dream series. I was
being readied to say “yes” to a new life.
Soon I began to miss my work and my New York community of fellow
professionals, but I reached out by doing workshops on myth and dreams,
and soon gathered an ongoing group. This was a good stretch for me, as a
fairly introverted newcomer.
I then discovered the IASD Toronto regional, which offered a rich
fellowship of friends and professionals as well as opportunities to present and
learn. Our village is a short drive from where Marion Woodman resides, so I
was privileged to continue working with her. I’ve become a passionate
activist and have resurrected my latent writer.
The wild heart of the wolf beats in me. It seems the dream series had a
cultural goal as well, inviting me to deepen my relationship to nature in an
area needing advocacy. How to explain the wisdom of the unconscious? Here
is where I’m meant to be. The transplant has taken hold and flourishes.

The Saw Girl

Jamieson Haverkampf
In Jamieson’s story, a powerful image initiates a theme that weaves
together her waking experiences and subsequent impactful dreams
in a manner that eventually brings about its legacy — a path to
resolution.
In early 2000, four years after I started to write down my dreams, my
sister and I left Atlanta and drove across the country to San Francisco,
California, seeking new lives. In San Francisco, I fell into a real estate job as
an assistant to two top agents. New millionaire clients arrived in droves at our
office, as venture capitalists pumped money into technology startups. Back
then, I thought I landed in heaven on earth, but I was wrong. Luckily, five
dreams rerouted my life away from disaster.
That fall, my heaven turned into hell with one phone call. My 61-year-
old father called to tell me his doctor diagnosed him with non-Hodgkin’s
lymphoma. Time stopped as I numbed to the news. For the next six months, I
flew across the country monthly to my parents’ house in Richmond, Virginia,
to support my father through his treatments. Then in June 2001, after a failed
bone marrow transplant, my family brought my father to the M.D. Anderson
Cancer Center for a clinical trial. It was his last hope and the beginning of my
initiation through a series of five big dreams.
While at M.D. Anderson, the first dream surfaced: In the dream, a girl
tries to cut into my skin with a handsaw moving back and forth over my
waist.
I woke up covered in sweat. I sensed the dream’s importance, but I
didn’t know what to do with it except to write it in my journal. The intense
energy of the saw girl image pulsed in and out of my thoughts. It was only
later that I learned of the similarity with the archetypal motif of
dismemberment, heralding the beginning of a death and rebirth cycle.
A few weeks after this dream, my father died. I felt fractured, ravaged,
and ripped apart. His death turned my world upside down. Tiny surges of
pain shocked my heart, like that saw blade slicing through flesh, as I drank in
my new reality. My father was dead. My 56-year-old mother widowed. I
worked part time in an expensive city I loved 3,000 miles away from my
devastated mother. I felt cut in half.
In September, I returned to San Francisco, received my real estate
license, and tried to move forward. Every now and then, the “saw girl” image
returned in my memory and then vanished. I tried to put her out of my mind,
focusing on making sales and friends. She kept quiet for a while.
In 2003, I accepted the position of President-Elect of the San Francisco
Women’s Council of Realtors. My ego celebrated, but another part of me
hesitated. Secretly, I craved more time to return to my first love of illustrating
and writing. The “saw girl” resurfaced from time to time, but every time she
appeared, I pushed her away. I didn’t understand her meaning.
Later that summer, the second big dream appeared: I am in a red, long,
flappy dress with a shimmer of purple in the fabric. I am given an award of
gold-encrusted flat slippers. Another girl needs my help because she is
having a miscarriage. A different girl has crusted sparkles on her lips.
Someone prepares pomegranate juice for me to drink.
I woke up stunned. I immediately thought of Persephone from the Greek
myth, who was forced to eat pomegranates from Hades, Greek god of the
underworld, during an initiation of abduction. Lying in bed, more questions
swirled: Am I totally losing it? What is going on? Is this related to the “saw
girl?” That day, all I could think about was pomegranates. And at lunch, I
bought pomegranate juice and swallowed every bittersweet red bit. As the
salty ocean air blew in fall breezes, I grew weary. To the outer world, I
appeared successful. But the more clients and sales I acquired, the more I lost
energy.
Something had shifted. I couldn’t focus on work. I needed time away to
figure things out. One weekend, I booked a motel, packed my bags, and
drove two hours south to Carmel, a charming seaside village. I felt dead,
seized against my will into a sleepy darkness, and I didn’t know how to find
my energy again. As I sucked down fresh oysters my first night in Carmel, a
handsome stranger slid onto an open barstool next to me. That night, a new
romance lured me into its claws like an unbreakable spell. As this enchanted
relationship continued, I escaped into this secret life, in an underworld of
sorts, to avoid facing my inner deadness. Over the next six months, I spent
more time in Carmel. Like Persephone, I fell prey to the powerful spell of this
Hadeslike lover. He held me captive with chains I couldn’t see and didn’t
know how to break.
But the following spring, the third and fourth big dreams in this series
arose, revealing a way out of this dark underworld and how to re-embrace my
lost vitality. With the sighting of the first daffodils of spring, my underworld
initiation ended: In the third dream, I’m on a ship in a bathroom with a
cracked floor. Water is coming in. No one else could see it but me. I had to
tell an old woman that her sister died while looking at her china (it had
whimsical illustrations on it in my illustration style). My mother told me that
I couldn’t tell people about “that way,” (referring to my illustration work) as
being relaxing.
The dream’s frightening message seemed clear to me, the sinking ship
being a perfect picture metaphor of my waking life; only my creativity would
save me. The next night the fourth big dream arrived: I’m in my car sitting in
the driver’s seat. On the car’s dashboard, I see that the gas needle is slightly
above empty and the emergency brake is pulled half way up.
I woke up terrified. The dream felt like a clear warning of an imminent
crash. I called a close friend who referred me to her therapist. That week, I
told the therapist about my four intense dreams. Initially, I feared sharing my
dreams with her. I worried she would think I was crazy and have me locked
up. But she didn’t. She said my dreams sounded normal. As we discussed the
dreams further, my energy returned — as if someone was putting more gas in
my tank.
In July 2004, with the therapist’s encouragement and the deep knowing
generated by my dreams, I quit real estate, applied to a writing retreat, and
enrolled in a textile design class. Two weeks before I left for the writing
retreat, the fifth and last dream of the series surfaced: I hold a naked baby in
my arms. I bring its cheek to my face, and the baby laughs.
I woke up and smiled, knowing I’d made it through the darkness, and
because I’d listened to the wise guidance of five dreams, I’d given birth to a
more authentic version of myself in true heaven.

The Curious Riddle of the Codpiece

Debbie Spector Weisman
Great luminaries such as Carl Jung, Fritz Perls, and Ernest
Hartmann understood that a single, seemingly important element in
a dream could carry within it a whole story of the dreamer’s
emotional life and conflicts. We see this in Debbie’s simple dream
of one word: “codpiece.”
 What an odd word, I thought. I didn’t remember anything else from the
dream from which it must have spawned. Just that one strange word:
codpiece. I’d be lying if I told you I knew what it meant. All I knew was that
it had entered my mind during the night and that it was there for a reason. As
soon as I could, I looked up the word on Wikipedia. The codpiece dated back
to the 15th century, when some clever tailor invented a leather device to be
worn as a flap over a man’s genital area — a medieval athletic cup. Cod
actually was the Middle English word for scrotum. The codpiece fell out of
fashion in the 16th century but made a modern-day comeback on the groins
of 1980s heavy metal rockers. As a history buff, I found all of this
fascinating. But it begged the more obvious question: What did a codpiece
have to do with me, a woman many years past my rock-star fan-girl days?
Several months earlier, I had started attending a weekly dream circle out
of the hunch that finding out how to understand my dreams would help me
figure out why I was feeling so stuck and uneasy in my life. Sure, it would
have been nice if I’d remembered the entire dream, which would have
yielded more clues to this mystery. But this was typical for me. In preceding
weeks I’d had so many petite dreams consisting of a single incident or a few
disjointed thoughts that the leader of the dream circle dubbed me “the Queen
of the Snippets,” and this one was the shortest yet — just one word.
I could have simply dismissed it. Yet something within me told me I had
to examine it. I turned the question “What does a codpiece mean to me?” into
a game. I never really was a fan of heavy metal, so I dismissed that as a clue.
I held no love for living in the Middle Ages, so I saw no connections there.
The codpiece had to be a symbol, I concluded. It was something tough,
something that was used as protection, to keep something precious safe. How
does that relate to my life, I wondered? What do I have that’s hard on the
outside and soft and important on the inside? If I could figure out what was
behind the codpiece, I’d been on my way to solving this curious riddle. Then
it hit me.
The codpiece represented the wall that separated me from the rest of the
world. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. Little by little I
had spent huge chunks of my life holding back, keeping my thoughts and
ideas to myself. The labels “quiet” and “shy” were comfortable explanations
that seemed to satisfy others, and when they kept their distances, I grew
comfortable with that too. Over time I had unconsciously talked myself into
believing that I was a boring, uninteresting, even shallow person. Was I
really? No, that was fear talking. I was so afraid that anything I would say
would be met with ridicule or, even worse, be totally dismissed, that I said
nothing. The result was that I was often ignored, passed over, and simply not
included in things I might have enjoyed. No wonder I had this vague feeling
of unease in my day-to-day life. I was at a crossroads. I could dismiss the
dream and continue living in fear. Or I could take action on the meaning of
the dream. The codpiece protected something that men hold precious. That
meant that if the codpiece was protecting me, then I was something precious.
As if I needed further proof, two days later I had another one word
dream: almond. As I wrote that word in my dream journal, I started to laugh.
What was an almond, after all, but something with a hard shell that protected
something good inside? I’m making progress, I told myself. The almond’s
shell is a lot thinner than a codpiece. That means it’s possible to break
through it.
The real hard work started after that, the realization that I chose to live
my life the way I did and that it would take further choices on my part to
change its trajectory. Honestly, there was no rational reason to hide myself.
But for me to unhide, I first had to come face to face with the ridiculous
things that had been so embedded in the deep recesses of my mind I didn’t
even know they were there, things like: I didn’t matter; I wasn’t important; I
wasn’t to be taken seriously; and even the thought that I was invisible. Once I
became consciously aware of those beliefs, I could see not only that they
weren’t true, but that I had the power to replace them with more empowering
thoughts such as: I am smart; I have a brain; I am creative; I can make a
difference to myself and others. When I started looking at myself in a new
light, I could see that I mattered. What I had to say and do was important. I
started to believe in myself again. I did see changes, little ones. They came in
the moments when I did things like complain to a server that my food was
delivered cold or when I asked the manicurist to redo my nail because it got
smudged. These sound small when I write them, but for me, speaking up to
strangers was truly new and different. In the past, I would have suffered in
silence and cursed myself for my reticence.
There were larger things, too. I furthered my interest in dreamwork and
finished a program that certified me as a dream coach. I started a coaching
business. I created a website. I even wrote a book. Because of this dream, I
found the courage to be comfortable with myself. Indeed, the very act of
writing this would have been unthinkable if I were still living behind the
codpiece.
Life Changes
Elaine Drew
 Chapter 5

Conflict Resolution
Robert Gongloff
Conflict is the emotional impact of the opposing impulses, desires, or
tendencies we face internally each day. These opposing forces form the
underlying motivations or subject matter of our conflicts. These forces can be
recognized as thematic repre sen tations we live out in our dream lives and
waking lives. My primary interest and emphasis in working with dreams has
been to look for these themes being presented to the dreamer. I start by
looking at the dream as a story and attempt to determine the basic activity
displayed by the characters. The theme is the underlying motivation or issue
being dealt with by the primary players in the drama. It often represents a
pattern of behavior that may be represented by the dreamer in waking life.
This concept of themes is a departure from many in the dream
community who identify them as specific types of dream activity, such as
being naked in public, or flying, or missing the boat. I attempt to determine
the deeper issue being represented by these activities. For instance, dreaming
of being naked in public (or being well-dressed) may deal with one’s
perception of how he or she looks or appears in the world. This is more likely
something a person would face in waking life, since the likelihood of actually
being caught naked is not something that frequently occurs to someone. The
underlying issue being brought to waking consciousness by the dream may
relate to one’s expectations about being accepted by others or may suggest
vulnerability to being criticized.
While researching themes, I was tempted to inquire about something I
had heard many years ago — that there is a finite number of plots in literature
and film. I thought I had heard there were just 10. I was surprised to learn
that there are many versions of this. Suggested “finite” numbers included
three, seven, 20, and 37. The most intriguing thought was presented by
William Foster-Harris1, a former professor of journalism at the University of
Oklahoma. Foster-Harris claimed that all plots stem from one thing —
conflict.
We live in a world of polarities — love/hate, optimism/ pessimism, and
safety/vulnerability. We normally don’t have to face the extremes of these
conflicts, but in therapy situations we may see clients who only see the
extremes — “my world is coming to an end because ‘my spouse left me’ or ‘I
lost my job,’ or … (fill in the blank).” It is the job of the therapist to help the
client see that the extremes are not the only possibilities, but that there are
ways to achieve balance in one’s life. I consider our conflicts and their
inherent polarities to be gifts that motivate us to continually seek harmony
and balance. Helping one achieve harmony and balance in life is a primary
function of the therapist or counselor — and, I believe, is a major function of
our dreams as well.
Dreams have helped me see the other possibilities when only the
extremes seem likely. They have helped me make the changes in my life that
have led to greater degrees of balance. In one example, earlier in my life, I
was facing a conflict of will. I know that I have a tendency to put things off
and ignore the fact that I am not doing what is best for myself. Fortunately, I
had a dream that showed me a possible future and presented options for me to
make a change if I chose.
About two years after finishing college, I was forced to join the Air
Force to avoid being drafted into the Army. I knew all along that I was too
much of an independent thinker to make a career of the military. I must admit
that I did meet some great people and got to see some of the world, but it was
really not for me. This was definitely pointed out to me in a dream I had after
a number of years of service.
In this dream, I am wandering around in a sewer. It is very dark and
dirty. I see a ladder attached to the cement wall on the far side of the area I
am in. I climb it. At the top, I open the round manhole cover. I look out to see
a wide expanse of green fields. The sun is shining brightly. Off in the
distance, on a low rise, is an enormous white building that I know is a school.
The extremes I was being faced with, and perhaps ignoring consciously,
were clearly reflected in this dream: darkness and light, wandering aimlessly,
versus being given an opportunity to improve myself.
That dream was a major wake-up call to me to get moving and find
another line of work. After I got out of the Air Force, I was fortunate to find
several positions that involved developing computer programs. My thought at
the time was, “Where has this been all of my life?” I’m not sure I would have
found that enjoyable work without being motivated to climb up out of the
sewer and make my way to “school.”
In this chapter, I will introduce you to five people who have faced
conflict in their lives and have had dreams that helped lead them to greater
degrees of balance. You will meet Kelly, who resolved her conflict
concerning lack of nurturing by rediscovering her passions and living them.
Marjorie was conflicted about whether dreams would serve her better than
her professional work until dreams came and awakened her to their value.
Once conflicted about how she appeared to others, Regina, through a dream,
learned to accept herself and find joy in her identity. Don’s dream showed
her that she got angry because of her inner conflict of seeing to others’ needs
to the exclusion of her own.

The Dream that Taught Me to Roar

Kelly McGannon
Our dreaming psyche knows who we really are inside. It knows our
true potential; breaks the chains we bind ourselves in by
challenging us when we feel unsure of ourselves. Here, Kelly
shows her “lion within” can take on her conflicted situation head on
and prevail, leading her to embrace her inner passions and have the
courage to live them.
Several years ago, a powerful lion visited me in the dreamtime: A tiger
is attacking a regal-looking lion. They are rolling around on the ground, and
the tiger is slashing ferociously at the lion’s flank and muscles. The lion
seems unalarmed. Even though it gets bloody, it remains in control of the
situation. I decide I should get out of here, as I don’t want to be the next thing
the tiger attacks. When I look back at the scene, I notice that the tiger is gone.
The lion now sits before me, gazing into me as if it sees everything. I feel like
it is disappointed in me somehow. I can’t bear this, so I turn and run away
from it. As I run, I see a man and a woman standing in the distance, and I yell
out to them, “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” I don’t know if the lion or tiger are
behind me, and I am afraid I may have brought them with me into the wider
world.
I wake with a tremendous amount of energy coursing through my system
and a desire to unlock the dream and understand its full message.
This enigmatic dream changed the course of my life in an unexpected
but remarkable way. By snapping me awake at 3:30 a.m., it also jolted me
awake in my waking life. In 2009, I was working in a job I didn’t love and
was in a relationship with a man who, while loving, wasn’t very nourishing to
my heart space. I wanted to build a life with someone, which did not align
well with his desire to return to war zones and fight terrorism overseas. I felt
as if I were moving further and further away from my interior life. The poetry
I had been writing daily suddenly dried up. I fell into a depressed state. Even
nature, a longtime comforter and equalizer, felt foreign and unhelpful. I felt
out of the flow, out of sync, and stuck in life. It was a trip through my dark
night of the soul.
More importantly, the dream’s energy would not leave me alone. It
nagged. It nudged. It lingered. It found me during my commutes through
winding Washington, D.C., traffic. It replayed while I was in the shower and
washed the dishes. It became clear that it wasn’t going to flee me as I had
fled it. I would have to find a way to re-enter its space and dig into its lesson.
At the time, I had not done much research on dreams, although I had been
recording my dreams since 1999. I tried working its images myself but felt
frustrated, as if I had been invited into a world that I could no longer access. I
now knew intimately what the Pevensie children in The Chronicles of Narnia
must have felt as they attempted again and again to return to Narnia.
Undeterred, I dug into research and discovered a Jungian analyst living
just a few miles away. I called her up and asked if I could come speak with
her about this dream of mine. She graciously agreed, and so began a beautiful
journey of self-individuation and discovery. Attempting to understand this
dream led me down the rabbit hole and into the worlds of Jung and Joseph
Campbell. I committed to daily dreamwork and through another series of
dreams was led to Rita Dwyer, who was then living in the same town of
Vienna, Virginia. She invited me to attend a local dream group she was
hosting the following weekend, which I attended. There, I met an amazing
group of women who meet weekly to work their dreams together. I was
invited into their circle and now count them as some of my biggest teachers
and closest friends.
The concentric circles stemming from this dream continued to emerge. I
took up tango and Bodran, Irish drum lessons. I broke up with my boyfriend,
found a new job, moved into an apartment that better suited my desire to live
closer to nature, and felt joy return. I traveled to New York City and explored
intuition and shamanism. Exploring these worlds, which mirrored the images
and prodding in the dreamtime, opened up space for me to return more fully
to my spiritual path — one that I had let go of after graduating from Yale
Divinity School in 2002. I apprenticed with healers from around the world
and opened up a healing practice that is thriving today. I feel full and rich in
many ways and know the dream was a beckoning to return to my creative,
soul life. I still replay the dream often, marveling at new layers and nuances
that emerge. I giggle with delight when the Universe sends synchronicities
my way, like lion cards in the mail or gifts of lion T-shirts for no reason from
clients and friends. The dream, while still not fully understood, brought me
back to life and opened up my life in unexpected but deeply fulfilling ways. It
taught me to open my voice and offer something other than an apology to
life. It taught me to roar.

The Dream that Taught Me to Paint Red Roses

Marjorie Miles
Sometimes dreams take a direct approach in guiding the dreamer
through a conflicted situation. In Marjorie’s dream, the inner voice
urges her to “take a leap of faith,” then the creative power of her
dreams literally teaches her how to paint a rose — and therefore
embrace her own inner creativity.
 One day while thumbing through the pages of a tattered notebook, I was
startled to read something I had written down in 1989. I discovered an old
dream. The dream predicted that I would become a professional
dreamworker!
I wasn’t always passionate about dreams. Over the years, I had scribbled
down a few of the fleeting dream stories that I recalled upon waking.
However, these nighttime adventures remained unread, eventually forgotten
in dusty notebooks. As a psychology professor, I recognized that the
dreaming mind offered fertile soil for exploration, but as a busy professional,
I felt that my time was too valuable to spend on dreamwork. That was about
to change.
While I enjoyed teaching a variety of courses throughout my career, I
was particularly fascinated with the classes that explored altered states of
consciousness and the ever-changing balance between the conscious mind
and unconscious activity. As a result of wanting to inhabit a larger part of my
own consciousness, I pursued and completed a doctorate in clinical
hypnotherapy. Subsequently, I enrolled in a Spiritual Counselor Certification
Program. On the first night of the class, the instructor advised, “Pay attention
to your dreams.” So I began keeping a nightly dream journal. Surprisingly, I
captured dreams that had previously eluded me, and I discovered that every
dream was like a symbolic newspaper waiting for me at my intuitive door to
be decoded and integrated into my life.
I loved working with dreams, and teaching my own students how to use
both their sleep dreams and daydreams as an intuitive guide and problem-
solver. Additionally, I wrote creative visualization scripts for “guided” dream
journeys to assist dreamers in discovering answers to questions they posed
before going to sleep at bedtime. During the same time, dreams were
becoming more exciting to me, but academia was becoming less satisfying.
When my administrative obligations suddenly increased, I knew that I needed
a change. Something not yet formed beckoned me — just out of reach. I was
stuck, but I was also frightened of the unknown.
One morning, I awakened to the remnants of a dream where I had heard
the words “Let go and take a leap of faith.” I agonized about this next step,
but I summoned enough courage to reduce my hours at school and become a
part-time faculty member. Despite my growing fears, I had begun the process
of relinquishing the security of a regular paycheck. Exactly as my dream had
envisioned in 1989, I resigned my professorship.
The year was 2003, and it was time to follow my dreams. Amazingly,
the right people at just the right time began showing up in my life to support
my career transition. I also continued to find inner guidance through
dreamwork. On several different nights, I dreamed messages from Oprah
Winfrey. In those dreams, she helped me to prepare for the invitations that I
would be receiving to appear as a dream expert on radio and television shows
and even in a film documentary with director Wes Craven. As I delved
deeper into the world of dreams, the doors to my inner muse opened widely,
revealing stimulating images, thoughts, and feelings. Through dreamwork
processes, I discovered creative impulses that pushed me toward greater self-
expression. Sometimes these powerful dream messages defied words. They
could only be expressed in a drawing, or a poem, or something new.
Over several weeks, a recurring reverie kept intruding into my thoughts.
It continuously urged me to create a painting — specifically with watercolors.
Unable to ignore this missive any longer, I finally contacted a friend for some
basic art instruction. As a result, I spent a lovely, soul-nourishing day playing
with water, brushes, and color. That night, I experienced a wonderfully
validating sleep dream: I am learning how to paint a rose. I see an image of a
huge hand above my head showing me how to move a paintbrush by twisting
and turning its wrist and using differing amounts of pressure to create red
roses.
After I awoke, I just had to play with this technique. So I simply
followed my dream’s instructions. Using different types of wrist flicks, hand
movements and circular sweeps, I dipped my brush into the paint and
watched as the colors danced and spread on the wet surface. Moments later, I
was delighted with what had emerged on my water-dipped paper. It was a
cluster of red roses.
The route to my dreams has been long and circuitous. At times I became
lost. Now as I continue on my journey, I rely on my “dreaming mind’s
internal guidance system” to arrive safely home.
 The Dress I’d Never Choose
Regina
Dreams often resolve our conflicts by presenting us with something
totally opposite to our waking beliefs and views, and rewarding us
when we accept it. Here, Regina is given the opportunity to delight
in wearing a dress she would never choose.
In the dream I am riding a bus through the London dusk, returning from
a conference or class. A handsome young man with a kind face smiles at me
before he steps off, agile and light-footed into the night while I worry for him
— the bus is still moving. Shadowy trees and tall, white embassies pass by.
But he is fine. Young women nearby are talking about him — how he is soon
to be married. When my own stop comes, I move toward the door and find a
surprise — a large, bright box that he’s left for me. The wrapping paper
beams sunny yellow, red, and orange. When I open the gift I find a dress
inside, a sleeveless dress I’d never choose, of frothy pink and violet voile,
fitted at the waist, flared at the hips. A cocktail, or diva dress, that light
cliché-pink of a young girl’s childhood that always seemed too sweet and
prescribed. Yet, I try on the dress I’d never choose and discover that it fits.
It’s lovely and soft and shows my arms that I’ve always felt too large. But the
young man, now old and white, emerges from a door to the left of the driver,
smiles at me, and says, “You look wonderful!” The bodice of the dress has a
becoming V-neckline and chevron layers of violet and pink on the bodice.
“How did you know my size?” I ask, and he answers, “I measured the
armhole of the sweater you left on the seat.” And though I don’t understand,
I’m inexplicably happy.
When I wake, I recall a fresh joy — the news that my daughter is
pregnant. I also recall what my difficult Roman mother told me: Violet is the
color of mourning. My niece, whose brother just died, will soon have a baby
girl — new life and death entwining us all. I consider how arms enfold. How
I’ve always felt embarrassed by my sturdy arms, not thin and graceful, how I
hide them. And now I present them in all their beauty a measure of the whole,
arms that reach out for delight and also give solace. The dress I’d never
choose is in fact the very one I address, learning pink anew, as well as the
violet, wearing my life even now in old age, from beginning to end, layers
and layers of womanly body. Here is the dress I choose.

The Dream that Taught Me to Say ‘No’

Don
Dreams help resolve conflict with the aid of the wise, guiding hand
of the unconscious. When our dreaming selves reject that guidance,
the dream may give us the opportunity to experience the frustration
this brings until we realize it is our own misconceptions that have
left us stuck. Don’s dream provides the guidance to hold back and
say “no.”
Prior to this dream I was having a very difficult time controlling my
anger: I am walking quickly up a dark staircase, then someone forcefully
grabs my arm. I look behind me and am immediately frightened when I don’t
see anyone when I can still feel a strong hand holding me back. I start to
realize that I am dreaming and pull my arm away. Suddenly, the dream
changes. I am waiting on my mother and father to get dressed because they
want to go to church with me. They are taking a long time, but I continue to
wait. I am getting more and more angry as I wait. We all finally get into the
car together, but I am very angry because I know I have missed most of the
church service. (Note that I am not currently attending any church in my
waking life, and my mother is chronically late everywhere she goes).
When I awake, it occurs to me instantly that I get angry because I’m
saying yes to people when I really want to say no. If I had the courage to be
straightforward with people about things I don’t want to do, I would not get
angry. I felt so strongly about what the dream was telling me that I told my
husband I was going to try it out.
That same week, a co-worker/friend asked me to drive what would have
amounted to eight hours round trip to pick up her old car from a dealership. I
was very tired that week because I work a full-time job and volunteer part
time during the week. Normally, I would have done that for her but been
enraged all day for the inconvenience. Instead, I politely told her that I was
very tired this week, so I wouldn’t be able to help. I thought I would feel
guilty, but instead I felt good. I didn’t overextend myself, so I didn’t get
angry. I have continued to be direct with my family, friends, and co-workers
about things I should be saying no about. I feel this dream has changed my
life for the better.
 Chapter 6

Love and Relationships

Kelly Sullivan Walden
No matter who we are, our love lives are as a mixed bag of sorrow and
joy. We all have waking experiences as well as dreams that take us to the
moon and beyond, as well as those that send us hurling headlong into the
bowels of our own underworld. Because of our human imperative to mate
and relate I believe our relationship dreams are among the most important
types of dreams we have. Not only do our nocturnal sojourns reunite us with
departed beloveds, give us a backstage pass to whirlwind romances with
celebrities, overwhelm us with love-triangles with people – who in waking
reality we wouldn’t touch with a 10,000 foot pole – but they also help us
learn from past mistakes and heal the unthinkable pain of unrequited love. As
in my own dream saga that started when I was eleven years old.

Play Ball
Staring dreamily up at the soft swish of my pink canapé bed draped
cocoon-like over my head, I am reminiscing again and again about having
just kissed a boy. And not just any boy…the cutest boy in Junior High! He
had brown wavy hair, sparkling brown eyes with yellow flecks, a crooked
smile, and a rock star swagger that weakened my knees. I have an actual
boyfriend! I can’t believe it!!! He asked me to be his girlfriend!
I plant a hot, steamy kiss goodbye through layers of bubblegum lip-gloss
on my Andy Gibb poster: “Sorry Andy, he’s waaaaaaay cuter than even
you!” For the first time, my body was on fire…I felt alive…totally,
thoroughly, and absolutely, head over heels in LOVE! I’d never felt anything
like it. Everything sparkled…my body was alight with ten thousand fireworks
and nothing could wipe the smile from my face – until the phone rang a few
months later.
It was the love of my life (or so I thought) mumbling to me in a rushed
voice that he couldn’t be my boyfriend anymore as he hung up the phone.
Just like that, I went from hero to zero, like someone dumped a bucket of ice
water over my head; a stunned, wounded-animal-sound sputtered out of my
mouth, “Whhhhhyyyyy?”
THUD.
My heart fell out of my body from a thousand-story building and
CRASHED on the pavement below into dust. I couldn’t breathe…it took all
my strength to stumble to the bathroom, lock the door, and curl into the fetal
position on the cold linoleum and wail for an inconsolable night.
When I finally fell asleep that night I dreamed: I am at school, running
up to him, begging him to take me back…pleading with him. When that
doesn’t work, I angrily demand an explanation, to which he shrugs me off,
laughing, making fun of me for creating such a spectacle. I am humiliated,
heartbroken, desperate, and a fool who had been cast out (not a good thing
for a young girl’s fragile self-confidence).
When I actually (in waking reality) showed up to school the next day
with the wisdom of my dream tucked neatly in the back pocket of my
skintight Jordache jeans, I felt the clear marching orders of what NOT to do.
In spite of the fact that I was shaking like an epileptic on the inside, on the
outside a new persona was born: the cool girl.
I had no idea how I pulled this off, but I found the mask – actually, the
mask found me. I numbly walked through the halls of the outdoor, California
middle school, flipping my long, blonde feathered hair back and forth, as if I
could care less whether a certain ridiculous boy liked me or not! Ha!
No one noticed that my smile was no longer bursting naturally from an
authentic inner glow, but instead it had become like the work of a skillful
plastic surgeon hiding my fractured soul. Where did this cavalier persona
come from? How did she know to bind and gag the real me in a basement
within myself ten-floors deep?

Cut to fifteen years later.

 After having been called the “Ice Queen” (apparently I’d graduated from
“cool” to “ice” like, my idol, Michelle Pfeifer’s character in Scarface) for the
umpteenth time by every guy I dated, a friend suggested I join her at a 12-
Step Program. Despite my reluctance, I had to admit that I was the common
denominator in all my tragic romances. So, I took her up on it, and began the
process of uncovering, discovering, and discarding this wretched mask that
had once preserved me…that had taken on a Frankenstein-ian life of its own
(sorry Michelle Pfeifer, it’s time to go).
The unraveling process is never easy, but ultimately there is no process
more worthwhile. As I began to take my spiritual life seriously, my mask
began to melt. As a consequence, I began to have recurring dreams that took
me back to the scene of the crime. These dreams would include a variety of
scenarios with the boy who stole my heart so many years before, being aloof
and rejecting while I was tried desperately to get his attention.
Let’s just pause here for a moment. Yes, I acknowledge this might seem
like a fluffy, silly inconsequential, and dare I say young relationship, hardly
worth writing about compared to stories of people who have been married for
decades and have lost loved ones to death, drugs, or betrayal exciting enough
for the makings of a John Grisham novel. I’ve experienced all of the above
(and some more than once), but I decided to go back to the beginning,
because for me (and dare I say, most of us), as the song says, “The first cut is
the deepest.”
If recurring dreams are a litmus test, among other things, of our soul
recovery, growth, and healing then my dreams that have persisted for 36
years after the incident show me where I come full circle. In fact, in the last
dream I had about this boy: Instead of him coldly rejecting me, we are in
baseball diamond. This time he seeks me out. He brings his forehead to mine,
and transmits the most beautiful, healing, love energy to me . . . and once and
for all, I feel at peace.
I interpreted this dream as a message that my “inner ex-boyfriend” and I
were no longer on opposite teams that I am moving toward a soul recovery
grand slam, or at the very least, a dream healing homerun.
I can honestly say that my recurring dreams (not just about my first love,
but all the others) have done their job. Nowadays, instead of people referring
to me as the “ice queen” or “cool girl” my husband (a.k.a. the love of my life,
who I’ve been married to for the past fourteen years) marvels at what a big
kid I am. My dreams and dreamwork have helped me recover my innocence,
sensuality, wackiness, and ability to trust people, life, and most importantly –
trust myself.
In fact, because of the bizarre healing I’ve received through dreamwork
I know that regardless of the ups and downs in life, love, and relationships,
life is fundamentally good (even great) and absolutely worth living…even
when the love is unrequited.
This is one of the many reasons why I am gratefully devoted to dream
work and feel passionate about sharing the transformational dreams laid out
before you here in this book. I hope you enjoy them, and take heart in
knowing that even if you strike out in the game of love, refrain from hiding
out in the bleachers, but instead get out there on the field and play ball!

I Married My Mugger
Vanessa Poster
…. and he leaned toward me and kissed me.
Morgan was a gentleman. He held the door open for anyone. He was a
feminist with a smoldering masculinity who made breakfast, and brewed my
tea for me every morning – exactly the way I like it. He once saved a
woman’s life by running to her rescue and cutting the strap of her purse, with
which an attacker had been strangling her.
He died from throat cancer. After seven months of agonizing treatments,
he learned the cancer had not been defeated, followed by six weeks of saying
goodbye with grace and dignity. Every single night of this process, even as
his conscious brain left his body, we shared a gratitude prayer, listing what
we appreciated and asking god for blessings on our friends, ourselves, and
the world.
We were together eight years: a second marriage for both of us. On our
first date I learned that for many years of his life, Morgan co-taught a class in
women’s self-defense called, “Model Mugging.” What’s different about this
kind of self-defense is that the “mugger” is outfitted in a fully padded suit,
with a helmet. The fighting is full contact, no holding back punches. What
the body learns in this type of adrenalized state, it can remember in an
adrenalized state, such as a real rape situation. Morgan taught the class, took
a men’s version of the class, and taught other men how to be in the mugger
suit.
I knew I loved him in the moment he told me about being a mugger.
Eleven years before he was ever involved with Model Mugging, I had taken
the class. I am an only child. Before that, I had never hit another human being
in my life! That class empowered me, a 4’11” woman, to walk with so much
power in the world that I have yet to be threatened in any sort of real
mugging situation, except of course when cancer stole my love from me.
It took Morgan four months after that first date to realize he loved me.
He was driving and thought, “Oh, I can’t wait to tell Vanessa about what
happened today,” and that was his clue that I was in his soul. The first
question he asked after his passionate, “I love you,” was, “So, how do you
want to die?” For him, love means that you are responsible for making sure
your loved one’s wishes are respected. He was very clear: if he couldn’t wipe
his own ass, he wanted to die.
It’s been three months since he died, and I talk to him all the time. I feel
his arms around me in the shower and in my sleep. He smiles at me from his
pictures around the house. I miss him in the way you miss someone when
they are away on a trip. I want him to talk to me for real, not just in my head,
touch me for real, not just in my imagination. But he’s not here. He’s over the
horizon somewhere that doesn’t have cell phones or email.
I met Kelly Sullivan Walden a few weeks ago at a Dream Circle. I
barely spoke during the circle. I was busy being pummeled by emotions.
After the workshop ended, I spoke to Kelly and told her I was upset that my
dead husband hadn’t yet visited me in a dream. After all, I’m the type that
people visit in dreams after they pass. In fact, less than a week after my best
friend died of diabetes (more than twenty years ago), she came to me in a
dream showing me how glowing, healthy, and pain free she was now on the
other side. So, why hadn’t Morgan come to me? I wanted him to so badly.
Kelly cried with me and asked: what would I want the dream to be?
 I said that he would be waiting for me at the top of the stairs with the
dog when I came home. So simple. She comforted me by saying that I wasn’t
remembering all my dreams; he may have actually come to me already. And,
if not, he would come in his own time. Since I was communicating with him
all the time, it may be that he didn’t need to come to me in a dream.
She asked me what simple action I would take as a result of our
conversation, and I said I would start a dream declaration: “When I wake up,
I vividly remember my dreams.” Within a week Morgan came to me: a
healthy, handsome Morgan:
We are in an auditorium, sitting by the aisle of the first row and holding
hands. It is a ceremony honoring Model Muggers. The place is packed with
muggers and women who’d taken the class. I turn to him and say, “I married
my mugger.” And he leans toward me and kisses me.
The opening line of our gratitude prayer is: “Father-Mother God, how
great thou art, how infinite, how wonderful.” Now that Morgan is gone, he
has joined the infinite nature of god. I believe that god is what quarks are
made of. God is in everything…and Morgan, now, is in everything. Cancer
did not mug me in a dark alley and take away anything. I married my
mugger. I joined with him forever in a commitment that contains all and is all
and is good. And, now, Morgan is in me in a way more real than his physical
presence, he is in my every quark.

The Key
Joan Gelfand
The fourth time is a charm…
The first key dream was not what I wanted. Frank and I had been
together for a few years, and I was sure that after my divorce, Frank was “the
one.” He’d been a friend of my ex, Darrell, and had always been part of our
small family. I had this dream: Frank meets me in People’s Park – a popular
Berkeley hangout spot with hippies and homeless people – to hand over the
key to his apartment. I don’t take it.
A few years after that dream, Frank announced, out of the blue, that he
had fallen in love with a woman at the office! I was devastated. In the six
years that we had been together we had bought a new house in the Berkeley
Hills, had gotten married, and were living an enviably wonderful life with
two blossoming careers. I’d had another child and was as happy as I had ever
been – I thought.
Frank and I dismantled our lives, sold the house, and separated our
finances. I moved back to my old house that I had rented out when we moved
up into the hills. It was a difficult transition, but the saving grace was that
Frank was more than happy to accept partial custody – he wanted to raise the
child we had had together with his new love. Two years later: I dream that
my ex – now back in the picture as a sort of savior – hands me a key. I don’t
accept that one either. “It’s too short,” I tell him.
That dream helped to settle the uncertainty I had been harboring that we
should get back together.
A couple of years passed as my daughter, Sherrill, her younger sister,
and I re-built our lives. Sherrill was happy in school; the baby was in full
time day-care, and my career as a corporate space planner working with
architects and designers was taking off in wonderful and exciting directions. I
was promoted to Business Development Manager, overseeing key company
accounts. I was happy again.
I loved my children, and my work, and my funky, 1920’s Berkeley
home, but still longed for a partner. Always in a relationship, I now felt
incomplete and lonely for adult companionship. Over the next two years on
my own, I dated a string of unappealing men who had no interest in my
children. That was a deal breaker! I never even took the time to divulge that
‘love me, love my children’ was my line in the sand. After numerous
misbegotten dates, I berated myself for wasting precious time. I dated men on
the days that Frank had the children – days I should have been paying my
bills, fixing up my house or anything other than wasting hours on
disappointing men!
About the time, Sherrill was eleven, and the baby was four, I abandoned
all hope of meeting anyone – at least not while I was raising children. I came
to a place of inner peace after a meeting with a financial planner. I was doing
well financially, I was happy at work. I loved my life! I owned my own
home, and had two wonderful children. I had friends and family. I would
learn to live with what I had and stop wishing for what I didn’t have.
Soon after the meeting with the financial planner, I met Art. Art was the
man I had always dreamed of, but had given up hope of ever meeting. A
successful Tech professional, he was divorced with two children close to
Sherrill’s age. He loved to read, he was an oenophile and gourmet cook but
best of all, he loved my children! He was the most generous, loving man I
could have ever conjured up.
The third key dream came after Art and I were together for three years –
right before we were married: Art is digging in the dirt, searching for a key.
Huh!
About a year later, I decided to change jobs. After eight years on the job,
I had done everything I had set out to do. I was ready to commit to becoming
a full time writer. I had two degrees in Creative Writing, had published
poems and articles in journals and papers and was now ready to go for it. I
hired Jane, a life coach, who relied on her skills as a trainer, a therapist, and
an intuitive. One day, after my second collection of poetry was published,
Jane said: “Joan, I searched up and down Union Street for a gift for you. I
looked at everything – crystals, jewelry. Nothing resonated. Then my phone
rang. I dropped it, and when I got up this Key fell off the shelf.”
“A key! Jane you won’t believe this!” I was shaking.
I told Jane the three key dreams. And in that moment, I realized what the
key dreams were telling me! A partner or lover, no matter how dear, cannot
hold the key to me. The key is about my work; my real work of poetry and
writing.
After that pivotal meeting with Jane, I was gifted with a fourth key
dream: I am hiding a key for Sherrill. I show her best friend, Crystal, where
the key is secretly hidden – on top of my rear car tire. “Make sure you tell
Sherrill where the key is,” I instruct Crystal.
I told Sherrill about the key dream. “For me, the key is about my work
and my creative ambitions. “I’ve hidden it away for you.” Even at twenty-
four, I’m not sure that Sherrill really understood, but hopefully in time she
will. Without the key dreams, I’m not sure I would ever have accepted that
my life’s true path, the key to me, as you will, is not about my partners, or
marriage, but about my work, my true passion, and about passing my wisdom
down to my children, the next generation.

Future Souls
Marlene King
I know I will leave with one of them.
My husband and I had just moved to a new state due to a job relocation.
We had been having marital problems but I felt like we could have a fresh
beginning. Unfortunately old problems moved with us. My hope for the
relationship did not materialize, so I kept busy with creative classes indulging
in my love of art and writing– and dreams.
At the start of a jewelry making class, I happened to sit next to a woman
who I learned had attended the same Mid-west College as my husband, so we
struck up a casual friendship. Several weeks into the course, I noticed she
was physically transformed and her attitude was bright and different – she'd
lost weight, her clothes were more stylish and professional and she was
animated with a new energy. Intrigued, I commented on her positive changes.
More than happy to share her discovery of self-improvement, she invited me
to a human potential guest event in a large city about 100 miles from our
quiet suburb, so I could see for myself.
We went, I was impressed, and I was sold – I wanted “the training.”
Unfortunately, the next one offered started on my husband’s birthday, and
knew this would not be a good choice given our difficulties, so I reluctantly
signed up for the next available one, which was at the start of a new year. The
holidays came and went, and I was excited as the training date drew closer.
A week before the event, I had the following dream: I am in between two
monks who escort me to the edge of a precipice that overlooks “the
universe.” I see people sleeping, looking like slivers of cloud – layers that
stretch into infinity. I turn to each of the monks and ask them what the clouds
are. One answers, “Future souls.” One monk is blonde, the other a redhead.
I don’t know who they are, but I know I will leave with one of them.
The event was held in a vintage hotel downtown; it was a stretch for me
as I did not know one soul in the big city, and the commute each evening in
winter weather was a challenge as it took almost two hours each way. After
arriving at the hotel that first night, I began to wonder what I was getting
myself into – but fear quickly vanished as I was warmly welcomed at check-
in and directed into the training room. I was astonished at the sea of chairs
and people – at least 250 crowded the event hall, and the energy was
palpable. Soon the trainers took the stage, and the experience that changed
my life began.
About mid-evening, we formed a circle within a circle and one moved
clockwise, the other counterclockwise when the music played – sort of a
musical chairs idea. When the music stopped, we were to break the circles
and engage in a dyad with the person who stood opposite. I enjoyed the
process and with one dyad under my belt, we re-formed the circles and the
music resumed and we began the slow rotations. This time when the music
stopped, I looked across the circle and recognized the man who stood before
me as the blonde monk in my dream! And, I somehow “knew” he was my
future husband!
I was trembling, but I couldn’t tell him what had just happened – that I
had seen him in a dream just the week before and that I knew we were to be
together! During the dyad exercise, it was literally as if we had known each
other from another place and time. I somehow got through it, and moved on
to do another round of circles, shaken, transported by the surreal experience –
I had just kept an appointment with destiny.
After the stressful process of divorce, several months later I used my
new-found tools of self-confidence and belief and relocated to that big city to
start a fresh life, trusting I would find my way. Eventually, my “not-yet-
husband” and I began dating, and he shared a page from his journal. Before
that training, he had outlined what he wanted in a partner which described me
perfectly – he even drew a sketch that looked like me! I fit every nuance of
what he envisioned on paper! As I was recognizing him, he was recognizing
me! Not only that, but he, too, had been scheduled to attend the earlier
training, but cancelled due to work conflicts and signed up for the January
session as the next option.
Now 37 years of marriage later, we have shared some of life’s greatest
joys and adventures and manifestations of amazing dreams. Are there
precognitive dreams? I’d say a resounding “yes”! The cosmic maneuvering
of the chess pieces in the game of life arranged the series of decisions, shifts
in schedules, and events to happen in perfect order, so I could meet the man
of my dreams!

Cobwebs
Gari Hart
As Gary was to learn, dreams can put our most emotionally
important relationships into a new perspective.
In my dream, I wake up on the living room couch of an apartment I rent
with my girlfriend. She is the most important and influential person in my life.
We’ve been talking about eventually getting married and having children. I
realize she’s not home; I’m alone. There is a sepia tone all over. Cobwebs
cover everything: the furniture, the walls, the lights, and even me. I feel
regret for the careless and inattentive direction I’ve taken the relationship
with my girlfriend. She has not been happy with me lately. I feel empty, and
regret the aimless and careless approach I’ve taken toward my relationship. I
can tell she’s slipping away. I lay my head back down and think about how
I’m going to try harder, and how I will not lose this relationship. I resolve to
sweep her up in my arms and tell her how much I love her and want our
relationship to work.
When I woke, I became aware this girlfriend, and I had separated years
before. At that moment, I became cognizant of how vacant and twisted I let
myself become in those years without her. I reflected on how, after moving in
with her, because of my neglect, the relationship started to nosedive. Even
though it was upsetting when, after a year of sharing an apartment, we went
our separate ways, I thought I’d be ok as I moved on and got over her …… I
was wrong.
Once it dawned on me that we would never get back together I felt
directionless and that I could no longer trust anyone again…most especially
myself. My life over the next four years was a blur of alcoholism and illicit
drug use, detached and failed relationships, gloom, apathy, and a desire for
deconstruction of everything in sight. I thrived on picking things and people
apart and I felt justified in the destructive behavior I inflicted on myself and
others.
Immediately after that dream, although so many years had passed since
our breakup, it was like a light was turned on in a dark room. I realized that I
never moved on from the break up and I was pining over something in the
past I could not repair. The dream had switched on a notion in me, which
revealed all my self-doubts and self-destruction was the result of my not
moving on.
I became crystal clear that my cycle of destruction would only end when
I changed direction, looking ahead instead of backwards. Because of this
dream I began to get back to my self (who I was before the relationship), I
refreshed my image of myself, and soon began to be confident and relaxed
again. I’ve changed my lifestyle, have positive people in my life, embrace
new experiences, and approach each day with optimism instead of disdain.

My Cottage in the Rocky Mountains

Yvonne Gonzalez-Baez
Somewhere in time!

One Sunday night of March 2006, I dream: I am standing in front of a

lake with a huge smile on my face; a smile that radiates confidence, bliss,
and a sense of auto-realization. About fifty feet behind me is a lovely cottage.
A bearded man, with hair down to his shoulders, comes out of the cottage
and approaches me with two mugs of hot tea: one for me and one for him. He
hugs me while we watch the beautiful mountains, the lake and the deep blue
sky. A soft breeze embraces us as we enjoy the moment with satisfaction and
peace. I sense that we are soul partners and that we are happily together. We
both have loved and been loved; have kept healthy; have raised our children
to become happy, assertive beings; and have made a difference in this world
by helping many people acquire a more spiritual, enriching existence. I have
more grey hairs and wrinkles than I currently do – which makes me think that
what I’m experiencing is taking place sometime in the future, and that the
path to get there will be somewhat hard at first, but will have its rewards. I
intuitively know this because my authentic inner self seems to shine. My
beauty comes more from within, from the certainty that I have accomplished
my life’s purpose.
When I come out of the dream, I somehow know that this vision had
taken place in Canada. At that time, though, I was living in my homeland –
Mexico – and was far from happy and peaceful. My husband and I were
almost strangers living under the same roof, struggling with financial issues. I
was also living in constant fear of something happening to our daughter,
realizing how crime was rising in my beloved country. I wanted a better life;
one where we could prosper, find peace of mind, and a safer environment for
me and my daughter. After the vision I knew exactly what I had to do: move
to Canada.
About three months prior, I had received an email from a Canadian
immigrant agency inviting me to apply for a Permanent Resident visa. It
seemed like spam at the time, so I still don’t know why I didn’t delete the
message. The next morning I found the email, immediately replied and by the
end of that day I had been contacted by the agency and had started the
process to becoming Canadian residents. Once we got our Permanent
Residents visas we set our departure date for the 10th of September. So the
9th of the 9th month of 2009 – a very spiritual date – was my last day in my
beloved country of origin. I was ready to take the next step towards my
vision!
My husband had been originally supportive when I told him the plan;
but, as time went by, he became more focused on his work and personal
career, and had begun to ignore my efforts on finding a place to live or what
to do when moving to Canada. This brought us even further apart.
Eventually, after bringing us to Canada, he actually went back to Mexico and
it took him more than a year to make up his mind and join us.
 We now live in Calgary, Alberta, very close to the Rocky Mountains and
to beautiful lakes, like the ones I saw on my vision. Indeed, it hasn’t always
been easy, but I have stayed faithful to my vision, and our lives have
significantly changed for the better: My husband works at a rewarding
company, one that leaves him time to spend with our daughter and me. He
also has more time to play Squash – a sport he always liked – and enjoys
being the leader of the team, and a Board Member of the Squash Association
in Alberta. Our daughter lives a very happy and safe life here, without my
constant fear of her being kidnapped, and is one of the top high school
students enjoying opportunities she would have never had, should we had
stayed in Mexico! As for me, I have been invited to several events as a public
speaker, am providing meditation and visualization sessions and spiritual
guidance to those feeling a sense of emptiness in their lives, and am working
as a special education assistant, helping students with learning and/or
physical challenges.
Are these all steps toward that vision in my dream? No doubt about it!
Although not totally manifested, our entire lives have been changed for the
best, due to the dream vision I continue to follow.

My Life Had Other Plans for Me

Monique
“It felt so good! IT FEELS SO GOOD!”

I was married, happily married, until I found out one evening coming
back home from a business meeting that my husband was having an affair
with a woman I knew. I was shocked. I felt that the rug had just been pulled
out from under my feet. I felt a myriad of emotions, but the anger is what
truly overwhelmed me. Being a psych nurse, I thought I should be able to
deal with this more calmly, but I was overwhelmed with rage.
Through the process, I learned to rely on the wisdom of my dreams and I
took to writing them down in my dream journal for months following. As I
did this, it was as if the floodgates opened for me, in fact, I could recall on
average six to seven dreams per night. As I journaled, I’d take note of how
each dream left me feeling. It became increasingly clear that I was receiving
the healing benefit of these dreams. I could see that each dream was
masterfully helping me to vent my hurt, sadness, fear and self-doubt.
A recurring theme during this time that enabled me to see my progress in
my dreams was a scenario: I am an artist holding my palette and brushes and
as I paint with various colors I have the distinct feeling I am painting the
canvas of my own life.
In these dreams I learned to trust myself and develop a deeper sense of
empowerment and intuition. I knew that my dreams would continue to
gradually give me what I really need to find myself, and my serenity.
Because of my dreams, I could see and feel that I was not a victim of my
circumstances.
At some point in my healing process, they began to show me my shadow
– the part of me where the anger was still festering and eating away my soul
and vitality. Interestingly they didn’t reveal themselves until I was ready to
see them as the gift they truly are. One night when I was ready to receive the
ultimate catharsis of my anger, I received the following nightmare/ dream/
gift:
I’m entering a house that I am unfamiliar with. My husband is sitting in
a rocking chair, looking very sad and vacant. The door opens. It is his
girlfriend coming in. She sees me and comes toward me. She has long black
hair and wears a very plain grey jacket and skirt. She looks at me and says:
“Allo, ma chérie.” (Hello, my darling.)
HUM!
Instantly, that feeling of anger appears and overtakes me! I walk over to
her, grab her by the back of her hair, and pour a glass of beer on her head
which had suddenly materialized in my hand and disappeared immediately.
Holding her hair and pulling as hard as I can, I drag her up to the kitchen
sink, which is full of old, dirty, greasy water. I pull hard and completely
immerse her face in the dirty water a number of times. What a good feeling.
What a relief! Only a dream could allow me to express my frustration so
deeply.
 I woke up laughing, aware of how the dream had allowed me to release
my pent up anger with a sense of humor, helping me to act out my anger in a
way I never could have done (nor would have wanted to have done) in
waking reality. I giggled as I remember thinking that she might wake up with
a headache, and I would be the only one who knew why.
A few years ago, I was telling a friend, a psychologist, about this
powerful dream. She asked me where I was in the house when he admitted to
me about having an affair. “He was at the sink, getting a glass of water.” For
those who might wonder if I also felt anger towards my ex-husband – Yes, I
was . . . and took it out – not so covertly – on a few innocent plates in waking
reality.
Thanks to that dream, I experienced an unconventional healing process I
didn’t know was needed, nor could have ever imagined. I’m so grateful that
because of all my post-marriage dreams (especially the pulling the hair
dream), I no longer feel anger towards either my ex or his girlfriend. I now
realize that my life had other (even better) plans for me.
Since this dream, I’ve made a U-turn toward my own self-
empowerment. I’ve since purchased a beautiful small house, I stopped
working in psychiatry, and was given an opportunity to work in palliative
care (something I’d always wanted to do). I became interested in dreams and
dying and wrote a book on the subject. Besides becoming a member of the
IASD, I am incredibly happy, fulfilled, and surrounded by love and
friendship.

The Voice
Rita Hildebrandt
Destiny calling….

I am fifteen years old and off school for the summer on this hot and
humid day in Buenos Aires. I am feeling depressed and lonely, not knowing
what to do with myself, and decide to take a nap. I wake up deeply energized
and renewed from an auditory dream that announces my future:
A soft, loving and beautiful feminine voice tells me: “You will travel to a
foreign country and there you will meet your life’s partner.”
I am one month short of my 21st birthday and boarding a Japanese
freighter to Long Beach, CA, with my new friend Balinda. We were brought
together three years ago at the University of Buenos Aires and hatched a plan
that is now becoming a reality.
Balinda and I move into this Hollywood apartment after returning from a
three-month European trip. I meet this man who is the official greeter and
party guy at the apartment building. He is strongly attracted to me, and
pursues me aggressively. I am inside the brick walls of my fort – protected
and isolated – looking out. He makes me nervous with his loud voice and
persistent return. I try to hide behind my quiet invisibility, but I can’t hide
from him.
However, Bob is far from my ideal partner. He is 19 years older than
me, shorter than I am, balding and twice divorced. In spite of this, Balinda
persuades me to go on a double date with her and Bill and Bob. Bill and I sit
out the evening watching Balinda and Bob gyrate wildly on the dance floor.
At midnight Bob drives me home, and in the silence of the car I sense for the
first time deep comfort in our togetherness. I invite him in and he drops his
social mask, and I see and hear a man of depth, intelligence and warmth who
listens deeply. We talk for four hours, uninterruptedly.
The next day, after work, I stop by his studio apartment and we make
love for the first time. My body tight in so many places from the trauma of
my childhood begins unwinding under his gentle and loving caresses. We
melt into pure pleasure and oneness together.
His studio is filled with books of the new ideas arising in California in
the late sixties in the arena of psychology and spirituality including a book on
dreams. We grow an intimate ritual of reading together and making love. My
body and mind seem to understand in a profound way these new ideas I am
being exposed to. Amazing, really, for someone who barely made it through
elementary school and who graduated from high school and college by her
photographic memory and not through understandings of any kind.
In the intimacy of his space we discover each other. I awaken and
remember the truth of who I am through his loving eyes and touch. I love the
sound of his voice, the feel of his body, his sense of humor, and his depth
through suffering. I learn he has epilepsy, and was living a wild life in the
music business with his second wife. She is a gifted musician, and he was her
business manager. He drank, smoked, and lived the nightlife of musicians.
Seven years into their marriage, he had a grand mal seizure that broke his
back and she left him. This began his journey of consciousness.
His open and loving heart, and his desire for authenticity and truth melt
my armor and out of that isolated place inside myself a young woman
emerges that is new to me. Under his loving gaze, I become articulate,
intelligent and beautiful. I learn I have a gift and go back to school to pursue
a degree in Psychology, and begin my journey of healing.
The spiritual journey and conversation that Bob and I started that night
in my apartment, lasted 37 years until his death on 8/26/2005 as predicted by
my dream, and our spirit and heart connection, will live on throughout all
time.
 Chapter 7

Family Dreams/Future Choices

Gayle Delaney
I led my first dream study group of five people in the fall of 1974 at my
San Francisco Victorian apartment. Ever since that wonderful experience, I
have dedicated my career to helping dreamers discover the private, insight-
generating metaphors that link dream images to the reality of daily life. Too
often, my clients regret having dreams that are “only” about mundane things
like their relationships with boyfriends, parents, or siblings. They would say,
“I wanted to bring in a BIG dream, a spiritual dream, and this one turns out to
be related only to my girlfriend!” When this happens, I ask, “What is not
spiritual or ‘big’ about having insight into your relationships to the people
closest to you, whom you love, or with whom you have intimate conflict that
determines how you see your world, the people you are drawn to, how you
treat them, and how they treat you?”
In this chapter, I hope you will see how dreams of your parents or other
intimates or dreams that showcase images of people and situations that
remind you of issues with your family offer you the precious insights. They
give you the chance at insights and understandings that can liberate you from
limited and destructive points of view that often distort your judgment and
decision-making for all the decades of your life.
Take, for example the choice of a mate. Making the wrong choice can
ruin your life. It can ruin your children’s lives. If you do not understand who
you are or who fits you, if you refuse to grow up and maintain a chip on your
shoulder about injustices you have suffered, what are your chances of
happiness? Your dreams are like CT scans that allow you to see the core
structures within your mind and heart.
People who are dating often have dreams after their first or second
meeting that shows them choosing between different options, say, among
three pianos or composers, or among different dogs or houses. When they
reflect on the images pictured on the dream, they realize that their dream
options metaphorically highlight traits in their potential mates — traits that
had been underappreciated or even invisible to the dreamer in waking life.
Other dreams look more deeply into the dynamics of why a dreamer is
attracted to the wrong person. Common scenarios for this sort of dream
include waking up in bed with your ex or having a row with your mom. If
you take the time to describe the person and the feelings in the scene, you
often find that your ex, or that type of row you had with your mom perfectly
reflects your current love partner and replays conflicts in your past. Say that
your ex is a dashing, handsome, but insufferably critical man. Ask yourself if
there is anyone in your current life who is also dashing and yet unacceptably
critical. Chances are you will open your eyes to how much your current love
is like your ex. Unwelcome but vital information if you are to understand
your patterns and tendencies to fall for such men. The next step is to ask
yourself when you first longed for such a fellow. If you say, “My father” or
“My older brother,” you have a chance to go to an even deeper level and
bring your child’s longing into your adult reality, where you can reprogram
your antennae to tune into men whose core character is capable of being
supportive rather than critical and who is thus competent to love you rather
than tear you down.
Often dreams show us that we have to deal with old issues we thought
we had resolved. A man who dreamt of being caught in a brown spider’s web
and felt his body being crushed by the sticky but strong web woke gasping
for breath. When he described the spider as a highly poisonous one that could
spin a web as sticky as glue, he realized he was speaking of his ex-wife. Then
he remembered that the day before she had called him for the thousandth time
to berate him for no good reason. The crushing feelings in the dream and his
difficulty in breathing told him that he was still caught in her web of blame
and entrapment through her rageful emotional ambushes. He still had work to
do to free himself of his vulnerability to emotionally unstable women. This
dream may well have changed his life by alerting him to his continuing
inability to appropriately defend himself from such women with whom he
had the habit of falling in love.
So the next time you have dreams that involve imagery of family and
other people to whom you are close or picture images that remind you of
family members or issues, know that you are not having mundane dreams.
These dreams are powerful informants that can keep you from making big
mistakes. They can show you how you are holding on to immature or
distorted judgments and opinions that can cripple your family and all your
relationships. Write down these dreams, reflect on the metaphors they
contain, and open yourself to the insights they offer.
As you read the dream stories in this chapter, you will see how our
nightly scenarios can bring insights that help us face realities that, as
children, we could not understand. Our contributors seized the opportunity to
reconsider their beliefs, attitudes, and opinions about relationships that had,
for better or worse, shaped their self-images, behavior, and many of their
choices and preferences. And you will note that while dreams do change
lives, reflection upon those dreams and the insights they reveal, together with
taking action upon the insights gleaned, result in changes that are bigger,
deeper, and longer-lasting. I am sorry to say that insights are exciting to feel,
but they can disappear if you don’t put them to work in your life. It is too
easy to just sink back into your old patterns of thinking and acting. It takes
some courage to try out new ways of behaving, new ways of staying open to
new understanding, but the prize is rich — you get to live your own life, not
the one that was scripted for you by circumstances into which you were born!
I begin with a dream of my own. I had this dream about my father when
I was 24 years old. It demonstrates how a powerful dream understood,
followed up through reflection and greater openness, can have happy
repercussions that rival decades of therapy. This dream unlocked my heart in
one fell swoop! Really understanding a parent before it is too late to make a
good mate choice yourself certainly changes a life — not just the relationship
with your parent!

Knocking at My Father’s Door

I had grown up with a loving and very playful but depressed and
alcoholic mother. My father was a Maurice Chevalier-type who worked in
New York City and in Europe a great deal. Actually, Papa had girlfriends in
many cities. Unbeknownst to me, Father kept two NYC apartments and one
suburban home with each of his three local ladies. Much, if not most, of my
father’s life was hidden from his wife and children.
We grew up seeing Papa as the one who wronged poor Mom, was rarely
home, leaving her to cope mostly alone with children in a small town where
everyone knew her husband played around. In 1969, after two years of
college, I lived in Paris, learned French well, and my francophone father
visited often. We spoke only French from that year on. My father was much
more open in that language than in English. At Parisian restaurants, bars, and
cafes, we got to know each other. We came to the unspoken understanding
that we would not judge each other but be each other’s supporter. I realized
that if I were to know my father, I would have to do so on a separate track as
an individual, not just know him as my mother’s heartless husband. Two
years passed. I graduated from Princeton, my father’s alma mater, and
enjoyed our French language relationship and his warmth that I now could let
in without fear of being disloyal to my mom — as he visited often for lunch
in Princeton. I was in Jungian therapy in NYC, and we often lunched and
dined there. My generous parents made it possible for me to spend from 1972
to 1973 in Switzerland to continue my study of Carl Jung’s work.
One warm Zurich night came this dream: I am knocking on the door to
my father’s house (not the one I knew in New Jersey). He opens and
welcomes me warmly, saying, “Come in, Gayle! I would like to show you
something of my life.” I see a dark-haired woman (Father’s live-in girlfriend
apparently) sitting in a chair doing something domestic. (Knitting,
crocheting?) I am STRUCK with the sudden, surprising understanding that
this woman who deeply loved my father over many years was the main reason
he had not turned bitter living with an alcoholic. It was their relationship,
and her love, that had resulted in my having a still loving father whose spirit
had not been broken in a terrible marriage. OH MY! I was full of questions
for Papa, but as I started to ask one, he said, “Not yet, Gayle, you are still
your mother’s loving daughter. Bye for now.” — and I woke up.
Well! From that morning on, I let go of much of the judgment I had
harbored against my father and against his lovers. I would not have stayed
married to either of my parents, but theirs was a different, nearly Victorian
world where therapy and psychological insight as well as freedom for
divorced women was very limited. My adolescent judgments against my
father were tempered, and my love for him was much deeper and less
crippled by my childish black-and-white thinking. Our relationship deepened
greatly; my father felt it. We became each other’s confidants, and later that
year my father asked if I would like to meet the woman with whom he owned
a second home north of NYC! YES! At the most beautiful restaurant in NYC,
Lutèce, I met Margie. She was NOT the bleached blond sexpot with long
fingernails that I had expected! She had the same pageboy brown hair as the
woman in my dream of a few months earlier. (Yes, I had told Papa about the
dream when I had it in Zurich; he smiled but did not comment.) She was a
kindly woman and smart. I thanked her for the love she gave my father that
had surely allowed him to be a more loving and happy fellow and parent. As
we shared this most unusual lunch, I learned that Margie was unusually
domestic in her interests. My relationship with my father lasted another 40
years, nine of which he lived with me after a stroke. My dream’s gift of
dissolving my judgments and opening me to a deep intimacy with him was a
gift of love and patience that infused my every day with him. Without that
dream or that understanding, his mental decline and dependency would have
been much more difficult to live with. In fact, caring for him was an honor.
After this dream, not only did my attitude toward my father’s
philandering change, but so did my patterns of choosing romantic partners. I
had earlier tended to choose men who were either the handsome, dashing,
successful types who luckily gave me early warning that they were not to be
trusted emotionally or sexually, or men who, like my mom, needed me to
cheer them up, to bring them out socially so I could exercise the codependent
skills I had learned living with my mom. Thanks in large part to this dream
and its consequences, I was able to fine-tune my antennae and recognize and
find myself attracted to men who did not need an indefatigable cheerleader,
were more outgoing, and had more drive and courage while, at the same time,
were faithful sorts whose integrity and truthfulness were core traits. I cannot
overestimate how choosing the right mate can make all the difference in life.

The Overextended Family

Ivy Black
 In order for the old wounds to heal, sometimes we need to “feel
them, face them, and embrace them.”
One night after the Malaysian air disaster, I had a very disquieting
dream: I am lost while on the way to the airport with some of the passengers
from the Malaysian airplane that disappeared in 2014. An overwhelming
sense of abandonment and loneliness engulfs me.
Upon awakening, the lingering sensation brought me back to my
childhood memories of how I was detached and isolated from my parents.
My sister and I grew up in my grandparents’ house and were looked after by
my grandparents. My parents were quite young, and my grandparents also
had four other children who were still in school. As both of my parents
worked, they would only come to visit us once in a while. Every time they
visited, it was a very short stay. Often when my parents were about to leave,
they would ask my grandmother (or whoever was available in the house) to
entice us into the kitchen or onto the balcony so that they could sneak out
without saying goodbye. They wanted to avoid our crying, wanting them to
stay longer, or begging to go home with them.
Since my uncle (my mother’s older brother) and his family lived very
close to my grandparents, oftentimes my sister and I would stay over at their
house during weekends to give my grandparents a break. Staying in my
uncle’s was not part of the “official” arrangement, meaning there was no
monetary compensation to my uncle and his family to take care of us.
Therefore, often there would be neither food nor clean clothes for my sister or
me. These expenses did add up. Being a sensitive child, I always felt we were
not welcome there, especially by my aunt.
Every now and then, I felt like a refugee without a home. I felt very
much neglected and alienated. I was even afraid to tell anyone when I was
hungry, because I did not want to create even more of a burden to others by
being intrusive and creating more trouble than we already had. For the
longest time, I felt like a ping-pong ball bouncing from one side to the other.
My parents wanted as little to do with us as possible. My uncle and his family
could not really afford to bear more dependents in addition to their three
young children. My grandparents loved us and did their best to raise us, but
they could only do only so much.
This dream stirred up the emotions I had suppressed and made me aware
that some part of my soul had been buried along the way. I instinctively knew
that in order for the old wounds to heal, I needed to feel them, face them, and
embrace them. The dream inspired me and gave me courage to have a heart-
to-heart, open, and honest discussion with my mother to share my feelings
and convey how much pain the feeling of abandonment as a child had caused
me. The conversation with my mother opened my heart and my eyes to her
side of the story. It gave me a deeper understanding of her upbringing, and
the emotions she was encountering as a young mother. I came to learn that
although she loved us very much, she was struggling to adapt to her new life
as well as fight her depression. The relationship I have with my mother has
become much stronger ever since that conversation. I am forever thankful to
my dream for the much-needed healing it brought.

The Razor’s Edge

Rita Hildebrandt
At times of crisis, dreams can release an inner power, giving us
strength we did not know we had!
From age 9 until when this dream happened, I had visualized daily my
upcoming death. I would envision myself in a coffin carried by a two-horse
carriage to the cemetery and my parents walking behind it, finally realizing
that I meant something to them. In waking life I had given up on ever
receiving love or attention from them. Both were emotionally deeply
damaged by losses in Europe from World War II. At the time of the dream, I
was 12 years old, and very ill in Buenos Aires, Argentina. I was seriously ill
with pneumonia and high fever, gladly anticipating my death. In the midst of
my fever I had the following lucid dream:
I see the face of a woman in her mid-twenties looking straight at me. Her
face is red, with strong emotions of rage and anger, telling me I would not
die. She says that I needed to “disown my parents” and that she would take
care of me from that day forward.
 Soon afterward, my fever broke, and I eventually recuperated from
pneumonia. I was deeply disappointed that my death had not happened. One
day, a couple of months after my dream, my father, in one of his rage attacks,
pulled me into the bathroom to beat me with a razor strap — something that
had been happening sporadically since I was 9 years old. There never was
rhyme or reason to his rage, but I would become the target. At that moment
this energy arose from the bottom of my feet upward; it was an energy of
rage and anger that struck back at him with fierce determination. I began
beating him with a force I had not known before, and he stopped, dazed and
surprised. From that day forward he never beat me again. I felt the
embodiment of the energy of that woman who had appeared in my dream
move through me.
 Chapter 8

Dreams that Transform Careers

Jacquie E. Lewis
I was always dreaming about animals. For about six years, before I
decided to return to school and pursue a Ph.D., I would have dreams,
regularly, about animals, all sorts of animals but mainly domestic ones (i.e.,
cats, dogs, rabbits, birds). Sometimes I was caring for the animal, but at other
times they were merely characters in the dream scenario — not doing much
of anything but showing up and hanging out with me. I chalked it up to my
being an animal person (a common street term for those who work to help
animals), having done volunteer work for animal protection organizations.
When I began my student career late in life, I was desperate to make a
change. I was an executive director of a small nonprofit and prior to that a
grant writer. Most of my adult life, I had been in the nonprofit sector.
However, I had a quiet desperation, for about 20 years, to pursue a Ph.D.
When I finally did, I was elated, and all seemed right with the world.
When I started graduate school, I began, and almost finished, a clinical
Psy.D. But at the 11th hour, I switched to another school to pursue a Ph.D. in
psychology (which is a serendipitous story itself). It was there, at Saybrook
University, that I became involved with dream research and dreamwork, and
it was there that I found my calling. All the while, the animal dreams
continued, despite the fact that my studies had nothing to do with animals.
As I began to think about what I would focus on for my dissertation, I
imagined it would have something to do with dreams. As synchronicity
would have it, I was having dinner with a friend, a fellow animal lover, when
I mentioned in passing that I dream of animals all the time. What she
responded to me helped to solidify my thoughts about my dissertation
research. She confided, “I never dream about animals.” What she responded
took me quite by surprise, and I was equally fascinated by it. I just assumed
animal people dream about animals because I did. Was I an anomaly? Was
she? Who knows, since no one had studied the dreams of animal people? But
I was intrigued enough to pursue this question by collecting recent dream
reports of animal rights activists for my dissertation, where I found some
unusual results.
Not only do animal rights activists dream of animals, but the rate of
animal characters in their dreams is on par with indigenous cultures. The
established norms demonstrate that around 5 percent of dream characters are
animals in the dream reports of the average American person, whereas in
indigenous cultures, and with animal rights activists, it is closer to 30
percent! However, indigenous peoples have dreams about animals where they
are hunting them or being hunted by them. Animal rights activists,
overwhelmingly, dream they are helping animals.1
The curious thing is that once my dissertation was completed, the animal
dreams pretty much stopped. It was as if the dreams were spurring me to go
in a certain direction, urging me to pursue a path not yet laid out in front of
me at the time. The message from my dreams began long before I was a
graduate student, when I had no idea that I would be returning to school,
much less conducting research on dreams. It could be said the animal dreams
persisted until I paid attention to them.
Dreams have been used by other peoples and cultures for millennia as a
tool for guidance. When young people in the Ojibwa tribe are ready to know
what direction their futures should take, they engage in an initiation ritual
called dream fast. They spend up to 10 days alone, in the wilderness, until
they have a dream that guides them, that is a special and powerful dream
where a spirit or animal bestows a blessing, giving them the knowledge and
power to know their place in the world and their future roles.2
The people in this chapter had similar dreams that redirected their
careers, although, they discovered the potency of their dreams well into
adulthood, as I did. They felt stuck in their jobs with no way out, much as I
did before I returned to school. All of them paid attention to their dreams and
found life-changing answers. They made major life modifications based on
their belief that dreams matter, that they can illuminate our deepest desires
and intentions in ways the conscious waking mind is often unable to do.
 Dream researcher Ernest Hartmann found a similar pattern when
examining waking career plans and career dreams. Individuals who tried to
make career choices by making a list of their options and thinking about
possible career goals were helped little when deciding major career decisions.
However, if they had a dream about their career, they often found the answers
they were looking for.2These results are no less true for the authors in this
chapter. All have had dreams that pointed to the potential for a happier life
and where each of them could fulfill their true callings.
In this chapter, you will read of Jan Kieft’s recurring dream that was full
of music, which serenaded him to consider other ways of viewing the world
and his life. In the story by Michael Rohde Olsen, we discover that he found
his career path from an ominous dream held by a gravesite, a dream so
powerful he could not forget it. This was a dream so forceful that Michael
made an about-face in his life. The impact of Marla Ianello’s dream of the
“three star children” also resulted in an abrupt about-face in her career. Bob
Hoss shares a most dramatic dream story of being a passenger on a boat
aimlessly traveling through a dark tunnel and hearing a voice repeatedly
instruct him on what to do. This disembodied voice gave Bob explicit options
of what he could do with his life, even a direction he never thought possible.
Two of the dreams involve music. In one, the music helps set the scene, and
in the second, the music is the message. Two of the dreams also have a
repetitive and persistent quality. Either the dream appears over and over until
the dreamer understands the message, as in one dream, or the dream voice
repeats until the dreamer gives in and follows its directions, as in the other
dream.
Each of these authors could have ignored their dreams, as many in our
society do. Psychoanalyst and developer of the Ullman Method of
dreamwork, Montague Ullman, has referred to this as dreamism, an irrational
prejudice against dreams.3 But these authors made the choice to give their
dreams the credence they deserve and to honor their dreams, leading them to
make a turnabout in their lives and to experience increased happiness in their
new careers.
Each of these stories is unique in its own way. They also have a common
thread that ties them together. They demonstrate the powerful qualities of the
unconscious, and the great depth and vastness of dreams. These dreams
demonstrate the magical transcendent quality dreams can have and how
paying attention to them can offer all of us answers to life’s dilemmas. Are
dreams of life transitions rare or commonplace? No one can say for sure. And
this isn’t to say that all dreams point to our future. We must be skeptical: by
either asking ourselves does the dream make sense; does it seem to ring true
for my situation; or by asking our unconscious minds for additional dreams to
confirm or verify the initial dream. However, one thing is clear. By paying
attention to our dreams, we are often able to make better decisions about our
lives. They inspire us to move forward into deeper happiness and creative
personal growth. Dreams, it can be said, inspire us to reach our full potential
and encourage us to become self-actualized beings.

Pacemaker at the wrong party!

Jan Kieft
In childhood, even the briefest moment of devastating rejection
from a figure of authority can cause lifelong damage to one’s self-
image. In Jan’s dream he experiences the vast unconscious source
of wisdom that holds on to the image of who we truly are, ready to
heal the damage when we are ready to listen.
Do you remember how you were as a child? Were you creative, playful,
entrepreneurial? Playing in a room full of treasure with endless possibilities?
I thought my whole life would be like that. Until one morning at
kindergarten, the day before Christmas, the door of that treasure room closed
with a SMACK. If you could have been with me in that classroom that
morning, you would have witnessed something that changes a child’s lifelong
dream completely. It would have determined the course of your life forever,
even if you did not know it at the time.
The teacher gave us an empty piece of paper, a pencil and an eraser, and
told us to make a drawing about Christmas. She was far from young, very
strict, and the prototype of Miss Grumpy. I remember how the children
around me were looking at my drawing, whispering: “That’s not allowed, you
should make a drawing with a stable and a manger.” But in the fantasy of
little Jan, this had nothing to do with Christmas. Christmas was about a
shining star! So this little boy made a beautiful drawing of a big yellow star
on a dark blue sky. Proudly, I presented my work of art to the teacher.
“That’s got nothing to do with Christmas, boy!” she snarled, tearing up my
drawing up and sending me to the corner. Being excluded from the class was
my punishment for not complying with someone else’s view on my life! This
was affirmed with her remark: “It’s your own fault, you should have
listened.” There is nothing a child can do against such force. I know: my
decision — next time I’d better conform myself to other people’s wishes,
otherwise I’m in trouble. I should feel strengthened in conforming to her
wishes, because in conformance not one person is excluded from the group!
Encounters like these make us aware that it is not safe to live our own desires
and fantasies. Adapting and following the masses become the norm. But deep
inside it does not feel right.
Looking for an escape later in my life, I went looking for the lost star
outside myself. Which of course I found — on the hood of my car. I drove a
Mercedes at the time, and so I belonged to the “class” of the world again. But
I knew intuitively that this was not the star I was looking for. I still couldn’t
see my own star.
When it came to the point in my life that I was so frustrated that I did not
see how to move ahead, life itself presented me with the perfect solution. But
it came in a completely different form than I had expected. I was certainly not
waiting for this to happen — I got fired. Gone was the Mercedes. For the
second time in my life my star was taken away from me.
Shortly afterward, I had this dream: I hear two lyric lines from a song
belonging to a popular Dutch pop group: “I’ve never been myself in all these
years, I’m the pacesetter at the wrong party.”
At that moment, the drawing that I made as little Jan flashed through my
mind. It became clear to me that I had never truly lived my own life. Instead,
I had always joined the masses in a feeling of semi-happiness. I realized that
being fired is not bad luck, not a punishment from God. If I really wanted to
change my situation and my life, this was my biggest chance! This one dream
made me discover I could find the answers to my questions inside myself.
This simple shift in consciousness opened countless doors in my life, one by
one. In the following years, I became acquainted with an extremely crisp
inner voice, which tells me what it thinks and which adjustments are
necessary in every aspect of my life.
I dreamed the same dream six times. Six times during meditations I
asked for the meaning of this “musical” dream. Six times the dream showed
me my possible future as an author, public speaker, and the owner of my own
company in which I help others to live their dreams. And so a career in media
and advertising guided me into a whole new direction.
Nowadays, I live my dreams. I write books, I’m a speaker at
international and national congresses, and I own my own company. I help
people to live their lives and build their business from within, and am
creating a movement called Leaders From Within.
In this way, my life gives meaning to myself as well to others. This is
what I know now: This is what everyone’s life is about. We are all sent into
life based on other people’s rules — rules that in most cases are not true to
you. The question is: What do you do with it? Most people leave things as
they are, some make a change and create a rich and fulfilling life. When the
outside world rules your life, you only have to look inside.

The Friendly Power Lunch

Sharon Pastore
Carl Jung taught us that as wise as our dreams might be, that for
real change to occur, they require the Ego to accept that wisdom. In
this story a series of somewhat precognitive dreams leads Sharon
literally to the doorstep of the job of their dreams, but there is still
one more lesson to learn before the dream career becomes a reality.
The year 2010 was one of the toughest years of my life. I had just
moved, had a second child, and my mother passed away less than a year
before. Like many others in the down economy, I was also job-hunting. I had
been on 15 interviews in one year with no real offers, so I hired a career
coach. We practiced interview skills a bit, but after having been in the
workforce for 15 years, I wasn’t convinced that my interview skills were
actually holding me back. Getting desperate for a new approach, I turned to
Dotti Angel, my daughter’s day care center director who was also psychic.
“How do you get information in a dream,” I asked her. She said to me,
“Simple. Just ask.”
That night, I asked this as I fell asleep, “What is my next career move?”
I had the following dream: My dear childhood friend Kathy (who passed
away that year) calls me on the phone in the kitchen of my childhood home.
Excited to hear from her, we have a long talk. But I only remember that she
said these words very distinctly at the end: “human resources training
journal near Margate.” I keep asking her to repeat it, so that I have it right
and won’t forget. I write it down on paper in the dream and thank her for the
information. I immediately wake and write it down.
The next day, I went back to Dotti and told her the details of my dream.
She was amazed. “What does it mean?” I asked. “It’s as clear as day,” she
replied. “Who do you know that lives near Margate?”
I only had one good friend who had a beach house there that we used to
stay. Feeling silly, I called my friend anyway. I told her that I’d had a dream
and asked if those words meant anything to her. She said no. Anxious to
make meaning, I Googled the words. When I did, a place called Center for
Human Resources showed up right away. Using my keen networking skills, I
went back and asked my friend if knew anyone who worked there. She
supplied me with her LinkedIn connections, and lo and behold, I found a
contact with a unique background in marketing, but in a fundraising role.
This was intriguing, because no one seemed to like my marketing
background as I was applying for fundraising jobs. In a gutsy move, I picked
up the phone and called this contact. I reached him right away, which was a
surprise. When I started to tell him about myself, he said, “That’s funny. We
are just about to post a development manager position next week. Come in.
We should talk.”
He couldn’t get over how uncanny the timing was, and neither could I. I
kept my intuitive clues to myself. Not only that, but for months before and
throughout the interview process, I kept having dreams of seeing vases but
never made any connection until my second and final interview, when I pull
into the different part of the parking lot. Directly in front of me was a huge
showroom with hundreds of … vases! Several were strewn across the grass
right in front of me as I pulled up! In a complete daze of disbelief, freaking
out, I called my husband.
At this point, all the signs are pointing toward me getting the job. Or so I
thought. During the interview with seven people, I wowed them all with my
newfound Internet marketing knowhow. But at end of the interview, the 60-
something founder and CEO walked in (after I spent an hour convincing
everyone I am the person for the job). He sat down, listened, and said one
thing to the group: “This all sounds great, but how come I didn’t hear that
you would take someone out to lunch?” He got up and walked out. Everyone
was stunned. Wasn’t that answer totally obvious? Of course, taking someone
to lunch is how you develop relationships with fundraising prospects and
board members. So I overlooked it. At this point, I knew I was not getting the
job. A week later, I got the call that I didn’t get it. I cried — hard. So what
did all those dreams mean then? How was this to be my next move?
It was my next move because I learned a huge life lesson. I spent so
much time in my interviews talking about how smart I am that I forgot that
being friendly is such an important part of who I am, and I am gifted at
making friends — something I learned as a child. I was stuck in my house
with a baby — I forgot who I was. And being friendly doesn’t come natural
to everyone. I am amazing at starting and keeping a conversation going with
new people, and making them feel comfortable. We don’t say these things
during interviews. And Kathy was my dearest lifelong friend — everything I
learned about friendship was from her. She came to me in my dream to teach
me the importance of connection and friendship everywhere — even at work.
People do business with people with whom they would be friends.
From that point on, I knew that networking and building relationships
are all part of being friendly — that friendliness is actually a highly valued
professional skill. We just call it networking or relationship-building. I ended
up starting my own business with my husband and one of my closest friends.
Many of our business contacts have become good friends of ours. I regularly
make time to have coffee or lunch or friendly phone chats. I even started an
informal “breakfast and conversation” meet-up group of like-minded people
— who also like one another — and therefore keep coming back, and now
are working on social change together. I have learned that friendliness is the
foundation for creating a hyperengaged community of supporters. Social
change happens only when people like working with each other first. Most
importantly, for me, work rarely feels like work — it feels more like playing
a game with friends. Whoever said business and personal don’t mix got it
wrong. And so began the practice of literally following my dreams, using
both my dream life and waking life on my spiritual journey.

Putting Dead Babies in the Grave

Michael Rohde Olsen
Dreams don’t hide anything from us; they often shock us with the
“cold reality” of what we are doing to ourselves as we make
choices that fail to nourish our true inner nature and, as Michael
learns, they also can give us the courage to change our path.
I was working in the Danish affiliate of an American pharmaceutical
corporation, at the time of the dream. I was offered an expat position in the
company headquarters in the U.S. I was very much in doubt as to whether I
should accept it. Although I had at least six years of being highly engaged on
the job, I had a growing belief that I was in the wrong career. Despite the
doubt, I accepted the position.
That night I had the following dream: I see a woman kneeling next to a
long/rectangular grave. She is very, very sad, not crying, but obviously
deeply moved. She is putting many dead babies into a grave, one-by-one,
little blue, cold, dead babies.
I woke up feeling very sad about the dream, instantly knowing what it
meant. By accepting the transfer to U.S., and thereby staying in that career, I
was burying many other development opportunities and talents within
myself.
Since I had given my commitment, I did go to the U.S. for a year and a
half. It turned out to be the worst time in my career. I have never made as
much money as I did — but have never been as sad as I was during that time.
I was mourning the dead babies.
 The dream, however, had given me the strength to change my career
path. I declined the opportunity to spend another three years in U.S., declined
another offer I was given (in that world a great offer!), and ended up seeing a
career coach, who helped me find the right direction. My career is now
training and coaching in leadership and project management. I also do talks
and coaching in dreamwork. This summer I published a Danish book on how
to understand your dreams.
In short, the dream helped me find the courage to change my career —
but the story also shows that it is not always a Hollywood tale. It took some
time for me to find the courage.

The Tree Star Children

Marla Ianello
In this dream Marla finds her new career “in the stars!”
I was attending state university as a business major. None of my classes
elicited any passion or even much interest in me, but business seemed like a
good, solid foundation for future jobs. One night I had “the big fight” with
my boyfriend. I had been up late, and when I did fall asleep, I slept poorly. In
the early hours I had a dream: I am looking out over low mountains of a
beautiful countryside. It is night, and the stars twinkle across the sky. The
entire scene feels like one of great peace and beauty, as if I am meant to be
here. Over the mountains, in the stars three boys appear. They each have
Down syndrome, and I know they were waiting for me to get to them so I can
help.
I woke up early the next morning and went straight to the guidance
office to change my major to child development. Thirty years later I live in
the mountains, where the Milky Way twinkles overhead. I have three sons,
none of whom has Down syndrome. However, I’m an early childhood special
educator, supervising a program that helps young children with special needs.
Whether my dream was a guide or I’ve made life decisions based on my
dream I can’t say. But I’ll never forget it.
 You Can Walk Out That Door
Bob Hoss
Jung stated that dreams introduce an opposing or “compensating”
viewpoint in an attempt to correct our misconceptions. Bob’s dream
not only offers an opposing viewpoint he never considered before,
but reinforces and rewards his eventual acceptance, leading to new
learning that is soon to change his life dramatically.
Although I have always had a fascination with dreams, my “day job”
began as an applied research scientist in various aerospace and
telecommunications technologies. Early on I developed a serious interest in
dream studies after discovering the scientific basis of dreaming from one of
Ernest Hartmann’s early books. I pursued training in Gestalt Therapy and
various Humanistic psychologies. I began teaching dream studies at Richland
College with a couple of therapist friends and came pretty close to switching
careers. But I was equally fascinated with the creative outlet and relative
security that my scientific career was affording, so I kept my day job and
pursued dream studies on a parallel path. My goal, however, never changed
— to retire early so that I could devote my full time to dream studies. By the
time I neared 50, I was at the top of my scientific career, a corporate vice
president enjoying the sheer fun of directing the global telecommunications
strategy of one of the largest corporations in the financial industry. I had also
had kept my dreamwork alive; I was still teaching and very active in IASD at
that point as one of the officers. I was well-positioned for securing that early
retirement package and achieving that transition. But all that was about to
change.
The company had a change of upper management from the chairman on
down, which involved restructuring and outsourcing. This affected every
division, even the technology sector that included my division. The first to go
was the senior executive above me, who was replaced with someone charged
with figuring out how to outsource much of information technology. I
remember that sinking feeling when I was told that my job, if I chose to stay
in it, would be to downsize and help outsource most of my own organization.
As devastating as all this was, I had no desire (nor did it even cross my
mind) to walk out the door. I feared starting over, and particularly losing my
retirement package, which is what I needed if I were to retire early and make
that transition. So instead, I pursued other executive positions in the company
that appeared open to me. With the company in turmoil, many were
uncertain, and none satisfied my true career interests, but at that point I feared
losing a financially stable early retirement. I was so stuck in this frame of
mind that when a Park Avenue search firm came after me, indicating that a
major firm in the New York area was interested in me, I did not even
consider it. Instead, I gave them my boss’s name, who had been let go. Then I
had the dream that changed all that:
I am a passenger in a boat adrift in a dark black ice cave, trying all
night to find a “position” in the windows that would “show me a way out” of
my predicament. It was a perfect picture metaphor of the emotional situation I
was in. At one point, a booming authoritative voice behind me says, “You
CAN walk out that door.” I look around and see no one. Again the voice
booms, “You CAN walk out that door.” I argue with the voice that I do not
understand because I see no open door. The more I argue, the more the voice
insists, when suddenly an open door appears at the front of the boat. I still do
not understand what it all means, but reluctantly I walk out the door. When I
do, the boat emerges from the dark ice cave onto a calm stream in a beautiful
sunlit setting of colorful flowers and green trees. The air is filled with
beautiful music, and when the boat lands at a rock on the shore, it rings like
a bell resonating deep into to my soul.
I woke a changed person. That morning going to work, I could not
imagine how I had gotten so caught up in my fear of change and doubt in my
own potential that I was ready to trap myself in the “dark tunnel of ice” that
my existing situation represented. Halfway to work a song came on the radio,
“Calling All Angels” by K. D. Lange, and in it was a phrase “calling all
angels, walk me through this one, we’re trying, we’re hoping, but we’re not
sure how this goes.” I began to sing along, but in my new state of mind I
began to sing it like a fervent prayer — and then came that unshakable
feeling that something had shifted at a very deep level. I got to my office and
sat down ready to meet the pile of challenges on my desk, but to my
amazement, less than 10 minutes later the phone rang. It was the search firm.
The caller said, “The company we represent does not want your boss; they
are specifically looking for you, and we will be there in the morning to
interview you.” It turns out that the company was IBM, which offered me the
equivalent corporate executive position managing IBM’s global
telecommunications strategy. It was a huge opportunity — and this time, after
completing my existing obligations, I walked through that door without
hesitation.
It turned out to be all that my dream had promised and more. Lou
Gerstner had taken over as chairman to manage a turnaround when IBM was
at a very low point. I not only experienced the joys of working with this
dynamic senior management team and being able to do my part in the
turnaround, but the effort was so successful that my financial gains allowed
me to retire early and indeed pursue my interests in dreams and dreamwork
full time — even to donate a bit of those gains to dream research grant
activities with IASD. It more than made up for that retirement package that I
had been so afraid of losing. Had it not been for that dream, none of this
would have happened!
Taking Charge
Julia Still
 Chapter 9

The Power of Lucid Dreaming

Robert Waggoner
Imagine if you could ask a dream figure, “What do you represent?” and
listen as it reveals its hidden identity. Then imagine if you could ignore all
the dream figures and simply ask a question of your unconscious mind, and
watch as a profoundly creative response appears before you. Finally, imagine
if you could stop in a dream, and consciously project healing energy onto a
physical ailment. And when you awoke, the ailment had improved.
“Ah, what then?” you might say, as Coleridge did in his poem What If
You Slept. Yet adventurous lucid dreamers claim to have such transformative
experiences and more.
Lucid dreaming seems one of the more amazing dream science
discoveries in the past 50 years, even though the practice of lucid dreaming
has ancient roots. In 1975, British graduate student Keith Hearne wondered
how you could verify scientifically that a lucid dreamer possessed conscious
awareness within a dream. He realized that perhaps a lucid dreamer could
signal his awareness by moving his eyes in a predetermined pattern of left to
right eight times while still asleep and lucidly aware in a dream. Using the
sleep lab at the University of Hull in England, he recorded the first “eye
signal verification” of lucid dreaming on REM polygraph paper on April 12,
1975.1
Unaware of Hearne’s research, Stanford doctoral student Stephen
LaBerge conceived a similar experiment about two years later and
successfully conducted a series of experiments demonstrating the “eye signal
verification” technique. LaBerge’s popular paper announcing the results
served to usher in a new era in dream science.2 Seemingly overnight, millions
felt captivated by the idea of lucid dreaming, which most define as realizing
that you are dreaming while in the dream state.
Why the fascination? For many, lucid dreaming offers practitioners and
researchers a revolutionary tool to experiment consciously within dreaming
(or if you prefer, via the subconscious or unconscious mind). Already,
researchers have investigated the question of whether practicing motor skills
in a lucid dream might transfer to improving skills in the waking state (and
results show some appreciable gain).3 Additionally, researchers have used
lucid dreamers to question dream figures with simple math and multiplication
tests, as well as creative rhyme-making (in most reports dream figures appear
quite creative but do less well on arithmetic than metaphor).4, 5Neurologists
have explored dream brain activity through the use of EEG and fMRI
technology, and have confirmed that normally dormant areas involved in
logical thought, conscious awareness, and self-assessment (the precuneus,
right parietal and prefrontal cortex) appear active when lucid dreaming.6,7
Frontotemporal areas, which may be involved in social functioning,15 as well
as occipital and temporal areas7 associated with object identity, visual
perception, and processing the color and form of an object, become active as
well.
Psychologists and dream researchers are fascinated with the
effectiveness of lucid dreams in helping to resolve recurring nightmares,
often associated with post-traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD. Nightmare
sufferers who become lucidly aware are able to face their fears and
experience a marked reduction (or disappearance) of the recurring
nightmares. Such is the case with the recurrent nightmares experienced by
Beverly D’Urso and Clare Johnson that Alan Siegel discusses in the next
chapter. Moreover, in online forums, lucid dreamers report using this state to
resolve a number of psychological difficulties, including phobias, anxiety,
and relationship issues.
Besides psychological healing, lucid dream reports of physical healing
also exist. Researchers Stephen LaBerge and Jayne Gackenbach conducted a
1987 Omni magazine survey project and asked specifically for detailed
descriptions of “healing” lucid dreams. They discovered that of the 587
respondents, eight of the lucid dream reports “were clear cases of healing the
body while lucid.”11 Since that time, lucid dreamers like Ed Kellogg have
reported numerous cases of lucid dream healings and have re ceived
prescriptive information (such as diet changes or supplements to take) and
accurate diagnostic information. Kellogg writes, “Although anecdotal
evidence has only limited value within a scientific paradigm, it can point the
way toward more rigorous investigations by bringing to light factors of
potential importance.”12, 13 Lucid dreaming definitely deserves further study
as an alternative healing practice and as a means to investigate the mind-body
problem.
For so many of us, the fascination continues because lucid dreaming
offers a deeply exciting path to access inner creativity, seek emotional or
physical healing, and facilitate personal growth. Within this special state, a
talented explorer can perceive the true nature of dreaming, and the breadth
and depth of this state of awareness. For those with a spiritual bent, lucid
dreaming connects to the ancient practices of transformation and inner
realization explored by some followers of Buddhism, Taoism, Hinduism,
Sufism, shamanism, and other traditions.8
In this chapter, a brief taste of that transformative power emerges from a
varied collection of lucid dream stories.

Who Am I?
Bob Hoss
In this first story Bob Hoss lucidly discovers that the apparent
identity of four dream figures in a lucid dream, are parts of himself
– parts that actually matched his Meyers Briggs ENTJ (Extrovert,
Intuitive, Thinking, Judging) personality type! In the process he
discovers a resolution to the stressful situation he is stuck in.
At the time, I was overly stressed due to my overengaging in a number
of simultaneous activities that I had envisioned and committed to, mostly
associated with dream studies. At the same time, I became very depressed
that most of these “visions” were of little consequence. Who really receives
anything of lasting value from them? I was seriously thinking of dropping out
of most all of them — then I had this dream:
 I am in a warehouselike structure in white color tones. I am greeted by a
caretaker, a short character with curly hair wearing jean coveralls who looks
like one of the Mario brothers. At that moment, the dream goes lucid, and I
realize I am dreaming. I get excited about that and decide to fly but want to
do it with the caretaker to show he is lucid. We join hands and rise into the
air, joyously rotating and spiraling in a circle as we fly upward.
He then introduces me to a character who enters as a tall, handsome,
outgoing blond guy. I look up to him and exclaim, “Boy, are you tall!” Then
realizing that characters in lucid dreams are often parts of myself, I ask him,
“What part of myself are you?” He says, “I am your fun-loving party side”
(here was “E”, my Extrovert).
The caretaker then introduces me to another man. He is bent over a
bench, totally frustrated with himself that after so much effort, he was unable
to create the piece of art he had envisioned (here was “J”, my Judging side).
He is trying to create a small wall sculpture of a smiling sun out of yellow
and green clay on a brown background. He is impatient and wants the clay it
to stick instantly, exactly as he pictured it without his sculpting it a bit. I try
to tell him to relax and sculpt the clay slowly, but he ignores me, so I finally
make a joke, “or you can just slap it all down like you are doing, then cut off
anything that doesn’t look like a sun!” I later understood this to be a guiding
metaphor — rather than getting stressed and giving up, cut out all the
peripheral stuff that really doesn’t lead to the ultimate vision.
I am then introduced to a large robot man. He is totally made of silver
mechanical and electronic parts, including an old broken vacuum tube in his
brain cavity (a piece of past stuff no longer useful). I ask him, “What part of
myself are you?” He states, “I am your wise and learned oldest self — your
past and your future” (being a scientist here was “T”, my Thinking side).
Since he said he was also my future I ask, “Then what will become of me?”
He says, “Come back after the 13th dream, and I will tell you.” Pretty
profound — if I knew what it meant! Turns out I would find out later.
Next, I am with the caretaker sitting at a lab bench. Suddenly, a
beautiful petite woman with flowing black hair comes rushing by. She has a
sparkling personality and sparkles around her hair. I am instantly attracted
to her and ask her to stop for a moment, but she says, “I can’t stay because I
have a Madison Avenue meeting I am running.” I reach over and pick her up
and place her on top of the lab bench in front of me. She is soft and delightful
and takes my breath away. I ask her, “What part of myself are you?” She
says, “I am your VISIONS. … I am like diamonds” (here was the “N”, my
Intuitive). At that point, I awoke with a feeling of splendor, transformed and
assured that my visions were indeed of great value!
____________________
Author’s notes: But what of the 13th dream? What Bob Hoss did not know at
that moment is that this lucid dream would trigger an amazing sequence of
telepathic events and synchronicities beginning the very next day, which
placed it in a much greater “universal guidance” context. The resulting
transformative experience in Bob’s story continues in Stanley Krippner’s
chapter, Transcending Space & Time.
Carefully examining lucid dreams can demonstrate how they differ in
significant ways from nonlucid dreams. Consider these distinctive points
from Bob’s dream:
1) Purposeful and conscious decision-making. Upon becoming
lucid, Hoss first decides to fly to demonstrate his lucid awareness.
Lucid dreamers often show an elevated ability to make purposeful
decisions, unlike many nonlucid dreams where we instinctively
react or unthinkingly accept situations.
2) Deliberate and thoughtful questioning. When Hoss wonders if
the tall blond figure might represent “part of me,” he asks an
open-ended question, “What part of myself are you?” and awaits
the reply. Having success with this line of questioning, he
continues it with two more dream figures. By contrast, nonlucid
dreams normally show less deliberation, as the dreamer accepts a
series of (often fantastical) events and fails to question them.
3) Enhanced situational analysis. When he “turned around” and
met another man totally absorbed in creating a piece of clay art,
Hoss realized that the man’s inability relates to his own feeling:
impatient, frustrated, and hurried. In lucid dream reports, you
often see a more detailed critical analysis of a situation from
within the dream.
Though important differences exist, lucid dreams fre quently share
common elements with nonlucid dreams. Hoss still encounters unexpected or
surprising comments or actions from the dream figures. When he asks, “Tell
me what will become of me,” the large robot man replies, “Come back after
the 13th dream, and I will tell you.” Similarly, when he asks the attractive
woman to stop for a moment, she replies, “I can’t stay because I have a
Madison Avenue meeting I am running.” Hoss can obviously direct his focus
and questioning but does not predetermine or control their (i.e., the dream
figures’) response.
These unexpected responses suggest that a kind of dynamic relationship
occurs between the lucid dreamer and the dream figures, situation, and setting
in that moment. Looking closely at the unexpected response may lead the
lucid dreamer to re-examine his or her viewpoint, which can result in new
insights or even a complete transformation in viewpoint.

The Acquired Characteristics of the Happy Giver!

Robert Waggoner
This next lucid dream was my experience; a completely unexpected
development, which proved ultimately transforming.
At the time, I participated in a three-year lucid dreaming project, led by
Linda Lane Magallon. A group of us banded together through written
correspondence (before the internet era) to conduct monthly lucid dreaming
experiments. That month, March of 1985, had a fairly simple goal: Become
lucid and thenfind out what the characters in your dream represent. Traveling
on business in suburban Chicago, I fell asleep, intending to complete the
monthly goal.
I put my hand out to open a door, when suddenly the sight of my hand
prompts me to realize “This is a dream!” Now consciously aware in the
dream, I follow a woman into an office reception setting and recall my goal: I
need to find out what a dream character represents.
Looking around, I see a woman to my right, sitting in a chair, reading a
magazine. To her right, a woman sits at the reception window, looking at her
paperwork. Moving right, there stands a tall and elegantly dressed woman.
And finally, to my left, stands a cheerful, older man wearing a brown three-
piece suit with the gold chain of a pocket watch visible.
I walk up to the older man and politely ask, “Excuse me. What do you
represent?” What happens next stuns me. An invisible voice high above the
older man booms out a response, “The acquired characteristics!” I feel
surprised and wonder what does that mean? And why did an invisible voice
boom this out? Curious, I look up and inquire of the space from which the
invisible voice emerged, “The acquired characteristics of what?”
A pause occurs — as if this invisible voice has to process my query.
Then suddenly, the voice booms out, “The acquired characteristics of the
happy giver!” OK, I had completed my task. I now know what this dream
character represented. I decide to wake up.
In the morning, I realized the words “happy giver” came from a bit of
day residue. The previous day, I met a woman who led a charity. She
surprised me when she claimed (with a hint of bitterness) that people only
gave to her charity to see their names listed in the annual report. As I walked
away, I thought, “The Lord loves a happy giver,” since she seemed such an
unhappy receiver!
The lucid dream’s transformative power came from the shocking manner
in which this information appeared. The dream figure did not tell me. Rather,
an invisible voice boomed out the response. This simple glitch, easily
overlooked or forgotten, made me wonder something profound: “Does an
awareness exist behind the dream? If I ignore the dream figures and setting,
and simply direct questions to this nonvisible awareness, will it respond?”9
From then on in many lucid dreams, I experimented by directing
questions to the nonvisible “awareness behind the dream.” Amazingly, I
received interesting, intelligent, and often profound responses. Later that
year, I noticed a somewhat similar experience in Stephen LaBerge’s first
book, Lucid Dreaming. There, he broaches the idea of a lucid dreamer
“surrendering” influence over the lucid dream. For example, LaBerge
encourages a lucid dreamer to announce, “I surrender to the Highest,” and
then experience the result of the announced intent. He stated that one of his
most profoundly satisfying lucid dreams came from surrendering. But to what
or whom does LaBerge surrender? He sidesteps the point by writing, “Such
questions as whether this is a part of yourself or something beyond yourself
need not be resolved at this point.”10
The simple change of ignoring dream figures and asking questions of a
nonvisible awareness managed to utterly, completely, and radically transform
my thinking about the tool of lucid dreaming. The responses appeared so
thoughtful, articulate, creative, and beyond-waking-consciousness, they
seemed to connect to something larger, like the psyche or Jung’s Self.
Suddenly, lucid dreaming showed itself as a special psychological tool,
which could provide evidence for an inner layer of awareness.
If you want to explore this concept, then simply do this: Become lucid,
stabilize the lucid dream, and ignore all the dream figures and the dream
objects; look up and simply shout out,“Show me something important for me
to see!” See how the awareness behind the dream responds.

Meeting My Inner Shelf

Lucy Gillis
Canadian lucid dreamer Lucy Gillis discovers the idea of a helpful
inner self in her first lucid dream, which resulted from a
nightmarish scenario. She cleverly titles the lucid dream “Meeting
My Inner Shelf” and writes, “Would you believe that a shelf was a
fundamental element in a personal transformation? Not a
miraculous vision, not a choir of angels to herald a revelation, not a
divine intervention, just a plain, ordinary slab of wood, right when I
needed it most.”
After receiving an undergraduate degree in astrophysics, I felt like
something was missing, something meaningful in a way I couldn’t explain. I
happened to read “The Seth Material” by Jane Roberts, and came upon an
astonishing statement. According to Seth, it was possible to bring your
“waking I” into the dream state and be consciously aware of your dream
environment while you were dreaming! This was a completely new and
exciting concept to me. It seemed miraculous, because I believed that in order
to have such mental prowess, one would need years of extensive training and
meditation, a discipline I felt was far beyond my ability. But I dared to hope,
just a little, that one day, in the distant future, I might achieve this wondrous
goal.
Besides the ability to be consciously aware in dreams, I was reading that
dreams were a valuable source of inspiration and guidance; that the inner or
higher self spoke to us through our dreams. This, too, was new to me, and
though I found the notion intriguing, I felt distanced both mentally and
emotionally from such a higher or inner self. As with being conscious in a
dream, the idea of interacting or meeting with an inner self and having
profound, deeply meaningful dreams seemed something beyond my abilities,
something else for which I’d need years of training. However, only two
months later I had the following dream:
A young woman and I are in a university dorm room, getting ready to go
to an evening lecture on Edgar Cayce. Later, as we cross the campus via the
empty football field, the whole environment suddenly disappears, and I’m left
in a gray dimness. In a moment or two, I am able to discern more and
discover that I am now tangled in heavy ropes, pressed up against the inner
wall of a bottomless dark pit. A wave of fear passes over me, and I hold
tightly to the ropes to keep from falling. Across the expanse and about two
meters above me, I see the young woman who was with me earlier. She has
transformed, becoming sinister-looking in her tight black leather outfit
adorned with silver spikes and chains, black stiletto boots, and an elaborate
ornamental headpiece over her long dark hair. In her right hand she holds a
shining silver sword, raised and ready to strike.
I know that with one slash of that sword the ropes will sever, and I’ll fall
into the nothingness. The woman begins to chant something; one word over
and over, preparing to strike the fatal blow. I look down into the infinite
blackness and think, “Shelf. I need a shelf.” I release my grip, somehow
knowing that a shelf will appear. I drop only a few centimeters when a
rectangular slab of wood materializes, jutting out from the wall of the pit. In
the instant my feet meet the shelf, my life changes forever: I know I’m
dreaming. I turn my gaze back up to the woman, a slow triumphant smile
spreading across my face. I know I’m dreaming, I know I’m safe. She then
begins to vanish, like mist, as I will my physical eyes to open, to purposely
end the dream.
 I awoke with a tremendous rush of energy, like electricity, coursing
through my body. I’d never felt anything like it before. I was ecstatic! I did it!
I’d brought my waking “I,” my waking consciousness into a dream! And
without years of meditative training! It had been effortless! I couldn’t
adequately articulate the new sense of freedom and personal power I felt. It
was almost overwhelming. A new kind of awakening had occurred, and I was
transformed. I could never look at dreams and dreaming in the same way
again.
Years later, I learned that being consciously aware in a dream while
dreaming is called “lucid dreaming.” My enthusiasm continues, and ever
since late 1999, I have been coeditor of a free online magazine, Lucid
Dreaming Experience. To this day, I still marvel that a dream of an ordinary
shelf has had such an impact on my life. With that dream came the birth of a
new awareness, not only the conscious awareness achieved in lucid
dreaming, but the awareness and realization that the dreaming mind is a
precious, clever, and delightfully humorous source of wisdom and
intelligence that is not beyond reach at all, but is a natural, powerful part of
each and every one of us.

Journey to the Labyrinth

Kelly Lydick
The experience of lucid dreaming has existed for millennia,
according to spiritual traditions. Not surprisingly, some lucid
dreamers report experiences of a profoundly numinous or psychic
nature, which often change their lives. Author and dreamworker
Kelly Lydick, M.A., reports a powerful lucid dream and writes, “I
have always been an active dreamer. Few things are as rich as the
imagination and its infinite palette of symbols, but I’ve always
known that dreams were more than just pictures formed by the
mind. I believe what Carl Jung said, ‘The dream is a little hidden
door in the innermost and most secret recesses of the soul…’”
 In 2008, I began experiencing imbalances in my physical health —
imbalances that affected my metabolic system and affected my sleeping and
dreaming patterns. I experienced extreme fatigue and many days did not have
the energy to perform regular daily functions. I began searching for ways in
which I could reconnect to the deepest parts of my inner world and
recalibrate my physical health through mind-body-spirit alignment.
Finally, in 2009, I stumbled upon the Gateway DreamingTM Program.
Over a six-month duration, I explored the depths of dreams, their origins, and
possible meanings. I learned about the power and magnitude of the moon’s
cycles. My health started to improve as I rebalanced through the dreamwork I
was doing. At the culmination of the program, Denise Linn, who was leading
the program from her ranch in California, had arranged a special dreaming
event in which participants were asked to work together in a group dreaming
experience. Denise had arranged some objects at the center of her hillside
labyrinth, and each dreamer was asked to use the dreamtime to meet the
group, journey to the labyrinth, and report back on the objects that were
placed there.
Using an incubation technique taught in the course, I went to sleep with
the intention of meeting other course members and discovering the objects in
the labyrinth. I had the following dream: I am flying high above the Earth
among the clouds and stars. It is night, but the moonlight glows and shines
down upon the land, reflecting what my soul already knows. As I approach
the locationof the labyrinth, I descend nearer the hill, hovering over the
labyrinth, weightless and content. I can see that an object was placed at the
center of the circle, but I can’t make out what it was. I move closer. There are
others around me, whom I see and feel in shapes, rippling through the night
like angels cloaked in human flesh. They move rapidly and playfully, and
never stop to set foot on the ground.
I move closer and closer to the hill until I see it: a small, blue-colored
glass bowl. It is filled with water that shines in the moonlight, appearing as a
mirror reflecting one world to the next. A variety of gemstones is nestled
around the bowl: rose quartz, amethyst, and kyanite. The other dreamers are
there, and they are floating and flying above the labyrinth, just like me,
playful and happy, curious and light.
The next morning, Denise told the group that she had placed a blue bowl
of water at the labyrinth. Others shared their experiences of the group dream,
and all the stories were nearly the same. We had dreamed the same dream!
And had seen the physical world from the dream state! It was astonishing.
It was then that I realized the true power and magnitude of the dreams,
and that we are all connected. And it was then that my understanding of the
reality in which we live is not limited merely by the first five senses that
decode the information in our physical world, but rather that we are all part of
something much larger and much more meaningful — the waking, dreaming
journey of the soul.
_____________________
Author’s note: Lucid dreaming may open the door to new scientific
experiments on the areas of clairvoyant dreams or even precognitive dreams.
For example, what if a researcher established a precognitive target for a lucid
dreamer to seek in a lucid dream and discover? Upon waking, the results
could be placed in an envelope and sealed away until after the precognitive
target event occurred. Such an experiment would provide predictive evidence
and banish the scientific complaint about “retro-cognition” (since many
people point to their dream journal as precognitive evidence after the fact).

Everything Is Whole and Complete

Ryan Rose
Lucid dreamer and meditator Ryan Rose recalls how a powerful
lucid dream of transcendence helped serve as an “anchor” of
mindfulness for him. Rose provides some background. “A few
years ago I went through a divorce. It was and has been the most
painful experience of my life. …. It wasn’t until a couple of years
into the shock from the grief of this calamity that my practice of
meditation and dream awareness merged in a way I could have
never fully imagined.”
At a spiritual workshop, I bought a copy of the book Dreaming Yourself
Awake by B. Alan Wallace. From the book I gained insights into the blending
of Tibetan Dream Yoga with the Western practice of lucid dreaming and
discovered the concentrative meditation practice called “Shamatha.” I felt
that adding this Buddhist practice to my established lucid dreaming practice
might help me transcend the illusion of waking life by first transcending the
dream state. After two years of emptiness and loss, I had this life-changing
lucid dream:
Somehow in deep, dreamless sleep I’m fully aware but don’t label it as
such. I feel neither awake nor asleep, just conscious; actually, what I feel is
simply being pure consciousness itself. It’s extremely blissful, and eventually
I have some sensation of my head and closing my eyes and meditating even
though it already was pitch black in this infinite void before closing my eyes.
At first, I have no sense of self at all but then gradually I feel very strong
energy in my forehead right at the “third eye” area, and it becomes so
powerful that I feel an overwhelming sense of infinity and oneness; it feels
like being everything and nothingness all at once. I am one with the universe,
and everyone I’ve ever loved and known is felt to be right there with me
because I know I am them and they are me. This feeling is one of being in the
pure potential of infinite possibility before, after, and while all things
manifest, and so it transcends time and space, and I’m omnipresent. Nothing
is missing, nothing is desired, everything is whole and complete. I’m home.
I then see an image of the back of a head, my head, and start to go
through it very suddenly. As imagery appears all around this tunnel-like
experience, suddenly I feel a sense of moving very fast and I don’t know what
I’m moving toward — it feels as if I might die if I let myself go all the way
through. It’s such a hugely powerful experience that I feel I can’t fully handle
it yet.
For whatever reason, I don’t let myself dissolve into it completely,
because I still don’t really have much sense of self at all — if any — right
now. Something holds me back, though, from going deeper and letting go to it
more fully, a certain kind of sacred fear that’s uncertain if I will lose my
loved ones or lose this direct knowing of being one with them. But as I pull
away from it and begin to wake up, I know I have tasted some amount of pure
primordial consciousness.
Now I use this dream as an anchor. If I felt total oneness at the time,
then that means I can again, at any time, and that must mean that there is
really no separation, no loss, and no true divorce of any kind. If I experienced
it once, I knew I could tap into the feeling of that again and again, and I do
just that. I call it “Void Meditation.” I still have bad days, some very bad
ones, but since this dream about a year and a half ago, my suffering, from my
divorce and all other aspects of life, has been shrinking slowly and steadily
but also quite remarkably. I’ve been greatly affected by this experience, so
much so that it was also a major contributor to my recent decision to go back
to school and study psychology with the hope to research and share what
powerful experiences of nonordinary states of consciousness can do to help
with the human condition of pain and suffering in day-to-day life. My
dreams, and building up to this one in particular, have saved my waking life
from spinning and spiraling into even greater fear and suffering surrounding
my trauma. They have also helped me to wake up more fully into a more
continual state of pure awareness.

I Really Can Smell the Coffee

Jenny Alexander
Transcendent lucid dreams often leave a powerful impression on
the lucid dreamer and encourage us to re-examine the true nature of
reality, but so can an “ordinary” one, according to British author
and blogger Jenny Alexander.
When people talk about dreams as spiritual experience, they usually
seem to be thinking in terms of what Jung called “numinous” dreams — that
is, dreams that have an unmistakablyspiritual quality, inspiring awe and
wonder, and often bringing revelations. These “big” dreams do indeed feel
like wonderful gifts from outside the self, and they stay vividly with you
across the decades, lighting your life. But dreams that feel quite ordinary,
such as this one I had as a young woman, can also be a doorway to profound
changes in consciousness.
I am having coffee with my neighbor. I am fully aware that I am
dreaming. Normally, in lucid dreams, my waking “I” is there as an observer
or commentator, and occasionally, if I don’t like the way things are going, I
might intervene and change the action of the dream. But this dream doesn’t
have any action at all. It doesn’t have any narrative to distract me — I am
just sitting there, drinking coffee, and I am bored.
There is a silky cushion beside me, and I run my hand absent-mindedly
across it. I notice how smooth the fabric feels; I run my fingers along the
hard ridge of the trim. I think, “Hold on a minute — this is a dream!” Since
nothing much else is going on, I go on testing the evidence of my senses, and
yes, I really can smell the coffee; I really can feel the crumbly biscuit between
my fingers and taste its light vanilla on my tongue. I can hear my neighbor’s
voice, talking to me. I know it is a dream, but it feels exactly the same as
“real” life.
When I woke up, I could feel the quilt resting lightly across my body; I
could see the light from the gap in the curtains ribboning across it; I could
hear my husband’s gentle breathing and smell the warmth of our two bodies.
But now I knew that my mind could create a whole different reality that felt
as real to my senses as this one. So the senses are unreliable witnesses, and
waking life a reality no more substantial than the dream.
____________________
Author’s notes: The mind and senses, which help us construct a “reality”
that seems both objective and real, can also create a lucid dream reality
equally objective and real-seeming. If the mind and senses can do that, what
then actually constitutes “reality”? Does it exist out there? Or does it more
honestly and accurately exist within the mediated processing of our mind?
Alexander notes that many dreamers discover predictive dreams in their
dream journals, and it seems “impossible to dismiss them all as flukes and
coincidences.” If you acknowledge this apparent fluidity of time and space in
predictive dreams, she feels that you “can dissolve the narrow rational and
materialistic viewpoint, through which we normally understand life. The
practical, experiential path of dreaming can lead to a falling-away of ideas
and illusions, and open you up to the mind-blowing reality.”
These comments echo a bit of researcher Keith Hearne’s reaction when
he first saw the “eye signal” evidence for lucid dreaming on the REM
polygraph readout in 1975. Recalling that moment, Hearne told a reporter, “It
was like getting signals from another world. Philosophically, scientifically, it
was simply mind-blowing.”14
On that date, one man, “aware” in the realm of dreaming, signaled his
awareness from within it. At that moment, a beautiful new path for scientists
and inner travelers appeared. Lucid dreaming opened the dimension of
dreaming and its infinite mysteries for personal and scientific exploration by
the healer, the physicist, the artist, the philosopher, and the poet. While the
investigating still continues, the world may someday be roused by their
profound discoveries and perhaps, like Coleridge, ask, “Ah, what then?”
Lucid Dreaming A Graphic Cartoon by
Jeremy Taylor
 Chapter 10

Breakthrough Nightmares
Alan Siegel
In our nightmares, we experience a primal sense of vulnerability and
helplessness. Terrifying monsters and sinister beings inhabit our bad dreams
and haunt us in the waking hours, with a lingering emotional hangover that
can last for days, months, years, or decades1. Understanding the source of
nightmares and resolving the crises and conflicts that set them off is crucial to
mental health.
Unresolved nightmares, especially when they are recurring and
connected to profound stress or unresolved trauma, are one of the main
symptoms of Post-traumatic Stress Disorder2. Sometimes, nightmare
resolution occurs spontaneously and reflects improvements in the situation or
conflicts that initially triggered the nightmares. Often, especially when
conflicts persist or multiple life stresses pile up or overlap, nightmares linger
and may lead to other symptoms, especially sleep disorders, depression, and
anxiety. In those cases, getting help can be crucial to resolve lingering
anxiety connected to nightmares and may lead both to fewer nightmares and
to resolution of other symptoms.
Throughout history and in many cultures today, the evil denizens of
nightmares were viewed as coming from external divine or demonic forces
— messages from the gods or divine forces, attacks by incubi or succubae, or
the wrath of vengeful gods or goddesses. Even the origin of the English word,
nightmare, conveys the sense of terror that humans experience. According to
John Mack, in Anglo-Saxon3, a “mare was a demon, derived from the
Sanskrit, mara or destroyer.”
The work of Freud and Jung at the turn of the 20th century opened up
new possibilities in understanding nightmares. Thesource of nightmares was
relocated to within the psyche and not outside. Nightmares were considered
to be important messages from within — activity in the unconscious linked to
stress, trauma, confusion, and change.
The dream pioneers of the early 20th century struggled to explain the
origin and function of nightmares. The repetitive and unresolved endings of
post-traumatic nightmares did not fit well into Freud’s theory of wish
fulfillment. How is an unconscious wish fulfilled if the dreamer is
condemned endlessly to repeat horrific and unresolved scenarios? For Jung,
the vast majority of dreams were compensatory, bringing awareness to issues
we have not dealt with and often highlighting both our impasses and possible
metaphoric solutions to emotional blocks. Jung, however, did not try to create
a unitary model of dreaming and considered post-traumatic nightmares a
unique form of dreaming that was not always compensatory4.
Awareness of the psychological importance and creative potential of
nightmares was accelerated after the Vietnam War, when soldiers returned
traumatized by horrific violence and loss. Ernest Hartmann and others have
described the unique characteristics and psychodynamics of post-traumatic
nightmares and the differences between post-traumatic nightmares,
nightmares, and dreams.5,6
The unique characteristics of these nightmares include distressing
imagery and repetitive themes with unresolved conflicts, passive
victimization of the main character, an inability to resist or fight back
effectively, life-and-death survival situations, and often graphic violence,
destruction, and aggression, even the death of the main character or others in
the dream.7
Nightmares usually occur later in the night of sleep and often have a
much more developed story line — even if they are a bit hard to decipher at
times. Although recalling nightmares is infrequent for the vast majority of
humans, nightmares often increase during life’s turning points and crises.
Sleep and dream researchers have also sorted out the difference between
nightmares and night terrors. They discovered that night terrors occur
primarily in the first third of the night’s sleep and are more of a sleep disorder
than a dream phenomenon. They occur mostly in young children, who wake
up shortly after falling asleep, and have little content; but the child appears
incredibly distraught. With comforting words and perhaps some physical
soothing, children often fall back to sleep without any recall in the morning.8
Artists, poets, filmmakers, and novelists have always used nightmares as
one source of inspiration, and mystics and spiritual seekers have respected
the power of nightmares to open up pathways to enlightenment. Creative
people and those with what Hartmann called “thin boundaries” may also be
vulnerable to frequent nightmares — including some that inspire their artistic
expression.5 In cultures that place more importance on the psychological,
creative, and spiritual potential of dreams, dreams and nightmares are more
likely to be remembered and shared.
The four dreamers in this chapter recalled powerful dreams linked to a
variety of crises and traumatic events, including an adult’s dream
remembered dating back to age 7; two dreamers struggling with the
transitions to adulthood and career choice; and the dreams of a new mother,
traumatized by a near-death experience of her child. Three of the four
dreamers were or would become psychologists or counselors. They kept an
ongoing connection to their nightmares and became “wounded healers” who
ultimately drew inspiration from their experience and devoted themselves to
helping and educating others.
In two of the stories below, resolution was aided by lucidity. Although
many, perhaps most, lucid dreams occur spontaneously on their own, it
generally takes training and multiple attempts to re-enter a nightmare
purposefully, to become lucid soas to confront and vanquish the “evil forces.”
For those who are not trained lucid dreamers, various approaches to
rescripting a dream can be extremely therapeutic. Barry Krakow pioneered
Imagery Rehearsal Training, which guides a nightmare sufferer to change the
story line of a dream, often with creating a more resolved ending. This
technique has been shown to be effective for trauma survivors, and various
other forms of rescripting dreams and nightmares have also proven valuable.9
Not all nightmares are resolved at the time of the dream. For some, the
breakthroughs may come later as they explore the dream in a safe context. In
a graduate-level course I taught, a 30-year-old doctoral student who I will call
Mara recalled a series of recurrent childhood nightmares. In the repetitive
dreams, dating to when she was 9 years old: There are always two giant
fingers, strange and much larger than life. It is a little child trapped between
the huge fingers. It might be me. I am frightened and always wake up crying.
 She knew the dreams were important but was puzzled about the
meaning. When I asked when the dreams had occurred and what was
happening in her life at the time, she blushed at the obvious connection and
suddenly recalled that her parents were divorcing and were in a protracted
and acrimonious custody battle. It did not take long for her to link the dream
image of the giant fingers squeezing a vulnerable child to her emotional
experience of being caught in the crossfire of her parents’ conflicts.8
At the time, Mara’s post-traumatic nightmares (and her feelings) were
unresolved — a distress signal from an overwhelmed child. She recalled the
dream details but blocked off the unbearable feelings. After sharing the
dream in class, she reported that she called her mother, who confirmed both
the recurring nightmares and their destructive impact, which her mother
deeply regretted. This led to a breakthrough in her relationship with her
mother and helped her to resolve the traumatic impact of the divorce 20 years
earlier. Although Mara wished she had received support and understanding at
the time, she also realized that the emotional wounds she experienced led to
her decision to become a child psychologist and to help children and families
heal the emotional pain of divorce and other traumas.

Witches – Take Me Now!

Beverly Kedzierski D’Urso
The first of the four dreamers in this chapter is Dr. Beverly D’Urso,
who at age 7 was haunted by recurring nightmares of “gruesome
witches” threatening to devour her. After desperately pleading with
the witches dream after dream, Beverly finally became aware she
was dreaming and confronted them — not only “dissolving” the
nightmare but helping her understand its origins in an earlier
trauma.
Gruesome witches, living in the back of my dark and scary closet, sneak
out and are chasing me in my recurring childhood nightmare. I scream and
run through the house, tripping on the stairs, and fall spread-eagled on the
cement landing. Before the witches could devour me, I would wake up in an
icy sweat, breathing fast, terrified of ever going to sleep again. Once, as I lay
on the cement with the witches hovering over me, I plead, “Please, spare me
tonight. You can have me in tomorrow night’s dream!” I noticed that the
witches only came in my dreams.
One hot, sticky summer night, at the age of 7, I placed an old, dark pink,
American Indian blanket on the floor next to my mother and fell asleep on it.
Back in my bedroom, the closet door creaks open. The witches stream
forth, and I race through the house, across the porch, and down the stairs. I
trip, and the terrifying witches catch up to me. I begin to plead with them
when the thought flashes through my mind; “If I ask them to take me in
tomorrow night’s dream, then I must be dreaming now.” I look the witches
straight in the eye and demand, “What do you want?” They give me a
disgusting look, but I continue, “Take me now. Let’s get this over with!” To
my amazement, they simply dissolve into the night. I woke up elated and the
nightmares ceased.
Recently, I discovered that this experience had actually resolved an
earlier life trauma that had a strikingly similar scenario. In my earliest
memory, at 18 months old, my father left one morning without kissing me
goodbye. Extremely upset over this, I ran after him. He hadn’t locked the
door, so I pulled it open, and not knowing about steps, I crashed onto the
cement at the bottom and broke my collarbone. Alone in a hospital crib, my
parents waved goodbye while I sobbed, and old, scary nurses, hovered over
me. After years of recreating this trauma as my witch nightmare, I had finally
faced my fear at the age of 7 in this, my first lucid dream.
With lucidity, I continue to overcome difficulties and have amazing
adventures. I experience a world with endless possibilities and less fear,
while understanding everyone and everything as aspects of my truer self,
whether asleep or awake.
____________________
Author’s notes: Beverly experienced the nightmare resolution as a crucial
emotional breakthrough and, perhaps more crucially, Beverly experienced the
power of being able to alleviate terror through the power of her own mind
and to use the terror as her source of creativity. That led to her lifelong
passion for lucidity, including research at Stanford University, writing,
presenting, and serving as the subject of over 60 publications on Lucid
Dreaming/Lucid Living10.
For parents whose children dream of monsters in the closet, renowned
children’s author and illustrator Mercer Mayer wrote a poignant and uplifting
picture book, called There’s a Nightmare in My Closet. In the story, a
frightened boy finally summons the courage to confront his closet dream
monster, and as it turns out, the monster is even more scared than the dreamer
and wants to snuggle up and get comfort from the dreamer! 11

It’s Only a Rubber Doll

Clare Johnson
For Dr. Clare Johnson, a parent’s worst fear was almost realized.
She and her husband found their 4-week-old daughter lying stiff,
blue, and not breathing. She was miraculously able to resuscitate
her child by using mouth-to-mouth. Understan dably, this traumatic
incident put Clare on edge, and anxiety crowded out her normal
optimistic de-meanor.
When my newborn daughter was just under 4 weeks old, my husband
and I found her lying blue and stiff in her cot. She had stopped breathing. We
had the incredible luck of finding her just in time: I was able to resuscitate
her by breathing into her mouth. At the hospital, the doctors told us that after
one episode like this, she was at greater risk of having another one.
Of course, this was extremely worrying to hear. A first-time mother, I
found that although I loved being with my baby while she was awake,
following this traumatic event, the moment she went to sleep I felt very
anxious, constantly checking the rise and fall of her belly to make sure she
was still breathing. Since tinybabies spend so much time asleep, I quickly
grew sleep-deprived at a time when my body was already in postnatal
hormonal overdrive and in need of recuperative sleep. My husband had to
work quite far from home, and we were living in Portugal with no family
around to help out. Although I’m naturally a happy, energetic person, my
usual optimism slipped somewhat.
The nightmares started: I find a baby dead in her cot and am too late to
bring her back to life. I would wake up bathed in sweat and check my baby’s
breathing.
As a dreamworker, logically I knew (quoting Jeremy Taylor) that these
nightmares came in the “service of health and wholeness” and were simply
flagging the fact that I was in a state of high anxiety and needed to do
something to change this. But on the emotional level, it felt as if the
nightmares were kicking me when I was down, only making me feel worse
with their intimation that I might one day find my baby dead and be unable to
revive her. With new motherhood taking up all my energy, I couldn’t think
about myself: My baby’s well-being was all that mattered to me, so at first I
ignored the nightmares.
After the second or third one, I knew I had to act. A lifelong lucid
dreamer, I decided to become lucid the next time I found myself in that
scenario. Normally, I instinctively go for the integrative approach in lucid
dreams that involve disturbing imagery, in the spirit of “embracing the
Shadow,” but this time I was so upset in the dream that things happened a
little differently:
I find a baby dead in her cot. She has gone; there is no hope of reviving
her. I scream in anguish. In the middle of the scream, I realize I am
dreaming. Still totally hyped up with emotion, yet lucidly aware, I look at the
dream baby and see that it doesn’t look anything like a real baby — it’s a
rubber doll, totally unrealistic! How could I have been fooled by this? On
impulse I snatch it up and shout: “I refuse to have this sort of imagery in my
dreams again! I am lucid, and I know my baby is alive!” I throw the rubber
doll onto the floor and stamp on it. It dissolves into the floorboards. My
anger dissolves with it, and as I stand there, I am suddenly filled with a sense
of deep peace and radiance. I have the strong feeling that I am face to face
with my dreaming mind — or heart to heart with it — and the rush of love
and beauty is indescribable. My whole body begins to buzz with yoga energy,
as if I’m vibrating with rainbow colors. It’s as if I am the dream and the
dream is me, and there is total understanding and perfect harmony. I feel
completely loved and embraced. Lucid, I experience this moment with full
conscious awareness.
Slowly, I wake up and find I am lying in my bed in the same position I
was standing in in the dream — the yoga relaxation pose of Savasana; on my
back, my legs and arms slightly apart and my palms open. I am still buzzing
with the dream energy; it vibrates through my physical body, and I know
something amazing just happened. My recurrent nightmares never returned,
and my anxiety levels dropped significantly. I began to trust that my baby
would thrive.
The act of becoming lucid in my nightmare was the turning point for me
on the path to healing from the trauma. I was struck by the way that my lucid
awareness had spontaneously and instantaneously changed the nightmare —
the imagery that had seemed so frighteningly real when I was not yet lucid
transformed instantly into an unconvincing “dream prop”: Under my lucid
gaze, what I had taken for a real baby became a shabby rubber doll.
In the weeks that followed, I noticed a certain feeling taking shape inside
me. It was a feeling of profound reality creation, as if I had negotiated with
destiny in that dream. I felt as if my passionate shout, “I know my baby is
alive!” had somehow altered the fabric of reality. I felt empowered, that I
could shape my life events instead of feeling myself to be at the mercy of
some random act of the universe. I had made a stand, in some sense, and I
had been heard. I felt that despite our shaky start, I could move forward into
motherhood with confidence and joy. My daughter Yasmin is now a
vivacious 7-year-old and an intrepid (lucid) dreamer.
____________________
Author’s note: In this story, the simple act of recognizing that “this is a
dream” creates a shift in consciousness that causes the dream scene to
transform in response as it triggers a spontaneous, powerful, and lasting
transformative experience, a shift that carries over into the waking state as
well. As a side note, Clare stated, “I found it fascinating that despite my
initial angry reaction, with no lucid intent to ‘integrate’ any negative imagery,
the dream nevertheless transformed of its own accord into a profoundly
spiritual, healing experience. In the dream, the move from ‘emergency’
emotions to deep, healing peace happened incredibly fast; in the space of just
seconds.”
 Fighting to Save my Soul
Debra D. Carroll
Debra was a first-year medical student in Ohio when a very
uncomfortable recurring dream catapulted her out of the world of
Western science and into the jungles of South America to study
shamanism.
I was a first-year M.D./Ph.D. student at Case Western Reserve
University School of Medicine, pursuing a Ph.D. in the Department of
Anatomy. Since the grosser details of human anatomy had long been known,
the field of anatomy at that point was dominated by studies in genetics,
microbiology, and biochemistry, all areas of study at which I excelled and in
which I was interested. I had been honored to receive a full-tuition
scholarship, a fellowship from the National Institutes of Health, and a
stipend. However, even all of that financial support fell short of providing
enough money for me to buy my expensive medical books … and eat. The
university library kept only one copy of each required book, which was
already checked out every morning when I asked to borrow it.
I was struggling, partly because without the course books, it was very
difficult to study, and because some days all I had to eat was popcorn or a
kind of soup made from hot water and condiments at the cafeteria. Because
of the generosity I had received, I was too embarrassed to complain to
anyone about this untenable situation.
One of my ways of studying had always been visual. I created a huge
chart of the biochemical metabolism and buildup of the essential molecular
components extracted from food, showing the chemical interactions involved
at each step. This poster was color-coded, and the location in the cells at
which the interactions took place was represented by colored, dotted lines
surrounding the cascade of chemical reactions taking place.
Suddenly, I began having the same dream at least three or four nights
per week, around 3 or 4 a.m.: My head is filled with a bubble full of three-
dimensional, colored images of the type of reactions that filled my chart. The
bubble of chemical reactions grows and grows until it fills up the whole room
where I am sleeping, crushing my heart into a tiny space. I awaken, sitting
bolt upright, gasping for breath, and coughing.
Because I was born into a dreaming heritage, I had learned to use
dreaming techniques as a child to solve any kind of problem, especially to
process painful experiences emotionally, I set to work on this new problem.
As a small child, I learned how to re-enter an unpleasant dream at the point
where the dream had become uncomfortable and to redirect the action in a
better direction. I could do this repeatedly until the dream felt most satisfying
andresolved. After some time of reorchestrating this nightly ordeal, I
concluded that my dreaming mind was telling me that the mental pursuit of
scientific studies was threatening to disable my “heart,” my “home” of love,
sociability, art, and spirituality. I was devastated, because I had spent years
looking forward to becoming a doctor. I did not know how to find help,
despite seeing a psychologist at the School of Medicine.
I ended up leaving, and within two years I was living and working in the
San Francisco Bay area, where I began nurturing my spiritual life. I was
introduced to the newly formed Spiritual Emergence Network; I began going
to therapy, studying with the renowned psychic Anne Armstrong, and
developing my own performance art form using masks based on dream
beings, movement, and music, which I call Mythic Drama. I found myself
being “called in my dreams” to go to Peru and to meet shaman Don Eduardo
Calderon. With two partners, I created a magazine called Shaman’s Drum: A
Journal of Experiential Shamanism. Because of Shaman’s Drum, I met
Stanley Krippner, who agreed to be one of the editorial advisers to the
magazine. I went on to teach intuition training, meditation, and shamanism,
and led groups to study with master shamans in other countries.
With the perspective of time and distance, I can say that my recurring
dream not only changed my life in very dramatic ways, but also probably
saved my life.
____________________
Author’s note: Interestingly, Debra’s dream of being crushed and nearly
suffocating is a common dream theme. Its meaning may differ depending on
the dreamer’s life history and culture. Suffocation and paralysis are
frequently interpreted psychologically as being linked to a person’s being
stuck or paralyzed in a situation or relationship or illness.

There Is Something Inside My Room Looking At

Me!
Marina Glumac
For Croatian teen Marina Glumac, severe health challenges and
multiple surgeries, beginning at age 13, robbed her of the golden
opportunity to pursue her championship athletic abilities. She
suffered swarms of nightmares, terrible insomnia, sleep paralysis,
depression, and profound fatigue for six years. During a three-week
period of acute distress and excruciating sleep, ending in one
particularly terrifying nightmare broken only by false awake nings
that she could not get herself out of, she hits bottom.
It happened a few months back. I can’t say it was one dream, more like
it was series of events following each other that led me to where I am now.
I’ve had nightmares since I was 12 or 13 years old. They didn’t bother me
much, as I learned how to forget them the moment I woke up. Sometimes, I
would wake up during the night being soaking wet with no memories of
dreams. I ignored these little signs until it finally happened: my first sleep
paralysis. With no knowledge of it, I experienced something that was far
beyond previous nightmares. The fear is known only to those who have
experienced it themselves. It wasn’t a long time after that another one
happened. Fear was feeding fear. One bad experience was leading to another.
Before I knew it, I found myself having unbearable nonphysical experiences
every night, to the point that I was afraid to go to bed. I was afraid of
sleeping; I knew what was waiting for me if I went to bed.
Then I did something that made it worse: I started reading about astral
projection, out-of-body-experiences and other like experiences, and I just fell
apart. I knew nothing of those things, let alone understanding what was I
reading about: Articles weredescribing encounters with low-frequency beings
and other entities that are known in religions as demons and as angels. In
those three weeks of hell, I’ve experienced vivid dreams, normal dreams,
lucid dreams, OOBE, false awakenings, and sleep paralysis.
The worst experience I had was sleep paralysis happening all over again.
One night, I woke up at 4 a.m. Of course, I decided to go back to sleep. It
didn’t take long before I found myself paralyzed, looking at the shadow. Fear
was building inside me as I was helpless once again. Knowing it would be
over soon, I waited for it to pass.
Shadow is coming closer to me, really slowly, almost as if it is enjoying
looking at me being scared and helpless. I tell myself to bear with it because
it will all be over soon. And so it happens: Shadow goes right through me,
leaving me with incredible pressure on my chest; it is almost painful. And so I
wake up. Or at least I think I have.
Unfortunately, that is not a case. I “wake up” just to realize I am
experiencing another sleep paralysis. It is happening all over again. This
time a different hallucination — or should I say, sensation. There is
something inside my room looking at me. I feel its presence. I pray just lying
here, waiting to be attacked. Fear is even stronger, as I should have woken
up, but instead, sleep paralysis restarted. After the sensation I see a man
inside my hall. Within seconds, he is standing right in front of me. He grabs
my legs and starts taking me away. It lasts for two seconds before I wake up.
He was literally dragging me away. I am scared senseless.
For half a second I feel relieved. I wake up. Except, I don’t. It happens
again. Once again a false awakening. Sleep paralysis is happening all over
again. Being led by fear now almost uncontrollable, I dare to say I “jump out
of my skin” in almost a literal sense of the word. Somehow I manage to move
and escape my room. I start running outside to get as far as I can. As I run, I
notice that nothing looks as it should. My city is distorted. It is dark and
scary — really, really scary. Blackness is everywhere, I can’t see anything.
Within moments, I feel an arm on my shoulder. It is a man with no face with
long black hair in black clothing. He grabs my arm and throws me backward.
And there I am again, lying in my room, paralyzed. That’s when I hear
noises, and a few black smoke creatures start flying around my room. They
are toying with me. They start throwing me around like I am a soccer ball. I
am so scared that no words can describe it. I feel fear right to the bone,
chewing me from the inside. After the black smoke creatures are done playing
with me, I again “wake up.”
I don’t know how many sleep paralyses I had. After the 11th, I stopped
counting. It felt like it lasted for hours. When I finally managed actually to
wake up, it was 5 a.m. I couldn’t believe something like this could’ve
happened only in an hour. It surely didn’t feel like that. I was out of my
mind; I would dare to say I was close to a mental breakdown. I didn’t know
what was happening or why was it happening. I woke up with cold sweat
pouring down my face. My shirt was wet, my pillow was wet, even my sheets
were wet. That day I slept for 20 hours because I was dead tired. The toll
those experiences took was so huge, I couldn’t think clearly, I couldn’t bear
the stress, and the influence it had on me was devastating.
I decided to search for an answer, because I couldn’t go on like this. I
didn’t dare to admit to anyone what was happening to me, and so I was on
my own. This time, internet searching paid off. I found a forum that was
solely for dreams and I wrote about my experiences. Luck was on my side:
The administrator himself answered me. He introduced me to meditation and
helped me find inner peace. He explained to me what dreams really are and
how to overcome problems I had. “Dreams actually do not ‘exist.’ What
exists is you, consciousness, experiencing the physical reality and the
nonphysical reality. Do not try and label your experiences. The only
difference separating what people call ‘astral projection’ from lucid dreams
and other dream experiences is your level ofawareness.” He explained that
everything you experience is a projection. Then, he proceeded to ask me,
what was it that harmed me in these experiences? Was I physically harmed in
any way? I realized that the only thing that harmed me was myself because I
allowed fear to get the better of me. I was the one who was creating that fear.
I was harming myself. I was fighting myself. One bad experience led to
another.
These words changed everything. After few hours of talking, I finally
understood what it meant to “dream.” I finally realized what it means to
project, to experience. I felt like I was waking up. Everyone knows they are
conscious, but little do they know what it really means. The truth was there.
Nothing was harming me but myself. Mind is a powerful thing, and
imagination is its weapon. I started meditating before falling asleep, and
before long I started having the most amazing experiences of the
nonphysical.
I’m lucidly aware in almost all the experiences I’ve had so far, and I
haven’t had sleep paralysis since. It’s been four months now, and I can’t be
happier. I stopped labeling my experiences as of the nonphysical, and the
experiences as of the physical as well. Words such as good and bad, wrong
and right lost meaning. For me, there are no limitations and no contradictions.
I do not see things “white and black” anymore, but I can’t say I see them in
“color” either. I’m still getting there. Soon I will. I feel it.
_______________________
Author’s note: In many cases, as in this one, nightmares can be considerably
shameful, confusing, and disorienting, and the dreamer keeps them secret.
This secrecy can lead to feelings of isolation, shame, guilt, and social
withdrawal, and makes the dreamer more vulnerable psychologically.
Although Marina’s healing transformation was spontaneous and came at a
low point when she was desperate, it occurred when Marina shared her dream
with a guide. A transformation occurred through the relationship and the new
awareness, an alternative, healthier view on dreams and reality, was brought
about.

Nightmares have many causes and are often linked to extreme stress, to
disorienting life transitions, illness, loss, abuse, violence, and
disappointments. In fact, repetitive and often unchanging nightmares can be
one of the core symptoms of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. In therapy and
in life, exploring and resolving nightmares can be crucial in resolving PTSD,
depression and anxiety. Keeping the pain of nightmares bottled up can be
psychologically toxic. If the nightmares and the traumatic circumstances that
set them off do not get addressed, the emotional wounds can become like an
abscess — a virulent infection under the skin — toxic, but not always visible
on the surface.
The dreamers in this chapter and this book were eager to tell their stories
and nightmares, to celebrate their breakthroughs, and to educate and guide
others. All of the four dreamers in this chapter experienced overwhelming
stress, separation anxiety, severe illness, the near-death of a child, or a career
and spiritual crisis. Exploring their dreams and telling their stories broke the
silence, helped them become more human, more connected to others, more
resilient and empowered, and less fearful.
Dreams can change our lives when we pay attention, share our dreams
with friends, relatives, in dream groups, and with a mental health professional
when the need arises. With nightmares especially, just having the dream does
not necessarily lead to healing, especially when it is kept secret due to shame
and confusion. We usually need a safe place and a safe person or group to
share the nightmare, so we don’t feel isolated and paralyzed by our terror.12
As a general strategy, reassurance is a first-line intervention when an
individual is suffering from disturbing nightmares. In treatment if needed, or
if you are exploring your dream on your own, rescripting can be crucial to
transforming the pain of the nightmare into a source of insight and
creativity.13 Rescripting involves creating a new ending, rewriting, or
retelling the dreamby altering and creatively rearranging some of the story
lines and character interactions — often with a new or different resolution.
After rehearsing various alternate avenues and solutions, the dreamer often
comes up with a new perspective on the conflict in the nightmare. This can
lead to an easing of the nightmare distress and often to new insights and a
sense of a burden being lifted.
Keeping a dream journal can be especially helpful to see the recurrent
patterns and themes in your dreams. The patterns and the distance of looking
back over the dream narratives can often lead to spontaneous insights and the
courage to change. Remember, the most important book you will read about
dreams is your dream journal. In addition, exploring your dreams through
creative avenues, journaling, writing, drawing (especially for children), re-
enacting them dramatically, joining a dream group, working with a
psychotherapist or dream guide, meditating, or other approaches can activate
the healing power of dreams to change your life.
Healing Dreams
Joseph Kemeny
 Chapter 11

Dreams that Physically Heal

Justina Lasley
How can it be? How can the body know what is going on before doctors
and advanced medical tests can detect the disease?
This was a question I asked often as I began to get messages from my
dreams that seemed to be guiding me with my ailments. I had to move past
my learned misconceptions that the medical community is the first to
acknowledge something going awry with my physical health. I had not
learned to listen to myself but was taught to look to experts and those who
knew what was best for me. It was with difficulty that I began to let go of
such limiting beliefs and to trust my intuition and my dreams as medical and
emotional guides. From personal and professional experience, I understood
that dreams offer an accurate look at the way we feel. Now, I had evidence
from my own and others’ experiences that dreams can accurately guide us in
creating a healthy environment for our bodies.
One day I woke up wondering, if our bodies are created to stay balanced,
then who is most likely to know when the body is out of balance — the body
that is being affected or the medical professionals who depend on medical
technology to understand what is happening to the body? That was a turning
point in my restricted thinking. At that moment I understood that the body
could know first and then the dreams could relay that information to my
consciousness.
I went through serious surgeries, chronic illnesses, and an injured body.
I suffered, but I continually felt supported and guided by my dreams even
when others could not diagnose my chronic,severe illness. I was then blessed
with a doctor, at my graduate school, who was from a Native American
culture and was willing to step outside of traditional Western medicine.
When he heard about my interest in dreams, he asked me to share some with
him. He drew the images I described of strange shapes crawling up my
childhood bedroom walls and ordered some blood work different from that
ordered by my other doctors. Through the results of that test, the mysterious
illness was soon diagnosed.
That doctor believed in my dreams and gave me the confidence to
continue to follow my dreams in my dealing with lupus. I went through years
of serious complications, but today, with the help and guidance of my
dreams, I am in full remission.
There are entire books devoted to detection of disease through dreams
and the physical healing offered through dreamwork. In this chapter I include
several dreams that present living proof that dreams offer guidance and
support in keeping us physically balanced. One of these is my dream below,
where poisonous snakes released from a dirt dauber nest showed me how to
release the “poison” from my then-degenerating hand — a hand that even
well-known physicians had not been able to heal.

Extracting Snakes from the Dirt Dauber’s Nest

I had been faced with the complications of lupus for quite some time
when I fell and injured my hand; the lupus caused severe complications, so I
consulted several doctors at Duke Medical Center, as well as “the best hand
surgeon in the country” in Atlanta. No one in the medical community knew
how to stop the deterioration of my hand. I was sent to physical therapy and
was finally helped to some extent by acupuncture. Then I had the following
dream that provided information for a major turnaround in my healing:
A woman notices an insect nest of some kind on the door handle inside
the car. I am in the passenger seat, and the nest is on my door. She says it has
to come out. She doesn’t alarm me but says she will get it out. She carefully
takes the clay nest off the door and examines it. It looks like a dirt dauber’s
nest. I think how dangerous this could be since she could easily be stung by
the wasplike insects inside. She seems very capable of doing it. She carefully
puts the nest under water in a sink. She then breaks off the tip of one of the
nest’s tubes and cautiously pulls out a poisonous snake (rattlesnake). She
adeptly and consciously breaks the neck of the snake by flicking it with her
fingers. She continues to repeat the process with each of the nest’s tubes until
all the poisonous snakes have been destroyed. I am very nervous about the
entire procedure, but she is very calm and focused.
The dream had a quiet, spiritual presence about it. When I woke up, it
seemed very important. While describing the dirt dauber’s nest to one of my
dream groups, I realized that the clay nest resembled the fingers of a human
hand! I was shocked! I had seen many dirt dauber nests in my life, but I had
never realized that it so closely resembled a human hand. It was even similar
to the color of my hand! I was in awe, knowing that this dream might offer
healing guidance for my very painful injured finger and hand. I told my
physical therapist about the dream on my next visit, and she immediately
said, “What a great idea. We just got a new water therapy that I want to try on
you!” The therapy was done by submerging my hand underwater and
applying a controlled electrical impulse to it. It actually helped! I also did a
visualization several times a day — imagining that I was pulling the poison
out of my fingers, just as the wise woman did in the dream. It was an
amazing healing process. I was once again reminded how my dreams are my
wisest guides for all aspects of my life, including health.

God’s Idiot
Victoria Pendragon
Dreams transform us by attempting to inspire us, showing us our
inner healing strength that we have turned a blind eye to. And as
Victoria discovers, they can sometimes become amazingly blunt!
I was angry that I was dying from a disease – scleroderma – that, in
addition to killing me ever so slowly, was putting me in great pain. I’d had a
challenging life, marked by abuse, yet I still greeted each new day with
optimism. I was angry at a world I’d trusted to bring me to a good place. I’d
also been a voluminous and vivid dreamer, and a rift had begun to grow
between my dreams — remarkable dreams in which I was not just healthy but
healthy beyond my wildest hopes, able to carry a full-grown monk across a
stream for instance, a task for which I did not even consider myself worthy.
Rescuing others was a common theme. I grew even angrier now, at the
dreams themselves, for promising me the impossible.
I am in an elevator in a building that I know is quite tall, Empire State
Building-like. I am going up, but the elevator car is picking up speed, floor
numbers are whizzing by so fast that I cannot make them out. A brief, sharp
panic hits: It’s not stopping. It’s going to break through the roof and, with
that thought, it does. The car explodes through the roof of the building and
then it explodes me out and up into pitch black darkness spattered with
brilliant stars. It’s gorgeous. Suddenly, I am the stars, the sky, everything.
The feeling is amazing, fabulous, and transcendent.
I return slowly to consciousness, reveling in the feelings, lost in bliss,
when a voice — as loud and clear as if it were in the room with me — shouts,
“And you, you are God’s idiot!”
Even though it hurt, I laughed out loud. I was an idiot! The universe had
been sending me signs — amazing, inspiring dreams; I needed to drag myself
up and DO something, anything! Everything! Thus began a two-year
adventure in alternative approaches to healing plus the opportunity to be a
guinea pig in a medical experiment that, while it worked for me, worked for
no one else in the study, but I knew that it would work for me because I’d
dreamed about it before it happened.
My dreams saved my life, pure and simple. When I showed up at the
hospital where I’d been part of the study, 20 years after the study had been
shut down, my doctors cried. They thought for sure that I must be dead;
almost no one lives with the degree of scleroderma that I had, and no one else
that is known about has ever been freed of the disease.

Healing Song of My Ancestors

Linda H. Mastrangelo
Jung talked of a deep, collective dimension to the psyche which
 makes itself known in our dreams. It is a dimension that maintains a
connection with our cultural and ancestral past, where in this story
Linda discovers a healing journey that may belong to more than this
lifetime.
In 2007, my healing journey began with a dream: A song is sung
repeatedly to me by a Celtic ancestor and medicine woman from thousands of
years ago. There is an urgency about it, like she wants me to learn this song
to keep our familial healing tradition going, but I could not remember it upon
waking.
At the time of the dream, I had persistent throat blockage. I was in a
constant state of discomfort from the urge to swallow or dislodge whatever
was in my throat, even though nothing wasthere. So it wasn’t surprising that
my dreams involved objects stuck in my throat like debris, insects, and even a
two-headed dragon! Soon afterward, I began working on the throat dreams
with dreamworker and Professor Karen Jaenke at John F. Kennedy
University.
There was one particular dream involving two balls of clay falling from
my mouth. I learned from Karen how vital it is to bring bodily sensations to
my awareness in order to work with it better. I drew a picture of it and even
bought clay to reenact the dream. At first, I could hear myself making primal
sounds, which surprised and embarrassed me, but I kept with it. Soon a flood
of tears streamed down my face, and through this process I was able to
identify a deep sadness and wounding. I sat with the grief without judgment,
allowing myself to feel through the pain.
I worked with the clay and found myself making bread! It was a
rhythmic, almost hypnotic action, as if I had been doing this all my life.
While I was working the “dough,” I had a striking image of another dream I
had months prior. It involved my father’s side of the family.
In the dream the family owns a famous bakery in Italy. I can actually see
the large brick oven and the long, wooden table powdered with flour. It feels
like it took place hundreds of years ago, perhaps during the Renaissance and
that there was a dark family secret causing a dysfunctional ripple effect to
future generations, namely the women in my familial line being cast out or
shamed for being “different.” I was later able to confirm this with my father.
 I followed the thread back even further and was reminded of other
dreams that shared this theme. In 2003, I dreamed: I am a female exiled monk
in the 1500s (same time period!) where I am forced to leave my community
for something I did, though I do not know what. Luckily, I do find my people I
call “the Dreamers,” an enlightened group that works with symbols, dreams,
sacred geometry, and alchemy. I remember thinking, “This is my true home!”
Later, I worked on a dream about the Fallen Sophia in Gnosticism, who
is sometimes referred to as Queen of the Underworld or The Exiled One, and
once again, a deep sadness welled up in my throat and heart.
I am in a room with others, and there is a woman here whom I don’t
recognize. I can sense that she carries with her sacred knowledge and was a
seeker of truth. She is both young and old, past and present, here and now. I
also sense that this woman, though wise and ancient, is deeply sad. She was
being used, not honored for her gifts. As we stand facing each other, I sense a
strong tension that others could feel as well. Suddenly, she and I are fused at
the mouth, tongue and teeth; locked in an intense and ecstatic embrace. I
suddenly realize this is the Sophia!
This deep wounding of worthlessness was felt in my reenactment of the
dream. I felt that I was integrating some of the wounds of the past into the
present, for Sophia was both old young, past and present, here and now. The
image of my Celtic medicine ancestor who sang to me came to mind.
I also noticed the patterns that arose and how this knowing shifted my
consciousness: It was the women healers in my ancestral line who were
ostracized for their gifts and were forced to hide their true selves! The dreams
all powerfully pointed to this: the fifth throat chakra of creativity, self-
expression, and personal truth.
If I look at the first dream with the Celtic medicine woman, I am
passive. She is singing to me her wisdom, and I receive her song but I don’t
remember it or sing it back. In the next few dreams I feel the “song” stuck in
my throat in the form of clay. Luckily, in the dream the clay falls out of my
mouth, letting me know that I can work with it. In the final dream working
with Karen, I meetSophia, the goddess in the form of a middle-age woman
who is deeply wise but sad that she is not appreciated for her gifts. However,
there is tension here, a clear shift is about to happen, and it certainly does!
We are fused at the mouth, and once again the theme of wisdom exchanged
orally is clear. This time I am not only an active participant, I am directly
involved in the integration, literally fused with her. Through the ecstatic
energy, I sense a deep healing take place: a deep, primordial wound that goes
back centuries.
Since working this dream series, my throat blockage has completely
disappeared! I found my voice by bringing my own dream-inspired art,
publications and research to international audiences as well as becoming a
healer myself; as a licensed psychotherapist working with trauma, grief, and
ancestral wounding, I am honoring the ancestors. But more importantly, this
“exiled monk” finally found a community of “dreamers” at the International
Association for the Study of Dreams who support these gifts.
It is the dreamers of the family who are chosen to heal the ancestral line.
What a gift to sing back the songs of our ancestors and teach this wisdom to
future generations!

Lucid Healing
Craig Sim Webb
In chapters nine and ten, we learned how lucid dreaming can be a
powerful aid in healing emotional conflicts and facing your fears
directly in the dream, but as Craig discovers, it also appears to help
heal physical problems as well.
I was a top-level competitive swimmer and doing well with the
Université de Laval swim team until a full schedule of swim practices and
weight training began to take their toll on my shoulders and I developed
bursitis, which limited me from training and competing. I tried
physiotherapy, but the healing process was painfully slow, so I decided to see
if the lucid dreaming skill I’d been developing could help solve the problem
and set my intention before sleep to become conscious in a dream and try
healing my shoulders from a deeper level.
I suddenly realize I’m dreaming and remember that I want to heal my
shoulders. I cross my forearms and put my hands each on the opposite
shoulder, focusing my attention somehow and building up a healing energy
like light or electricity that I can feel being absorbed into my shoulders. The
experience feels peaceful and lasts a minute or two.
The next morning, my shoulders didn’t feel too much different, but over
following days the bursitis cleared up surprisingly rapidly, and I was happy to
be able to practice and compete again.

Calling Dr. Jaski’s Dream Team

Wanda Burch
Wanda “asked” for dreams to help her with her repeated migraines,
but with little resolve. This time she phrased her question with the
urgency of her feelings: “I don’t want to do this anymore.”
I had experienced debilitating migraine headaches since I was 12 years
old. I had tried medication, which left me groggy with sensations of dull pain
through fog. Stronger and more recentmedications were discouraged by my
physicians because of the association with heart attacks and other dramatic
side effects. I continued to suffer through days of pain and nausea with each
migraine. In April 2011, I began feeling the dull pain on the days that always
preceded the more dramatic onset of the headache. I was exhausted and
drained by the anticipation of what was coming and went to bed that night
with an intent I had often voiced for my dreaming — to find an answer, to
find some relief. But this time, in exasperation, I said aloud, “I don’t want to
do this anymore.” I awoke pain-free with this dream still vividly in my mind:
I am with three or four other people, all women I believe; and we are
sitting in an ante-room, quite nice, lots of light, comfy chairs. I get up and go
through a door. Inside the next room are three desks. At the first two desks
are a receptionist with files and a gentleman who is a physician/specialist,
but I’m not sure of his specialty. At the rear desk sits Dr. Jaski. He says the
team he assembled in response to my problem is ready for me.
 I am briefly aware of some kind of painless surgery on my head. Back in
the waiting room, after the surgery, Dr. Jaski asks the surgery team to show
me what they removed in the exploration of my brain. A surgeon shows me a
small, blood-covered beadlike piece of tissue that he has removed from my
brain. I’m not afraid of it. I take it in my hands, turn it over and over, and
feel small “hairy” tentacles all over the surface. I am grateful and I thank the
physician and my team.
I awoke feeling somewhat cautious but extremely relieved in the
absolute absence of pain. I also awoke knowing that this assembled team of
physicians, obviously with multiple levels of expertise, was ready for any
additional problems I might encounter. Dr. Jaski had been my oncologist but
had become my friend through years of follow-up visits regarding my health.
I had always confided in him on medical issues, so it was no surprise that he
was there, and I knew, in the dream, that he was there to support my intent
and not because of an oncology problem. He had literally assembled a
“dream team” for me.
I experienced the dream in 2011. I have had no migraines since the night
of that dream. And, you can always access a dream team. Ask for one to
assemble for you.

The Red Four-Cylinder Engine

Steve Parker
While dream images can arise out of a multitude of personal
associations, the dreaming mind often represents your physical
body as a physical thing, quite often a machine. Broken machinery
may appear, therefore, as metaphor for something broken in your
body. Steve’s intuitive understanding of that metaphor, upon
waking, helped save his life.
In September 2000, I have the following dream1: An airplane with a red,
four-cylinder engine is leaking oil and smoking. The plane takes off and
crashes.
 I woke up, and the first thought in my head was, “I am having heart
problems.” I immediately set up an appointment with my doctor. We talked
about what to do. I had no symptoms. I had no difficulty exercising. My
cholesterol level was good. Probably the best diagnostic alternative was to
run a thallium treadmill test, but how do you justify doing this test on the
basis of a dream? I didn’t particularly want to have what I feared was a
radioactive substance in my blood and have a large medical bill.
Four months later, I was walking up a hill 100 yards from my house and
started getting dizzy and sweating. I had to sit down three times before I
could make it home. I was told to go to the emergency room. From there I
was sent to a heart institute in Anchorage, a 300-mile flight. By the time I
reached the cardiologist’s office in Anchorage, I was dizzy and sweating
again. The cardiologist spent 15 minutes with me and gave me, according to
the bill, “a thorough heart evaluation.” This cardiologist was going on
vacation, and since I had an infected tooth, he did not want to do an
angiogram, which would have pictured any blockages to the coronary
arteries. He sent me home and told me to come back in two weeks.
Concerned, I quickly went to the internet to research my situation. Everything
I read said that I had “unstable” angina. I called Dr. C. in San Francisco, a
friend whom I had gone to school with. He said to fly down to San Francisco,
and they would take care of me at the California Pacific Medical Center.
The next day I was on a flight to California with my family. For the first
time at the airports, I took one of those motorized airport carts. Walking was
difficult; the world seemed very gray to me. I kept thinking of the Emily
Dickinson poem, “The fog is rolling in. I must go inside.”
The cardiologist I was scheduled to see called me at the hotel. When he
learned I had taken three nitroglycerin tablets (which oxygenate the blood
and prevent heart attacks) and still was feeling strange and nauseous, he sent
me to the emergency room. The angiogram showed a long 90 percent
blockage of the left descending coronary artery, and a stent was put in. I had
just missed a massive heart attack.

These are but a small sampling of the vast number of dreams that have
been reported about physical healing. Hopefully, you can see that we are
given guidance in our sleep to help us live healthier lives, not only mentally
and emotionally but physically. If we listen carefully to the metaphorical and
symbolic language of our dreams, it can provide an early warning system to
help prevent the onset of disease and illness in our waking life. I encourage
you to pay attention to the wisdom of your dreams and encourage your family
and friends to do the same. The body wants to keep us informed, and one way
it does is through the dreams, our restorative sleep.
 Chapter 12

Healing Transformations with Cancer

Dreams
Wendy Pannier & Tallulah Lyons
Many people dream about cancer before an actual diagnosis, and for
many, the dream is the impetus for going to a doctor. After diagnosis and
during the entire cancer journey, it is common to receive dream guidance
about choice of doctor and all aspects of treatment — about needs for
lifestyle changes, relationship changes — about any aspect of life that is out
of balance and in need of repair. Dreams during cancer also bring experiences
of strength, healing, and hope, and for many dreamers help transform the
cancer journey into a life-expanding experience.
For 16 years, we have been partners in a project to help cancer patients
and caregivers discover the healing gifts of dreams. Together, we developed a
dream guidebook and a facilitator’s manual1; and with other members of
IASD as part of an IASD Cancer Project2, we have led dream groups and
workshops in cancer centers across the country. As we have listened to
hundreds of dreams from participants in ongoing dream groups and have
carefully tended our own dreams through our own personal cancer journeys,
we have seen clear evidence of dreams that bring both the imagery and the
energy for coming into a new relationship with all dimensions of life. During
illness, it is as if psyche goes into high gear to bring dreams that can become
energy for healing the mind and spirit, as well as the body
Wendy’s dream journey through cancer reflects many of the aspects
above. In October 1993, Wendy had the following dream: My gynecologist of
many years calls me on the phone and says: “You need a D&C.”
The next December, following a sonogram, her gynecologist called for
the first time ever and said, “You need a D&C.” In January 1995, Wendy was
diagnosed with Stage IVB cancer. The dream had diagnosed the cancer 15
months before the actual diagnosis. Dreams often foretell illness, and
dreamers can alleviate much suffering when they pursue their messages.
Both Wendy and Tallulah have learned from their own cancer
experiences as well as from members of their dream groups that the imagery
of nightmares usually spotlights issues that need transformation in order for
healing to occur. So often, the dream shows the one thing that the person is
most reluctant to let go of and what is most needed for healing.
In late December 1994, Wendy dreamed: Someone is demolishing a
building I own — it’s imploding and crumbling from the inside. I am angry
and want to be compensated for the damage. A man is running away from the
building, and he is angry too, but I am not sure at what. I talk to a friend who
is a lawyer about what has happened. He says the damages are not just the
cost of the building, but the five months it will take to rebuild it as well.
When Wendy’s cancer was diagnosed the following month, her body
was imploding. She intuited that the dream image of the man running away
foreshadowed the end of a relationship with her significant other. This
breakup came in the middle of her treatment, which took about five months.
The dream was making a statement at two levels — the physical and
emotional/relational.
The following spring after months of inner and interpersonal work,
Wendy dreamed: I am renovating a building from the basement up. The
woman who owns the building wants it renovated — now! I do the
renovations, and they are spectacular. It is now an elegant, three-story
building with a theater on the top floor and the woman is trying to decide
what plays to put on.
A nightmare of an imploding building turned into a renovation during
months of integrated treatment. Wendy could now begin to look at what she
wanted to do with her life — what “plays” she wanted to star in and direct.
The dream also referred to dreamwork — the “plays” we put on for ourselves
every night.
Tallulah was diagnosed with bladder cancer five years ago. She is now
cancer-free, and because she had listened to the dreams of cancer patients for
almost 20 years, she felt assured that her own dreams would bring strength
and guidance for the journey. She focused on powerful imagery from her
dreams as she journaled and meditated to release their healing energies.
In one dream: A golden fish speaks, “Do not be afraid.” In another
dream: I am handed a silver chalice and am told to drink and be restored. In
another: I am riding on the back of an ancient sea turtle all the way down to
Australia and I know that when we arrive, I’ll be well again. In a series of
dreams that follow: I feel restoring energy each time I encounter a numinous
red horse.
Tallulah continues to integrate and embody her powerful dreams through
meditative practices. The imagery with their healing energies continues to
support and guide her journey even today.
Wendy’s most powerful image became her personal metaphor for
healing. In February 1995, she dreamed: I am driving down a dark street
reminiscent of where I grew up. All of a sudden, I see a tree that is totally lit
up. It is full of vibrantly colored iridescent birds — the most vivid shades I
have ever seen. I am in awe of the incredible life and vitality. It is like a “tree
of life” and feels very positive.
In June of the same year, at a workshop at the Association for the Study
of Dreams conference in New York City, she was guided to reenter the “Tree
of Life” dream: I ask the birds what they have to tell me. I don’t get an
answer. Then a voice is telling me to let go and relax. I do. Then the birds
take the edges of my clothing in their beaks and lift me into the tree. They
surround meas with a brightly colored feather cape and tell me that their
light and life force come from within and they will teach me how to find this
source. I feel the energy they are generating, and then I start to feel it within
myself — radiating out. I feel like I am starting to glow, and it is incredible.
Encountering healing dreams plays a life-changing role for many who
face cancer. The following stories illustrate many important aspects of this
healing power.

Wake Up, Theresa, Wake Up

 Theresa Wilson
This dream is a beautiful example of the intricate weaving of
waking-life hopes and aspirations and sleeping dreams. The dreams
not only pushed Theresa to get to a doctor, but were instrumental in
bringing her to a new “life space” — both inner and outer. Her
story highlights the importance of honoring the dream through both
attitude and action.
I had two big dreams in 2008, and the first was related to an Oprah Big
Dream competition. I didn’t feel confident about entering, but the night
before the closing date for entries, I had a dream where: I see myself writing
my entry and submitting it. The next morning I wrote and submitted my Big
Dream competition entry.
Three months later on May 1, 2008, I had another dream or series of
dreams in the same night, this time a bit more urgent: I hear a voice calling
my name with great urgency “Theresa! Wake up!” I woke up and, thinking
there might be an intruder, looked out the window but saw nothing. I went
back to sleep, and the dream continued. I see a large group of people, men
and women whom I don’t recognize but they seemed familiar somehow. They
are all looking at me with great concern and then they all call out, “Wake up,
Theresa!” I woke up again and this time walked through the whole house
checking the doors and windows; everything was fine. I went back to sleep
again, and once more the dream continued. A voice shouts, “Wake up,
Theresa, wake up.”
This time I woke up feeling sure that there was something wrong. It was
about 3 a.m. I went to the bathroom, and a thought occurred to me that I
hadn’t done a breast examination for a while. It was never something I
thought important. I was only 41; there was no history of breast cancer in my
family; and I had none of the other risk factors. So I did an examination in
front of the mirror and found nothing amiss. Then I leaned forward to drink
some water from the tap and noticed a dimpling on my right breast.
Immediately, I knew something was wrong. Two days later I was diagnosed
with Stage 2 breast cancer. A few days after the diagnosis, the Oprah Big
Dream people knocked on my door to tell me that I was one of the Big
Dream competition winners. My big dream had been to make my home as
environmentally friendly as possible, including planting trees in my garden
and building a labyrinth.
I went through six months of chemotherapy and radiation. The treatment
was very hard, but every day I was filled with hope and wonder when I woke
up in my “green, made-over home” and walked in my labyrinth surrounded
by a growing garden full of trees and scented plants.

I Was Assured I Would Be OK

Denise Conner
Denise’s story is a good example of how dreams often bring
assistance in making crucial decisions and how engaging with
dreams brings trust and reassurance. It also demonstrates how
dreams of patients can influence the attitude of health professionals.
There are three dreams that pertain to this story. In early 2001, I dream: I
have been diagnosed with an early form of cancer and I am asking a friend
who had several episodes of cancer how he coped with it. I am a bit
distraught. In the background is a woman physician who keeps saying,
“Don’t worry, Denise, we have many ways of dealing with this. Don’t
worry.”
Several months later, during a routine mammogram, doctors found
“suspicious calcifications” in one breast and recommended a biopsy. They
diagnosed a precancer called DCIS and recommended surgery. The second
doctor I consulted in my search for a surgeon was the doctor I was most
comfortable with, and I chose her. On the way home with my husband, I
realized she was the physician from my dream.
Then I have a second dream. I am out in a car with a friend. We are
meeting other people out in the country and we are sitting in our cars. From
a distance, a man comes down the road in a car, randomly shooting people.
Some folks are shot, some run, some hide. I see him about 50 feet from me
and scrunch down behind the dashboard. He drives by without shooting.
When I woke up I told my husband, “I just dodged a bullet.”
Then I had a second lumpectomy in which the doctors did not achieve
clean margins. My surgeon said, “I’ll do another lumpectomy, but I believe a
mastectomy is better.” My need to make this critical choice triggered a third
dream: I am visiting relatives in another state. I am at my cousin’s
townhouse, but my relatives are not there. Instead, from the attic to the
basement, the house is full of foreign people. No one is dangerous; walls are
not being broken down; but from top to bottom, foreigners are everywhere.
I awoke and said to my husband, “I need to have a mastectomy.” I felt
the dream was telling me that scattered all throughout my breast were foreign
cells. I proceeded with the surgeries over several months. I am typically a
person who is always quite fearful about events, but throughout this entire
process I was never afraid. My sister commented that she was getting freaked
out because I wasn’t freaked out. I told her that in all the time I had been
keeping track of my dreams, they had never lied to me. From the first of these
three dreams, I was sure I was going to be OK.
It’s now 15 years later, and I’m still OK. The dreams were incredibly
useful and reassuring to me, and I will always be immensely grateful for
them. Afterward, I told every health care person who attended me about my
affirming dreams, and all were open to hearing about them. In fact, the
radiologist who initially read my mammogram films and later did the biopsy
asked me to recommend some books because he “had always been interested
in dreams.”

The Yellow Bus

Monique Séguin
This dream helped Monique, a health care professional, to
recognize the importance of dreams at the end of life and inspired
her to change her vocational direction.
I always paid attention to my dreams because my mom often wondered
about her dreams, which inspired the same curiosity. I knew dreams were
precious and I specifically paid attention to them while I was going through
crisis. I learned there was a healing process through the progression of
different dream scenarios.
I had been a licensed practical nurse for several years, working mostly in
psychiatry. In April 2002, I was doing a home visit with a woman who had
cancer. Her name was Madame Juliette. I was wondering if people who have
to face death at the end of life were still having dreams and what those
dreams might be like. I reflected on this question since my own dreams had
been so helpful during a crisis period of separation and divorce. That
afternoon when I was alone with Madame Juliette, I asked her if she
remembered her dreams. She answered, “Yes, occasionally.” I asked if she
might like to describe one. To my surprise she agreed.
I am standing in a yellow bus full of people. I look out the window and
wonder, “Will I know when it is time to get off? Is there someone who will
tell me when I must get off this bus?”
I asked her how she was feeling in her dream, and she smiled and said
she was OK. As simple this exchange was, it made me realize that taking
time to listen to a person’s dream was a wonderful way to improve
communication and to get insight into their deepest concerns.
This dream helped me to improve the quality of care with my patients,
and it changed the direction of my professional life. Soon after the dream, I
decided to change my place of work. In September, I left my work in
psychiatry and started working in a palliative hospice. I began asking my
patients about their dreams because the contents and their feelings felt so
relevant to the endof-life transition. I have written a book on the topic with
Nicole Gratton, Dreams and Death: The Benefits of Dreams Before, During,
and After Death. Since changing my focus, I have presented at conferences
for palliative care associations in Canada and the U.S. to demonstrate to other
caregivers how taking time to listen to dreams at the end of life can be a
precious tool to improve communication and to help facilitate one’s final
transition. I am grateful to Madame Juliette, who died in July 2002, and her
dream of the yellow bus.
____________________
Author’s note: There is now a surge of interest in dreams of the dying. An
increasing number of research projects are seeking to understand the role of
such dreams in supporting “a good death” — both for patients and their
grieving loved ones.

I knew I Would be All Right

Paulette
Paulette, a breast cancer and leukemia survivor, was a member of
Wendy’s dream group at Cancer Support Community for a number
of years. Although Paulette had increasing medical problems
including diabetes, she never lost her positive attitude — or her
deep belief in spirituality. With a sense of passion and humor, she
shared the following dream with the group in late 2012. Paulette
died in 2014. The days of the dream and the actual event are noted
for their significance. This is an example of dreams that assure the
dreamer of a good outcome, which is proven to be true in a later
event.
On Friday, I have this dream: I wake up and know my blood sugar has
dropped. I try to reach for the phone to call my brother but can’t reach it and
I fall out of bed. I am sweaty and struggling toreach the phone. I finally
manage to get to the phone and I call my brother. He comes, and I am taken
to the hospital. The medical staff looks very grim and someone says I am
Code Blue. But I know I am going to be all right — and they find I am all
right and do go home.
The following Sunday, in reality I awoke and knew my blood sugar had
dropped. My dream repeated itself as an actual situation. I tried to reach for
the phone to call my brother but couldn’t reach it and fell out of bed. I was
sweaty and struggling to reach the phone. I finally managed to get to the
phone and called my brother. He came, and I was taken to the hospital. I
remember hearing that I was Code Blue. I looked at the nurse and told her not
to worry, that I was going to be all right because I had dreamed it. She looked
at me as though I was nuts — but I knew I wasn’t, thanks to my dream. I
recovered and went home — just as in my dream.
___________________
Author’s note: We also have heard many healing dreams that indicated a less
desired outcome. Each of these dreams, however, in some way helped the
dreamer prepare for future change and brought a sense of support and
comfort.

She Came Out On Her Own

Rachel Norment
Often cancer patients experience a progression toward healing and a
renewed sense of well-being and purpose through working with a
series of dreams. Rachel’s story is unusual in that the series
occurred all in one night.
At age 59, I was a watercolor artist, exhibiting nationwide and having
taught painting in Virginia for over 20 years. I was interested in dreams but
knew very little about how to understand their messages. On the third
morning after receiving a diagnosis of breast cancer, I remembered a series of
six dream segments all in one night. I carefully wrote them down, hoping to
learn something that might help me deal with my situation. It took me many
months gradually to understand the whole series, to see how each segment
related to my medical/physical situation.
The first segment seemed to show metaphorically my feelings of
extreme alarm over the diagnosis: I am in a crowd of people in “grandstand”
seats at the edge of water. I am on the first row, right beside the water. I see
a woman either jump in or fall in. I watch as she goes down under the water
and doesn’t come back up. I am alarmed. Fearing she will drown, but seeing
no one else attempting to help, I decide to jump in, fully clothed. I am not
sure how well I can help. But before I do jump, I see her finally resurface a
few feet farther away. She may “sputter” a little, but she doesn’t seem to
need more help.
I felt so threatened by this dream that I failed to note that the woman
came out of the water, through her own efforts without further help. It would
take years to realize the water metaphor as a symbol of the transformative
power working in my unconscious.
The second dream segment helped me decide the question uppermost in
my mind at the time of the dream: Should the surgeon who did the biopsy do
the lumpectomy?
I am with two men. One is thin and shorter than the other. He looks at
me very kindly, and somehow I know he wants to pick me up and carry me. I
say I feel I am much too big and heavy for him to be able to lift me. The other
man is bigger, taller. He is just standing there, doing and saying nothing. I
don’t know the men; I don’t know their names. The shorter man responds
that he can lift me: “We’ll see what I can do.” He very slowly and gently
eases me up so I am horizontal and am being held close to him. It feelsOK
and right, and I feel safe and secure. He doesn’t try to lift me high, just so I
am maybe at his waist or chest level. He then slowly and gently eases and
turns me around, moving me several feet farther over in the room or space
where we are. I am amazed at the ease and gentleness with which he does
this.
The tall, silent man seemed to represent the original surgeon. So I
wondered if that meant someone different should do the lumpectomy? After
consultations with a second surgeon and the original surgeon, who patiently
answered my many questions, I was satisfied with the original one. I began to
think that maybe the short, gentle man might represent the radiologist who
would help me after the surgery. A consultation with a potential radiologist
convinced me this was the case. Thus I made my choices, ones that proved to
give excellent results.
The last dream segment gave me hope that I would have many more
productive and contributing years of life: There is a group of people who
have participated in a conference and who have been with a particular man
in a small discussion group. The man is arranging seats and is either putting
name signs on seats or making a list of people to take part in a future session
with him. He sees me and wants to include me in his group. He seems to be
choosing people he thinks will be interested and good contributors to the
discussions and sessions.
Two months after completing radiation therapy I attended a weeklong
dreamwork conference. I was anxious to have a dream related to my cancer
experience discussed at a group dreamwork session led by Jeremy Taylor. I
was delighted when my dream was chosen. As the discussion drew to a close,
I felt compelled to tell about this dream series, noting in particular this last
segment. Several people got involved in the discussion, exhibiting strong
emotional reactions. I felt that the experience of participating in this
dreamwork session was a direct fulfillment of this dream. I felt it so strongly
I burst into tears. Afterward, many people hugged me and thanked me for
telling my dreams and recounting my experiences relating to the dreams and
cancer.
My whole approach to my life’s vocation changed after this experience.
Before, art — painting, exhibiting, and teaching — had been my most
important vocation after raising two children. But the cancer experience, with
my developing understanding of the value of self-knowledge and self-
realization through dreamwork, led to a shift from art to dreamwork. During
the subsequent 25 years, I have taken every opportunity to attend dream
workshops, institutes, and conferences as well as to share and teach what I
have learned. Following my dream guidance, “becoming an interested and
good contributor,” I have become certified as a dreamwork facilitator
through Jeremy Taylor’s Marin Institute for Projective Dream Work; I wrote
a book called Guided by Dreams: Breast Cancer, Dreams, and
Transformation3 to share my understanding of how dreams can help guide a
person through breast cancer. I have joined Tallulah Lyons and Wendy
Pannier, who cofounded the Healing Power of Dreams Project for IASD, to
help facilitate their goal of balancing “the mind/body/spirit connection for
cancer patients” through the use of various dreamwork techniques. Indeed, as
the last dream segment predicted, I have had many more productive and
contributing years of life, committing myself to the service of others through
dreamwork.

The Healing Power of Prayer

 Carol Warner
Finally, one of the most amazing stories of cancer survival brought
on by the prayers of her therapist Carol Warner; a healing dream of
a most miraculous nature.
The dream occurred when I was in private practice in northern Virginia.
I was seeing a client and her daughter, whom I will call Jennifer. Jennifer had
been brutally beaten and sexuallyabused by a male relative who had been
living with them. She had not disclosed this early on because he had
repeatedly threatened to kill her mother and her. When, after many years, she
did disclose, the man was arrested but then acquitted. Inexplicably, the judge
blamed the mother. Jennifer entered into a downward spiral. She ended up in
a relationship that replicated her years of beatings; she got into drugs, ran
away, and worked at a strip club, and was raped again. Jennifer was
emotionally unreachable, and her mom’s grief was enormous. After some
time, her mom moved to another city to start a business, so we no longer met
for sessions, but one day she called and said Jennifer had asked to return
home. She said she was ready to start her life over and “face her past.”
Mother wisely insisted on therapy as a condition of Jennifer’s return home.
Jennifer said she only trusted me — and I lived three hours away!
Since Jennifer had lost her driver’s license, her mother, in an
extraordinary offer, agreed to take one day off her job weekly to drive
Jennifer the six-hour round-trip to my office to see me. In our first meeting, I
asked Jennifer had she had a gynecological exam. She had never had one. I
strongly encouraged Jennifer to see her gynecologist for a thorough exam.
In our next meeting, Jennifer and her mom came together to my office
long-faced, with very sad news. A biopsy revealed several large spots of
ovarian cancer, a cancer with a very poor prognosis. Shocked, Jennifer went
for a second opinion. This gynecologist said she could easily see three large
spots of cancer on Jennifer’s ovaries. The second biopsy also revealed cancer.
The prognosis was terminal. Jennifer’s estimated life span was now only six
months. Mother and daughter were both devastated. Jennifer commented how
“my life has been shit” and how ironic is was that now that she was making a
fresh start, she would likely die. Her mother was heartbroken, and felt
hopeless and helpless. I, too, was stunned and extremely saddened. I had a
heartfelt connection with them.
That night I included Jennifer and her mom in my prayers. I asked God
to help them. During the middle of the night, I had the following dream:
Mary, mother of Jesus, is descending from the sky. She is luminous, glowing,
surrounded by the most beautiful ethereal blue light imaginable. As she floats
down toward me, I see that she is dressed in a beautiful blue gown, perhaps
with gold specks in it. She emanates an incredible aura of peace and love. As
I watch Mary, her arms are outstretched, and three glowing globes of
golden-white light issue forth from her hands. Somehow, I have the
knowledge that each of the globes of light goes to one of the three cancerous
spots on Jennifer’s ovaries. I watch as each globe surrounds a spot
completely and envelops it. As I watch this amazing sight, I awaken with
absolute certainty that Jennifer is now totally healed of her cancer.
I experienced this absolute certainty both in the dream and upon
wakening. As the day went on, I thought often about the dream. In my day
consciousness, I was having doubts. I wondered whether to tell Jennifer the
dream. I did not wish to give her false hope. I decided to tell her, while
cautioning that I did not know what the dream meant. It seemed to me I had
no right to keep this dream from Jennifer, since it was about a visitation from
Mary to Jennifer.
When I spoke next with Jennifer, her eyes grew wide as I told her the
dream. Despite my cautions, she said she knew it was true, that Mary healed
her. Jennifer was brought up Catholic, and Mary is a very important figure in
Catholicism. Jennifer’s simple but deep faith moved me greatly.
Jennifer went back to the same doctor who had told her the spots were
visible. The doctor expressed disbelief that just one week later, there was
now absolutely no trace of cancer. Two repeat biopsies verified that the
cancer was gone. We were all thrilled and awed at what had happened.
Finally, Jennifer had gotten a break from a lifetime of intense trauma. The
dream healing miracle helped her decide she wanted to devote her life to
working with child abuse.
Many years have passed, and Jennifer is alive and well. She has been
carefully watched for cancer and had a brief remission. Fifteen years later,
she is cancer-free.
Creative Wisdom Within
Melissa McClanahan
 Chapter 13

Wisdom of the Serpent

Ed Kellogg
“Why did I behave as if that serpent were my soul? Only; it seems,
because my soul was a serpent. This knowledge gave my soul a
new face, and I decided henceforth to enchant her myself and
subject her to my power. Serpents are wise, and I wanted my
serpent soul to communicate her wisdom to me.” Carl Jung1
For thousands of years, symbols have played an integral role in
understanding the meaning of dreams. Archetypal symbols, symbols that
resonate across a wide range of cultures, have a powerful role in dreams, and
the archetypal symbol of the snake with its association with wisdom and
higher knowledge, whether for good or for ill, appears universal. With
respect specifically to healing and dreams, serpents played an important role
in ancient Greece in the temples of Asklepios, which the sick visited with the
expectation that they would either receive information to effect a cure or
would receive healing directly from the gods while dreaming.2 In depictions
of the Greek god Asklepios, he holds The Sceptre of Medicine, which has a
single snake coiled about it, representing divine wisdom and the power of
healing. His daughter Hygiea, the goddess of Health, also commonly appears
with a snake, and the temples of Asklepios where the sick would sleep
featured sacred snakes in both the main temples and in the dream incubation
chambers.
Later the Judeo-Christian tradition downgraded and literally demonized
the serpent in the West, though it underwent a rehabilitation and revitalization
of sorts during the Middle Ages, where in the alchemical tradition the serpent
appeared in a wide variety of positive guises, symbolically representing the
transformative processes involved in creating “the Philosopher’s Stone.”3
This stone, or as some believe, the state of consciousness the stone
represented, could reportedly not only change lead into gold but could create
a medicine to transform disease into health, and even old age into youth.
Known as the Elixir Vitae, this medicine composed of corpus, anima, and
spiritus — body, soul, and spirit — healed wounds both outer and inner, and
in this respect has much in common with dreamwork. In fact, it seems clear
that dreaming, and even lucid dreaming4, historically played an important
role in alchemical work. And in that work, the caduceus of the Greek god
Hermes, a staff with two intertwined serpents, became an iconic symbol of
alchemical processes, a visual representation of the Hermetic “As Above, so
Below” principle that has had a deep and abiding influence on Western
culture. This chapter will focus on the snake-dreams of three different
dreamers, illustrating some of the different ways that the wisdom of the
serpent can manifest in life-changing dreams.

The One, the All-Seeing

We’ll begin with an important lifepath dream of my own that provided
clear direction to me, both with respect to emphasizing the importance of
dreamwork as a spiritual practice and to solidifying my commitment to it.
About a year after earning my Ph.D., having recorded a hundred or so
dreams in a variety of places, I decided to begin a formal series using
standard sized notebooks, starting with “Volume 1” of this new set. About
three-quarters of the way through filling this notebook, I had a clear and
definitive lifepath dream, that has played a guiding role for me ever since:
A colleague of mine, from the U.C. Berkeley lab where we both work as
postdocs, very excitedly thumbs through my Volume 1 dream notebook. On
the cover of the notebook I show him — or draw him? — a symbol of my
message on Earth, a red snake eating its own tail, making a circle, and in the
middle of the circle, an eye with a black pupil and a green iris. However, a
small cloud floating in front of the snake’s head obscures where the mouth
eats the tail, so the actual mechanism of self-ingestion does not seem
apparent.
Although I had little acquain tance with alchemical symbolism at the
time, the meaning of the ouroboros symbol that appeared on my note book in
the dream and its relation to dream work seemed clear. The para doxical
snake represented the Illusion of Material Reality, the snake eating its own
tail the mechanism through which the Illusion regenerated and per petuated
itself, the Eye in the center, the power of the Enlightened Mind, of the Real
Self, to disperse the cloud, symbolizing the Veil of Ignorance.

The ouroboros, as an alchemical symbol, signifies a kind of self-

sufficient unification of experienced Reality, through paradoxical processes
that somehow connect the end with the beginning. Like the circle, it also
represents infinity and wholeness. This ouroboros with an eye in the middle
also corresponds to a more common alchemical symbol, a circle with a dot in
the center — a symbol for the Sun, as well as for gold. In my dream, a small
cloud obscured the mechanism of unification, maintaining the illusion of
separation. I understood that my lifepath involved learning to see through the
cloud through dreamwork, of finding a means through which my “I” in the
center could see through the veil of illusion, to understand the true nature of
Reality and how it works, and to share this insight with others.
The dreamscape image presented above presents an updated version of
the symbol that I drew and hand-colored in my dream notebook, as it also
incorporates the hexagram symbol that appeared in subsequent lifepath
dreams. For inspirational purposes, andbecause I’ve gained some
understanding into how the snake eats its own tail, I’ve removed the cloud.
To me “The Ouroboros” represents “The Matrix,” while the Eye signifies
Lucidity, consciousness that has the power of seeing through the cloud of
false and unquestioned beliefs that can keep one from perceiving the truth.
The snake eating its own tail represents both a truth and an illusion, a paradox
resolved only through a higher-dimensional understanding.
Many years later I finally took the time to study alchemy in greater
depth. I soon came across one of the earliest examples of an alchemical
ouroboros in the The Chrysopoeia of Cleopatra dating to circa the second
century A.D. It depicts a red snake remarkably similar to the one I’d seen in
my lifepath dream. While this ouroboros does not have an eye in the center, it
does encircle the Greek phrase, “έν τό πάνοψ,”meaning “The One, the All-
Seeing,” which I’ve appropriated as the title for my own dream. Even in
alchemy, apparently the more things change, the more they stay the same.
The unexpected placement of a custom-made alchemical symbol on the cover
of the first volume in a proposed set of formal dream records, emphasized
and underscored the importance of dreamwork for me and, in doing so,
certainly changed the course of my life. At this point in time, having recorded
well over 30,000 dreams and having made it to Volume 70, my original
understanding of the meaning of this symbol still holds true, and I have had
many dreams reconfirming this message and of the continuing importance of
dreamwork in my life and work.

Pain Healing Pain

Deon van Zyl
In this next dream by Deon van Zyl, the alchemical ouroboros also
plays a featured role. But in this case, the symbol underscores and
sums up the essence of a deeper understanding and a new
perspective on pain, disease, and healing.
It was October 1982, an early spring evening in Africa, with the
temperature at a balmy 86 degrees Fahrenheit. Little did I know, sitting in my
study in the back garden, separate from the house, that this night I would
have a revelation in a dream that would change the way I view life and the
workings of the human mind for decades to come. For months I had been
trying to wrap up my doctoral dissertation with the required “original and
creative” chapter. My literature review, research, and case studies were
completed. I was searching for some fresh and novel insights on my research
topic: the experience and dynamics of pain. I had read all the major books
and covered all the main theories on the subject. The floor of my study was
scattered with books, articles, and research papers. All the famous authors
and topics were there, covering all the levels of pain from the physical to the
so-called “psychogenic,” from emotional hurt to the spiritual “dark night of
the soul.”
My curiosity was insatiable, but something vital was missing. I was
looking for a golden thread, a deeper understanding, a new perspective on
pain, disease, and healing. My mind was filled with questions; my heart was
searching for answers: Why do we have pain? What is its role or function?
Why is it such an unpleasant and intense experience? Does it have a positive
contribution, and if so, why does it feel so bad? What is pain, really? Why is
it so central to our human experience?
I attempted to order my scattered thoughts with a mind-map on a large,
white A2-sized paper. It was fun but still confusing. Far away I could hear a
frog choir in full voice from a nearby dam, the accompanying summer
crickets adding the high tones. I just stared at the wordy mess in front of me
and remember saying to myself, “Each individual frog and cricket makes
itself heard, calls and responds to others, but to me listening in as an outsider
from a distance, it is all one great symphony.” I decided to pack it in for the
night, but the questions about pain remained.
It was one of those early predawn dreams after a peaceful night of deep
sleep. It consisted of a few simple images: The first image is of an animal
that was shot but still alive. The bullet had penetrated its flank, lodged in its
side, and had started secreting a poison that threatened to spread throughout
the body. In the dream, the wounded area with the bullet and poison is
magnified, as if under a microscope. The animal is in obvious pain, and I
also feel intense anxiety in the dream due to the threatening poison.
Then, in the dream, I see another aspect of the same picture. Because of
the bullet and threatening secretion of poison, the animal stops dead in its
tracks. Its freedom of natural movement is immediately restricted, and yet, at
the same time, it writhes and kicks violently.
Then I see the enlarged picture of the wounded flank section again, and
a hand with a surgical scalpel is trying to cut out the bullet, deliberately
trying to cut deeply, beyond or ahead of the poison, in order to get it out as
well. A distinct voice that accompanies the scalpel image in the dream clearly
says: “Pain heals pain.” Immediately with this voice, and still in the dream, I
see the image of a snake eating its own tail, the classic ouroboros symbol!
As I woke up from the dream I felt like Archimedes revived. My
personal “Eureka!” linked me with everyone who ever knew the joys of
discovery over the ages. As I charged to the garden study, I could hear a few
birds starting their day with predawn chirps. To me the new day was a living
example of my new thinking, with fresh insight and deeper understanding
into one of our most profound experiences: pain. My revelation: “Pain exists
when and where boundaries are exceeded.” I saw that wherever a boundary is
overly penetrated (e.g., like the bullet and the secreting poison in the dream),
pain occurs. Pain is a signal or sign of unwanted penetration of a boundary.
The minute a boundary is destroyed through excessive penetration, new
boundaries are created (like the restriction of natural movement). The dream
presented destruction and forging of boundaries as polar opposites, yet as one
and the same process, and this is painful; but it also makes new growth and
rejuvenation possible. I saw that the healing hand with the scalpel had
something profound to say about healing and rejuvenation. The image of
cutting through with the scalpel, beyond the bullet and the poison into the
surrounding flesh, is of course also painful but healing at the same time. The
healing action is as paradoxical as the pain. The cutting also penetrated the
body’s boundaries, just as the bullet and poison did, but simultaneously it
created boundaries, by containing and limiting the spread of the malady. This
means that healing is also breaking through and creating boundaries at the
same time.
The paradoxical phrase voiced in the dream, “Pain heals pain,” echoes
T.S. Eliot’s famous quote from Four Quartets: “Our only health is the
disease … and that, to be restored, our sickness must grow worse.”5 My
dream couldn’t have ended with a better image than that of the snake eating
its own tail, the symbol of ouroboros, a representation of the cycle of
destruction and creation, destroying its own boundaries and filling them at
the same time.
This dream of 33 years ago not only helped me to conclude the final
“original and creative” chapter of my thesis but influenced to this day my
view of the essence of life and living as a complementary interface of
opposites.

Healing the Heart

Laura Smith
In this account, Laura Smith shares a life-changing dream, in which
snakes play both a symbolic and active healing role, just as serpents
did thousands of years ago in healing dreams in the temples of
Asklepios. Sometimes in dreams just as in waking life, the more
things change, the more they stay the same.
“The goddess is more subtle than the fibre of the lotus. She uncoils
herself and raises Her head, and enters the royal road of the spine, piercing
the mystic centres, until She reaches the brain. These things are not to be
understood in a day ... you taste Her nectar, and know that She is Life.” (a
Tantric Yogini, quoted by Francis Yeats-Brown in The Lives of a Bengal
Lancer)
I was 43 at the time and about one year sober from a lifetime of
alcoholism and drug addiction that had started in my teen years. My partner
and I had been together 10 years at the time. We were in upheaval and had
recently relocated to Vermont, my home state, from the San Francisco Bay
Area. We had left the city, our jobs, and the pursuit of material wealth in an
attempt to find ourselves. We had an idea about wanting to farm. We just
knew we were not happy, something was missing, and I was seriously in
trouble with my addiction. The self-destructiveness had taken me very far
from myself, and I was very lost. About one year into my sobriety, I began
having very provocative dreams, including this one:
 I am standing on the bank of a pond. The forest is behind me and before
me is a vast emptiness that is golden brown like the hills of California or the
desert. There is a creature on the bank with me that appears to be a large
coyote or wolf. I think he has led me to this place. He runs away over the
brown hills. I look down at the pond, and the water is black. The sunlight
can’t penetrate it more than a few inches. I see that snakes are swimming in
this pond … occasionally they swim near enough to the surface for me to
catch a glimpse of them. Most are small, but there are few that are quite
large. They are black and only stand out because of a faint mottled yellow on
their skins. The large ones have yellow eyes. Then I see someone in the water.
His skin is very smooth and black, like midnight blue. His hair is short,
closely cropped and kinky. His eyes are also yellow, and his neck and arms,
which I can see treading on the water, are very slender. He seems
nongendered.
Suddenly my partner is there with me, and she wants to go into the
water. There is something there that she wants or needs. She is naked and
standing in front of me. Her skin is very pale. She dives in the water, and I
tell her to watch out for the snakes. Strangely, I am not afraid. I see one of
the large ones swimming toward her just below the surface. … I can barely
see its outline, but its eyes are very yellow and stand out in the murky water. I
can see her skin through the murky black water. The snake turns away from
her.
Then I see it coiling around the dark man’s arm and shoulder, which he
has lifted out of the water as if to show me. I say to him that the snake may
bite him, but then I see that it hasn’t. He says nothing but continues to look
up at me slowly treading water with his other arm. His eyes are very bright
yellow, and his skin very smooth and black, inky. He has no real expression
on his face at all. But he is looking at me knowingly, expectantly, as if he is
waiting for something. I feel a mixture of curiosity, fear and desire.
Then, I feel something heavy on my chest and I look down and see that
the snake has somehow gotten up out of the water and is hanging from my
own bare chest … attached by its fangs above my breast, over my heart. I feel
fear. Then I wake up.
This dream launched me into a spiritual journey. It marks the turning
point of when I began to truly turn inward with curiosity. I wanted to know
who this man was, what the snake meant, and why I had been bitten. I knew
there was something important going on within me; that this man/woman
wanted something from me, and I wanted to know what it was.
I first found a Shamanic practitioner who I did some work with for about
four years and later found someone with whom an exploration of the dreams
resonated with me. This exploration opened me to a calling for working with
dreams as a healer. It also opened up my creativity. During my first year
working with dreams, I painted over 60 paintings. I had never drawn or
painted before. I believe that the bite of the snake sent its venom straight into
my heart to kill the way in which I had been closed to my spiritual life and
my own creativity. I believe the being who came is an “Animus/Anima”
figure who came to awaken me to the sensuality of the snake that wanted to
come alive in me, and to support my opening to a richer and more deeply felt
experience of my heart and of life.
Creative Inspiration a Graphic Cartoon by
Jeremy Taylor
 Chapter 14

Creative Dreaming
Deirdre Barrett
In 1816, Mary Wollstonecraft and other houseguests of Lord Byron told
ghost stories around a fire. Just before they retired, Byron challenged them to
write their own meaning in the days ahead. That night, Wollstonecraft
dreamed:
I saw the pale student of unhallowed arts kneeling beside the thing he
had put together — I saw the hideous phantasm of a man stretched out, and
then on the working of some powerful engine, show signs of life, and stir with
an uneasy, half vital motion. Frightful must it be to mock the stupendous
mechanism of the Creator of the world. He would hope that, left to itself, the
slight spark of life which he had communicated would fade. He sleeps but he
is awakened; he opens his eyes, behold, the horrid thing stands at his bed
side, opening his curtain and looking on him with yellow, watery, but
speculative eyes. Swift as light and cheering was the idea that broke in upon
me. “I have found it! What terrified me will terrify others, and I need only
describe the specter which had haunted my midnight pillow.” On the morrow
I announced I had thought of the story.1
The dream, of course, became the classic horror story of all time,
Frankenstein. The teenage author was pregnant by Shelley at the time of the
dream, so the creation of a wondrous, monstrous entity undoubtedly had
immense unconscious significance. However, the dream combined her
personal issue with Byron’s casual challenge into a creation that transcended
both.
Dreams tend to be particularly good at thinking outside the box. This
makes sense; brain areas that normally restrict our thinking to what is logical
and familiar are much less active during dreaming sleep. Many studies of
creativity suggest that suchdisinhibition, especially when it connects various
ideas that at first seem unrelated, is a crucial component of creative thought.
The major concerns of dreaming are obviously our personal issues —
problems in our lives, hopes and aspirations, how we get along with
significant others, and our individuation process. However, these aspects of
dreaming are covered thoroughly by most other dream psychologists, so I
have become interested in the fact that we also dream about our professional
selves and that dreams can provide so much help, creative inspiration, and
problem solving in this arena.
Human beings have consulted the nocturnal muse for as long as they
have sought tales to entertain their peers. In fifth century A.D., Synesius of
Cyrene observed, “How often dreams have come to my assistance in the
composition of my writings!” Synesius said they helped him order ideas,
choose certain wording and return to a natural style when he was becoming
pompous.
The Romantic writers were especially fond of dreams. Mary’s husband,
Percy Bysshe Shelley, published a collection of his nocturnal experiences in
The Catalogue of Phenomenon of Dreams, as Connecting Sleeping and
Waking. Cristina Rosetti, whose painter husband’s dream imagery was
discussed in the first chapter, used hers in poetry such as The Crocodiles,
which described a fanciful version of the animal encrusted with gold and
polished stones. Robert Lewis Stevenson had a very similar experience to
Mary Shelley’s in which he dreamed the two key scenes of Strange Case of
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Modern writers who have written scenes from
dreams include Anne Rice, Stephen King, Eudora Welty, and Jack Kerouac.
When interviewing creative professionals for my book, The Committee
of Sleep, the majority of visual artists told me they had used their dreams in
their art. Writers were second of any profession: Approximately half of
novelists, screenwriters, and poets said that dreams had directly given them
help with their writing.
Author D.M. Thomas had a vivid dream that became first a short poem,
then a longer one, and eventually his best-selling novel, The White Hotel. In
the dream, people — both the dead and the living are arriving at a hotel in a
black taxi. Sappho, Jung, and Freud are there, as is a girl Thomas had
recently noticed on a train. All the guest reservations for the hotel are
muddled.
“I already had the idea I wanted to write a novel in the style of Freud’s
case studies,” Thomas told me. “I was searching for the story. Other
elements were circling in my imagination. My mother had died recently. The
dream brought all the elements together. It was like an embryo to the novel:
Freud was there, death was there, the train was there. I can still see myself
riding in the black taxi and arriving at the hotel — that was the most
memorable part of the dream.”2
Less than half of the musicians I surveyed composed music in their
dreams, but it certainly happened for some. Musicians Billy Joel and Joseph
Shabalala have reported that they “hear” all their compositions — minus
words — in dreams. More typically, Paul McCartney dreamed one of his
compositions, “Yesterday,” the most played song in the history of radio.
Because of McCartney’s unfamiliarity with the experience, he went around
checking with people whether it was known piece of music. “Because I’d
dreamed it, I couldn’t believe I’d written it,” he recalled.
Composers still have many visual dreams, so they may also view scenes
that they later express in a musical piece — this was the case with
Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring. Some dream of examining completed scores.
There is an even wider range in how music arrives in dreams than for the
other arts.
Innovative modern composer Shirish Korde has visual dreams leading to
many of his compositions, but he simultaneously hears the music the dreams
illustrate. In an interview, he told me about the dream that presented him with
Tenderness of Cranes. “I was hearing fragments of music and seeing birds
fly. The speed with which the birds were flying kept changing, which
determined the musical gesture — the content of the passage. I wrote it as
quickly as anything I ever wrote, in a weekend — Zen, all one stroke and it
was done.” The solo flute piece won both the Ettelson Composition Prize and
the National Flute Association award for new music.2
The dreams submitted for this book illustrate many of the same points.
They contain examples of highly creative dreams that directly aided artistic
endeavors.
 The Law of Attraction
Laurel Clark
In this first story, Laurel was wise enough to allow her dreams to
suggest a much more “attractive” title for the book she was writing.
I wrote a book years ago on visualization that went out of print. So I
revised it, adding quite a bit of additional material. I was advised to change
the old title but could not come up with anything that seemed right. I was
waiting for the perfect title to “click.” One night I decided to incubate a
dream, asking for the perfect title for the book. As I was waking, I heard in
my mind the words, “The Law of Attraction and Other Secrets of
Visualization.” I wrote it down in my dream notebook.
When fully awake, I read what I had written, thinking that it was a
boring title. But I knew I had asked my dreams to give me a title, and this
was not a conscious thought. It came from my dreaming mind. So I used it
for the book and found to my delight that it was extremely “attractive.” The
book sold out in less than a year and needed to be reprinted. The Law of
Attraction: And Other Secrets of Visualization has so far been one of the most
popular books I have written, and many people report that they have changed
their lives in remarkable ways by applying its practical wisdom.

Dream of a Dream Film

Eric Juarez
Here, from a dream within a dream, we see the Eric’s anxieties play
out and inspire the dreamer to take that next artistic step forward.
There is a small student film set that’s been doctored up to look like a
set. I’m directing a feature with Isaac based on one of my dreams. I have my
dream sheet with me as a guide, but I’m directing without a fleshed-out
script. I know the characters and feelings I want to explore, but it’s been so
long since I had the dream, and my notes omitted a lot of the emotional
salience. I begin to debate whether I even had the dream. Parts of my
memory of the dream are so vivid, but others are completely gone. On top of
this internal debate, I begin to have external debates with my crew.
Since the film is based on a dream, some of the characters are people I
know in real life; however, we cast actors to fill the parts. Isaac is pretty set
on one woman playing my friend Jen, but I think the actor is completely
wrong for the part. Another friend happens to walk into the main door of the
set, and I call her in to play the role. I argue that she is more appropriate
because she is taller than the actor though her comportment is vastly
different than the character. I am aware that the plot of the dream being
filmed is similar to a dream that I have been struggling to adapt in my
waking life. My friend Kit is the director of photography. It becomes unclear
whether the next part of the dream is part of the film or part of the narrative
of the present dream. Kit, my friend Reece, and I ride the shuttle out away
from the set with prettystrong animosity growing between the rest of the crew
who has stayed and me.
We go to a warehouse to film an additional scene; it’s in a pretty
industrial area with the shuttle pathway in the middle like the quad except
entirely concrete. The path is blocked by a black Tahoe and a dark blue SUV.
The shuttle driver is upset because of the blocked traffic. The driver of the
Tahoe is one of my professors, and the driver of the blue SUV is our caterer.
We all board the shuttle and use Google maps to look at this place that the
caterer described as his home. We find it and then travel there. It is a big
concrete island near Cape Cod and was a popular marriage destination. Kit
and the crew film a scene while Reece and I talk on the concrete beach. The
dream ends with a slow cinema-style sequence mostly focused on our
conversation.
This dream not only clarified a lot of my anxieties about adapting
dreams into films, but it also inspired a separate screenplay to explore
dreaming, film, and memory.

A Dream of Literacy
 Ivy Black
Dreams are probably the greatest “mirror of the mind” reflecting
our lifetime experiences in the most humorous or tragic of picture
metaphors. In this case, Ivy is provided with a creative picture of
life, which becomes the inspiration for successfully published piece
of fiction.
One night I had the following dream that would not only become an
inspiration for a story but eventually help a community in need: I work for a
big corporation. The corporation created a strategy to intimidate employees
and increase efficiency by partnering with a consulting firm to construct the
most bizarre, ruthless, inhumane environment possible. The idea was that
people would be fearful all the time and work harder to compete with each
other, and the company would gain.
The company randomly selects a group of employees, and these
employees disappear for a few days. No one knows where they went. After a
few days, the people reappear again — or rather, parts of them do. They
were all beheaded. Their heads are floating upside-down in racks of
individual glass tanks. Nobody knows what happened to the bodies. But the
experience naturally terrifies the rest of us. Everyone else pretends to act
normal as if nothing was going on, so that we can stay out of trouble. The
heads, meanwhile, are wheeled from room to room like props. They seem to
be alive because I see bubbles coming out from their noses. However, they
cannot speak, eat, or talk. When there are important meetings, especially
meetings that require attendees to vote, the consultants will wheel the racks
of heads into the meetings. Because the heads cannot disagree or reject
anything, their votes automatically are considered yeses. That is another way
the heads become useful to the company.
I shared this dream with my husband. As a fiction writer, he always
welcomes unique and eccentric ideas as inspiration, and oftentimes my
dreams give him inspiration for new stories. It has been a soulful way to
communicate and enhance our relationship. “Sounds like what’s going on in
your company,” my husband said. Indeed, the company I worked for in daily
life was going through a vast reorganization. Recently, it had hired a
consulting firm to implement a strategic plan to save operating costs. The
executive plans and end goals were only vaguely communicated, and even
though senior management assured us that the reorganization was not about
laying off people, there was a great amount of un certainty and anxiety about
how the changes would be imple mented.
My husband was enthralled by the concept of the upside-down heads in
glass containers, with their destiny fully controlled by the company. “What
an astonishing, ingenious dream symbol,”he said. “Thank you!” A few weeks
later my husband sent me a story called Project Hydra, inspired by my
dream. All the creepy elements were there — the sinister company, the
intimidated employees, the heads floating upside-down in tanks. Not long
afterward, my husband handed me a pile of papers. “They loved the story,”
he said. “No, they loved your dream, I should say.” The story had been
purchased immediately by a publishing house in South Africa specializing in
weird fiction. Initially published online, Project Hydra was soon reprinted in
a collection of short stories. And it was that book that contributed to literacy
in South Africa.
Being strong supporters of literacy, the publishers were well-aware that
many South Africans cannot afford books, so they made it their mission to
get books into the hands of every underprivileged South African — for free.
With this in mind they launched an initiative whereby for every e-book
purchased, one copy would be donated to a public library or school in a
disadvantaged community across South Africa. I am proud that my dream
contributed to help bring literature to a community in need.

The Gilgamesh Cantata

Curtiss Hoffman
Here is a case where a dream not only inspires a musical creation,
as performers like Billy Joel and Paul McCartney experienced, but
a sense that the dream has “commissioned” Curtiss to act on it,
followed by a series of over 100 dreams that aided in developing
this artistic creation.
 In February of 2010, I was experiencing some grief over the dissolution
of a close relationship. One morning in meditation, an authoritative voice
spoke quite clearly the following words to me: “Do you realize that you are
stagnating spiritually?” While I acknowledged that this was the case, I had no
idea at the time which direction I might take to overcome this blockage.
Later that summer, I attended a weeklong music camp at Pinewoods in
Plymouth, Massachusetts, to which I brought my double-reed instruments.
While I was at the camp, I spent my free time reading C.G. Jung’s recently
published The Red Book. Both the texts and the images influenced my
dreaming profoundly. The book seemed to have a life of its own. I would be
awakened in the middle of the night to read it, only to find that I was reading
the dream I myself had just experienced.
In The Red Book, Jung detailed a series of three nights of dreaming from
mid-January of 1914, in which he encountered the Babylonian hero
Gilgamesh (called at that time by him “Izdubar” due to a misreading of the
cuneiform) whom he brought up-to-date on all that had transpired during the
intervening 4,000 years, emphasizing that science had now replaced myth as
a guide to human consciousness. This mortally wounded the hero, and Jung
felt sorry for him, so he convinced Gilgamesh that he was a fantasy. This
enabled him to condense the hero to a tiny size that he put inside of an egg,
which he then took to a nearby village for healing. The text then provided a
series of incantations to heal the wounded hero, all from Jung’s dreams. This
resulted in the release of the reborn hero from the egg.
On the night after my return from the music camp, I had the following
dream: I am in an open classroom on the second floor of an old wood-frame
building at Pinewoods. The class is conducted by two instructors, Sarah and
Sheila. Sarah sends me downstairs to see who is there in the road.
I go out the door, and there I see a middle-age woman with an old
wooden cart across the road. It is yoked to a strange, large animal behind it,
mostly white with light bluish tinges to its muzzle and back. It appears to be
either a small bull or a calf. The woman wants to bring it into the classroom.
I tell her that she can’t do that; the animal is too large to fit in the narrow
stairway. She doesn’t see that this is a problem; she transforms it into a
spinelesssea creature that fits onto a small plastic dinner plate, with three
slices of yellow-green pickle on the left side. I’m surprised, but obviously she
may now enter.
I usher her into the classroom, holding the plate aloft in her right hand.
Inside, there are about 20 students, male and female, sitting on wooden
folding chairs arranged in irregular rows. Sheila counts how many of us
there are, and then Sarah hands out small slips of paper to each of them,
each one containing a single word. However, standing in the back of the
room, I get a larger piece that contains the entire text. I compare my text with
the slips given to the other students to reach the conclusion that they are in
total the same as what I have.
I see that the text is an invocation from Jung’s The Red Book and that it
also contains an image of the bull calf and the cart. I’m surprised that the
image is the same as what I saw on the street. The text is in both Fraktur
German and English, at the same time. Sarah asks each student to read their
word, in order from the front to the back of the room, while I read the entire
text silently to check that it has been read correctly. The first word, in much
larger-size print, appears to be “Einkauf” or “Einkampf.” I’m really
uncertain about my role here.
When I next read a passage from The Red Book, I was unsurprised to
find that it contained, in the painting labeled “Amor Triumphat” 3 the image
of the bull calf from my dream. I concluded that I was being commissioned
by the unconscious to write an a cappella cantata for four voices (soprano,
alto, tenor, bass) using the “Izdubar” incantations as the text. While I have
had a musical background for most of my life, it has not for many decades
involved the actual composition of music — and certainly not choral music!
So my first response to this imperative from the unconscious was to protest
that I had no idea how to do this.
Subsequent dreaming made it clear to me that I would be enabled to
compose this cantata out of themes my dreaming presented to me. Even
though I had at that time no formal education in musical composition, I
agreed to undertake this project. The first task the dreams gave me was to
translate the text from the Swiss-German dialect of The Red Book into the
language of the Gilgamesh epic, the Middle Babylonian dialect of Akkadian.
This language, which I learned in graduate school, is quite dead; apart from a
small number of scholars, it has not been spoken, let alone sung, in over
2,300 years! The translation took me the better part of the fall of 2010. Also
starting in the fall of 2010, I took a series of four college-level courses in
music theory and orchestration, so I would have a better idea of what I was
doing — although in many cases the dreams moved the music forward in
ways the classes simply helped me to understand better.
I started to receive dream-derived themes upon which to base it, as well
as specific instructions as to the order of presentation and the integration of
the themes, and instances of performances of the cantata. In all, I have had a
total of 108 dreams relating to this work, containing 71 themes (in which I
either heard the theme, saw the notes on a musical staff, or both), 20 dreams
about how to organize the themes, 11 dreams in which I gave or was given
explanations of the work, and 29 dreams in which performances of parts of
the cantata took place. I was also instructed by dreams to include segments of
the final chorus of the St. Matthew Passion by Bach into one of the
movements.
The Gilgamesh Cantata is now complete and runs for 47 minutes in
eight movements, four of which so far have had public performances. This
entire process, which consumed about two years in its most intensive phase,
was certainly life-changing, in that it opened a new avenue of expression for
me that I hadn’t realized I had access to before.
In addition to the Gilgamesh Cantata, I have had three series of dreams
that have led to three as yet unfinished compositions: a Threnody for string
quartet and wind quartet; a Theme and Variations for clarinet and piano; and
a Concerto for Renaissance band featuring my own most recent instrument,
the tenor dulcian. While my pace of dream composition has slowed down
over the past year or so, I am confident that I have found a new medium, one
that would have been impossible without the dreams!
A Spiritual Presence
Melissa McClanahan
 Chapter 15

Embracing Spirit
Scott Sparrow
I was 19 years old and had enrolled at the University of Texas only two
weeks before the beginning of my freshman year. There were no dormitory
rooms available at that late date, but I managed to find lodging in Royal Co-
op, an off-campus ramshackle house, where I moved in with 25 other
students in crowded conditions. My mistake soon became evident: My
roommate turned out to be a drug dealer, and a woman upstairs became
suicidal because I wouldn’t return her affections. In this context, I was
desperate to find some source of stability, so I began meditating before going
to bed each night in a nearby open church. It was during this time that I had
my first “lucid” spiritual dream.
I am walking back to my house, carrying my schoolbooks. I suddenly
become aware that I am dreaming and that the experience is somehow real. I
look at my hands and marvel at the vividness of the world around me. I keep
saying to myself, “This is real!” When I come to my house, which bears no
resemblance to any place I’ve ever lived, I enter through large black double
doors with brass handles. As I open the doors, I am overwhelmed by a
brilliant white light that infuses me with an inconceivable joy. I find myself
alone in a small chapel carrying a crystal rod or wand upon which a crystal
circlet is spinning, allowing the light to pass through it. Large windows
overlook an open and barren plain. Meanwhile, I am filled with an
indescribable sense of hope and yearning. I keep looking for someone to
appear, to explain the experience, but no one appears.
Upon awakening, I felt anointed with a remarkable, subtle feeling that
has stayed with me every day for the past 45 years. I can still call upon this
feeling to reassure me about the purposefulness of my life.
 Calling any dream “spiritual” raises the question of what constitutes
“spiritual” in the first place. The dictionary tends to focus on two qualities: 1)
relating to religion or religious beliefs, or 2) relating to the human spirit or
soul as opposed to material or physical things. While a dream may be
considered religious because it contains familiar religious imagery and
themes, it may nonetheless be wholly deficient in the qualities that we usually
associate with a genuine spiritual life. As for the second definition, it is not so
easy to determine if any experience “relates to the human spirit” without
exploring the life context in which the dream occurs and assessing its impact
on the dreamer. Indeed, I believe the best approach is to adopt a third
“definition” proposed by Jesus himself. When his disciples expressed
concern about people who were preaching in his name, he replied, “By their
fruits ye shall know them.” This simple criterion of spirituality shifts our
inquiry toward an “evidence-based” criterion, in which spirituality becomes
obvious by the positive changes produced or activated in our lives.
In this chapter I will share some of the dreams contributed by others that
bear the hallmarks of genuine spiritual experiences according to this criterion.

The Lighthouse
Nicole De Angelis
The first dream was shared by a 33-year-old expatriate living in
Costa Rica, Nicole De Angelis, whose spiritual dream experience is
seemingly preceded by an announcement as to what was to come.
Shortly before the dream that profoundly changed my life, I heard a
voice as clear as if he were beside me speaking into me ear: “These are the
revelations ...” I sat up in bed and looked around for the source of the voice to
finish his sentence. I was alone except for my sleeping child lying next to me
after a midmorning nap. Then I returned to sleep and dreamed:
I witness a serene landscape. I feel content and at peace. I am hovering
over a lighthouse or what I believe to be a lighthouse. The ocean is calm
except for a storm far off in the distance. I have a feeling my family is out
there. I feel as if I need to bring them in, but it’s not with a sense of urgency.
I am an observer. The sand is a golden hue that reveals to me it is perhaps
early morning. There is a feeling of newness — of a new beginning — as
well as a sort of perfect timelessness. As I look at the lighthouse, it suddenly
lights up with an amazing brilliant light, and within the same moment I see
lighthouses lighting up in the distance, creating a brilliance that extends in
all directions. Now there is only light! This whole experience takes place in
an instant, and in the dream I assume the perspective of the light itself. I feel
that the light exists outside of time. It feels as if someone has turned on the
light and now all truth has been revealed.
This is the understanding of the experience I received while in the
dream: Our Source is light, light is truth, and truth is love. Truth exists
outside of time and space, and has no need. Forgiveness and compassion are
ours to give so that we can all return to our source as a whole being. I
perceive during the dream that everyone originated from this light and that it
is the same light people speak of seeing before they die. In this light there is
only love. It is all-encompassing. Shadows do not exist because they are
burned away as if they were never there at all. I know that the light never
goes away because it is the reason and the source for all that is.
As a child, I remember moments of similar clarity when I would realize
I could not really die. I’m not referring to my physical body but that part of
me that knows that I exist. That is what I called it as a child — “that part of
me that knows I exist.”
After this dream I had a few months of euphoria, and I still live in this
state much of the time. I have a renewed love for everyone, including myself.
The slate is clean. I hold no more grudges and rarely experience anger,
resentment, disgust, or fear. I’m not saying at times I don’t feel these
emotions, but what has changed is the knowing that I can let go of them. I
recognize these emotions for what they are, and I am grateful for the
opportunity to burn away the shadows and shine.
____________________
Author’s notes: It is likely that Nicole’s description of the light cannot begin
to convey all of the feelings and associations that she experienced while in it.
It is common for people who experience the light — whether in dreams or in
waking mystical experiences — to report the same qualities of abundant love,
purpose, and connection with all of life. My own mentor, Hugh Lynn Cayce,
once said, “If you’ve ever experienced it, you would crawl across the U.S. to
experience it again.”
Jung believed that the experience of light was the central feature in
religious experiences, throughout the world. The phenomenon itself, that is,
the vision of light, is an experience common to many mystics, and one that is
undoubtedly of the greatest significance, because in all times and places it
appears as the unconditional thing, which unites in itself the greatest energy
and the profoundest meaning.1
While the phenomenological features of Nicole’s dream may seem
rather devoid of action, her subjective experience of the light involves an
array of profound feelings and realizations. Further, it is clear that Nicole was
transformed, reaping the “fruits” of forgiveness, healing, and renewal that
carried over into her life as an altogether new attitude that prevailed against
old ways of thinking.

Jesus at the Funeral

P.G.
The following remarkable dream was reported by a 54-year-old
woman from Long Island. The dream literally saved her life.
At the time of this dream, I was in my late twenties and living with
someone who I loved very much. I was a confused and depressed individual,
and the depression complicated the relationship and my life. I had been
suicidal on and off since the age of 14, and I found myself feeling that way
again. I had a job at the time and was going to college in the evenings,
working toward a degree in commercial art. Although I had a great capacity
for love at the time — as well as humor, compassion, and other wonderful
qualities — I had the dark cloud of depression hanging over me, always. I
was raised atheist but was starting to carefully explore spirituality through the
job that I had begun at a Jewish religious organization. Specifically, I was
exploring New Age philosophy. However, one evening I became so low that
I decided I was going to kill myself the next day. I had the plan worked out
and I was sure I would go through with it. Then I had the following dream:
I am standing at a lectern in a funeral parlor. I see about 50 people or
more seated in front of me. I turn my head to the right (almost in slow
motion) and see a casket. The lid is open. I am confused as to what I am
doing here. I turn my head to the left and I see Jesus standing in the back of
the crowd. He is angry! Hegently tilts his head forward and telepathically
tells me to look inside the casket. I do so without question. I see my best
friend Claire from fourth grade is dead. I am puzzled and surprised. I ask
Jesus directly, “Why is SHE in there, it should be me!”
He tilts his head forward again, gently but angrily, and again
telepathically “orders” me to say the eulogy. I respond verbally with great
astonishment, “You want me to do the eulogy? Me?!” (I felt I was inadequate
and not the right person to do her justice). But Jesus gets VERY angry at this
point, and this time he stares right at me with no head tilting and again
telepathically “orders” me to do the eulogy. The communication occurs in
the blink of an eye. I know he means business and I am not going to argue. I
stare out into the crowd. The people are staring back at me. I see my best
friend’s father in the middle of the crowd. I look at him and begin speaking, I
say, “She was my best friend ...” At this point I come to a complete stop. I
feel the pain of every single person in that room all at one time, especially the
pain of Claire’s father. It is overwhelming and horrible. I turn to Jesus with
tears of despair and regret, realizing how my suicide would affect others, and
I say “I’m so sorry, I will never kill myself ... never!” The dream ends there.
When I woke up from the dream, I sat up abruptly and threw my legs to
the side of the bed in an instance and continued repeating, “I won’t kill
myself, I promise I won’t kill myself. ... I’m so sorry.” The dream stopped
me from contemplating suicide. I have never forgotten this dream and never
will. Even though I still have suicidal feelings, on and off, even to this day,
the dream always reminds me of the consequences. I know I will NEVER act
on these feelings because of this dream.
___________________
Author’s note: While the dream instantly instills a commitment never to take
her own life, it nonetheless does not completely erase the suicidal feelings.
While one might wish that the dream could have completely overturned her
suicidal tendencies, it is perhaps beneficial that deep change unfolds over
time in the context of one’s life, making the process a collaborative,
participatory process leading to a stronger and more self-reliant individual.

Descent of the Frumpy Angel

Lou Hagood
The following dream was reported by Lou Hagood from New York
City. Lou says that he was feeling very depressed at the time. At
such moments the spirit seems to respond, transforming our perspe
ctive on self and others.
It was after a long, New York winter. I was approaching 70 years of age
and declining both physically and financially, and feeling depressed. My
daughter was expecting my first grandchild in a couple of months. While I
was excited, I felt that I was being replaced. Then I had this dream:
I dream that it is a dark night, and I see a gull flying high overhead, lit
up like the moon. At my feet in the mud outside the porch is a pelican. Then
an angel appears, his form fixed in the sky as he descends. “Holy S***t!” I
shout and run toward the door to the house (feeling what — fear, eagerness?
Why run to the door?). The angel enters the porch, and I turn, facing him
with my palms open. He comes to me, takes my head in his hand and kisses
me on the forehead, while I inhale deeply. I look up at him, and he is a
frumpy, older man like the guardian angel in “It’s a Wonderful Life.” Beside
me a dark, indigenous man throws his arms around the angel’s neck and
hugs him.
On awakening I saw the full moon outside my window, and I sat in the
light with my palms open, breathing deeply. The dream gave me hope for my
grandson and myself, and gave me the energy to participate in caring for him
after his birth.
______________________
Author’s note: Here we again see the experience of light, but also of
“ordinariness” masking the true nature of things. The angel’s resemblance to
the one that appeared in “It’s a Wonderful Life,” as Jimmy Stewart’s
character was assessing his own life as meaningfulness, appears analogous to
Lou’s own struggle for meaning — as if to imply that his life, too, was worth
saving, and had been a blessing and would continue to be so in spite of
outward ordinariness. Could the indigenous man hugging the frumpy angel
imply a deep connection between Lou’s spirituality and his grounded,
“indigenous” self, soon to be a grandpa in his own familiar world? The way
that the dream instills hope for his grandson and himself going forward
bespeaks of the lasting “fruits” of a genuine spiritual experience.

Each of the three dreams that we have considered all bore fruit in the
dreamers’ lives. Two of them — P. G. and Lou — were at a low point in their
lives but were subsequently imbued with newfound meaning and purpose.
While we do not know what preceded Nicole’s dream, it clearly established a
profound sense of renewal and release from negative emotions. In all three,
we sense a new life unfolding as each was transformed by their spiritual
experience.
 Chapter 16

A Divine Presence
Bob Haden
The ancient Hebrews and early Christians claimed that one of the
primary ways God speaks to God’s people is through dreams. In his book The
72 Names of God, Kabbalist Rabbi Yehuda Berg tells us that the three-letter
name for God is three Hebrew letters meaning “Dream State.” The ancient
Hebrews and early Christians claimed that one of the primary ways God
speaks to God’s people is through dreams — not “a” way, but the “primary”
way. Origen, the third-century Christian theologian from Alexandria, Egypt,
reflects this when he speaks of Somnia Deo, “Dreams sent from God.” The
third-century Babylonian sage Rabbi Hisda put it even more succinctly: “A
dream uninterpreted is like a letter (from God) unopened.”
Unfortunately, as time went on, people were encouraged not to take their
dreams so seriously and even to be wary of them. Jerome, the fourth-century
biblical scholar who authored the Vulgate Bible, translating the Greek Bible
into Latin, made several mistranslations that discouraged paying attention to
ones dreams. There are 10 passages in the Old Testament that use the word
“anan,” Latin for “witchcraft.” In two of these passages, Leviticus 19:26 and
Deuteronomy 18:10, Jerome used the Latin “observo somnia” (observing
dreams) rather than “anan.” The sentence “you shall not practice witchcraft”
became “you shall not practice observing dreams.” The influential sixth-
century pope, Gregory the Great, read this translation and began to
discourage people from giving too much attention to dreams. It is interesting
that the Eastern Christian world, which continued with the Greek Bible rather
than the Vulgate Latin translation, continued to honor the dream.
An even more serious detriment to taking dreams seriously was the Age
of Enlightenment in 18th-century Europe, which questioned religious dogmas
and advanced the scientific method, focusing on the material, rather than the
spiritual, world. Limiting our knowledge to things we can see, hear, taste,
touch, or feel left outside reality not only the dream world but much of the
spiritual world. People no longer believed dreams were “real” and therefore
discounted them.
I, too, was a nonbeliever in the reality of the dream world for 40 years.
Nothing anyone could have said would have changed my mind. I had to
experience the reality of the dream world for myself. At the age of 40, the
“God is dead” syndrome caught up with me, and I began to question much of
what I believed. Following the advice of a spiritual guide, I went for four
days of silence at the Jesuit Center for Spiritual Growth in Wernersville,
Pennsylvania. Prior to this life-changing experience I had never been in one
day of silence. So, I was climbing the walls and wanted to get out of there.
Then there was a breakthrough, and I once again experienced the Divine
Presence. Coming off that experience, I wanted a new spirituality for myself
and was led to the dream.
One of the early dreams I had was what I called “God in the Closet”
dream. I was a young priest at the time and I wanted to be the one who knew
all the answers about God: One night I get very excited because I know that
God is in the bedroom. I want to capture God in the bedroom. So, in my
dream, I tiptoe over and shut the bedroom door so I would have God in the
bedroom with me. When I do, the bathroom door opens, and God goes into
the bathroom. This goes on for a while with my closing one door and then the
other one opening. Finally, I get them both closed. When I do that, the sense I
have of God goes into the closet. Now in the closet, God turns into a round,
yellow, balloonlike object and gets bigger and bigger. It gets as big as the
closet and goes “poof,” and I hear the words: “You are not going to put me
in a closet.”
When I awoke, I really felt as if I had experienced God’s presence and
God’s message was that I will never totally know Him/Her. If I did, then I
would be God myself. Just relax. The essential message was: “Do not feel as
if you have to know everything about God, but be open and cherish the
experiences come when they come.”
Another dream I had when I started my 10-year weekly sessions with a
Jungian Analyst was my “Maltese Cross” dream: I see a priest friend of mine
kneeling down in front of the congregation holding a cross saying his
personal prayers. I feel embarrassed saying to myself: “He shouldn’t be
saying his personal prayers in front of the congregation.” My analyst points
out to me that I had been telling my personal dreams everywhere, and many
dreams, particularly when we are first learning about the dream world, we
need to keep private. She then takes me to a deeper level of the dream by
asking me what kind of cross it is. I answer, “It is a Maltese cross.” She then
says, “What is a Maltese cross?” I answer, “I don’t know.” She then tells
me, “Well, if it were me, I would want to find out what a Maltese cross is.”
So, I woke up at 4 a.m. the next day and got out my encyclopedias to
research the Maltese cross. That led me to the Knights of Malta, John of the
Cross, and Teresa of Avila, all of whom I had never heard of at that time. I
fell in love with them right away and read as much as I could about them.
They were some of the early founders of the Carmelite monastic community.
They have been my mainstay over theses past 20 years. Well, guess what? It
suddenly hit me that I was rector of St. John’s Church on Carmel Road. And
to top it all off, I had been teaching for the last 10 years at Mount Carmel
Spiritual Center in Niagara Falls, Ontario.
After having many similar dreams where I felt the touch of the Divine,
getting advice from priest and Jungian analyst Morton Kelsey, attending the
C.G. Jung Institute winter seminar, working with an analyst for 10 years on
my own dreams, recording hundreds of dreams, and getting a master’s degree
in “The Use of Dreams in Spiritual Direction” from The Center for Christian
Spiritual Direction at General Theological Seminary in New York, I
integrated dreamwork with my priestly, spiritual direction and counseling
duties and formed The Haden Institute for the study of Dreams and Spiritual
Direction.
Since my enlightenment, I have made many discoveries. Let’s face it.
Dreams are crazy; real crazy. They appear crazy to us because they are not
literal, but rather metaphorical, like Jesus’ parables. Metaphor is the primary
language of the Divine. Metaphor takes us to a deeper level of awareness. So,
the first thing with dreams is to look at them metaphorically. If your
neighbor, in waking life, throws trash on your yard, that is exactly what is
happening. But if you dream that your neighbor throws trash on your yard, it
might be wise to see how a part of yourself is trashing (putting down) another
aspect of yourself. When we look at dreams this way, insights begin to pop.
 After a while, we realize that dreams are autonomous. They are like
another personality in us. They have a life of their own. Amazing.
Dreams deepen our belief in the afterlife. The aborigines believe that we
come from the dream world at birth and return to the dream world after death.
Dreams themselves point to a continuation beyond this life.
Many conversions, inventions, healings, vocational, and other life
changes have come through dreams as well as dangers being averted and
problems solved.
Dreams are particularly meaningful to those who have “been around the
block”; those in the second half of life who have experienced dead-end
streets, tragedies, failures, the dark night of the soul. The dream can be our
guide through this maze, leading us to a place where we begin to live on a
deeper level.
Dreams tell it like it is. They don’t sugarcoat things. They alert us when
we are going down the wrong road or are in danger. They also give us hope
and clues as to how to get back on the right road. We begin to learn that even
nightmares come in the service of healing and wholeness.
We often hear people say, “God doesn’t speak to me.” Does God speak
to you? The answer is a resounding “yes” to those who know the dream
world. The following four dreams illustrate how God does, indeed, speak in
dreams. Deacon Sylvie’s dream, “O Lord, Give Me a Rope,” changed her
view of God and her life completely. Rachelle Oppenhuizen’s dream, “Mount
Haden,” opened up a 10-year period of growth and healing in her marriage
and her theology. Mary Melinda Ziemer’s dream, “Annunciation,” was an
invitation to move more deeply within so something new could be born. And
Cynthya Rackerby Engdahl’s dream, “This Is to Recognize the Child
Within,” speaks of a dream and three visitations of Christ. All of these
dreams had a sense of The Divine Presence and healing that occurred as a
result.

Oh Lord, Give Me a Rope

 Deacon Sylvie Phillips
Deacon Sylvie’s dream comes as would a parable, an experience
that not only forever changes her limited view of God’s grace, but
gives her the opportunity to test the power of prayer in the dream
itself and, as a result, discover her own role in God’s divine plan.
My life-changing dream happened in July 1984, when I was 29. A few
weeks earlier my first husband, Ray, had passed away after a long battle with
bladder cancer. Ray had been training as a Baptist local preacher, and his
faith became more vibrant than ever in his last days. I, however, had a very
restricted image of God: I believed He was there but that the relationship was
based on us acknowledging Him, without much coming the other way.
This dream was incredibly vivid and was unlike any I have had before or
since, in that the images in it were sometimes accompanied by a background
commentary — words which were strongly impressed on my mind in a
telepathic manner. I was clearly told their meaning as the dream progressed.
If only all dreams were like that!
When the dream begins, I do not know where I am. It is pitch black.
Then I realize that I am standing beside a bed in which my husband is lying.
We are at the bottom of what appears to be a very deep, dark pit. As I look
up, I can see light at the top of the pit. Every now and then the sun travels
overhead, and wide, bright beams of sunlight suddenly light up the area
where we are. I am “informed” that the sun represents God, and these beams
are prayers that people had been saying for us at that time.
The next moment, I find myself watching as my husband’s bed, with him
lying in it, starts to rise upward. I watch it slowly ascend and inwardly expect
that once it reaches the top of the pit, it will end up on the land by its side,
with him able to enjoy the sunlight. However, it reaches the top and then
continues ascending right up into the sun itself! I understand this to mean he
has been taken into the full light of God’s presence, but it also means that I
am now apparently completely alone in the bottom of the pit, feeling desolate.
Then, I am being raised up, traveling up the side of the pit, hopeful of
ascending as my husband had, but in my case, I end up deposited on the land
beside the pit. This is fine with me — I enjoy the full warmth and light of the
sun shining above me. Then, something makes me curious about the place I
had just left. I walk over to the side of the pit and look into it. To my surprise,
I can see a huge number of people in the bottom of the pit; many seem to be
rushing back and forth aimlessly.
I feel I must do something to help them, just as I had been helped. I want
to reach down and help someone else come up out of the darkness, in the
light — but how can I possibly do that? Something makes me look upward
toward the sun/God, and I find myself saying these words: “Oh Lord, give me
a rope.” At this point, most of the commentary is strongly impressed upon my
mind. I am told that God will indeed supply me with a “rope” to help others
who are in all kinds of difficulty, but that I am to remember this: that only
God Himself would know exactly what kind of rope was right for each
person, because He knew each person. I must always look to Him to supply
the rope, according to what He knew that person most needed at the time.
This dream changed my life in that it completely changed my view of
God and set me on the pathway that would lead to my becoming a Methodist
minister over 20 years ago. During that time, I have frequently found myself
in pastoral encounters alongside all kinds of people. Whenever I have felt at a
loss to know what words might help them, I have started praying inwardly:
“Lord, give me a rope.” I have lost count of the number of times it has
brought me new insight, which in turn has proved a blessing to the other
person.

Mount Haden
Rachelle Oppenhuizen
In this dream, Rachelle is not only given the opportunity to
experience and see her conflicted situation in a new light but is
given the guiding image – that of a mountain. She is left with an
irresistible urge to find the actual mountain, which triggers multiple
spiritually healing synchronicities.
The dream arrived as Pentecost approached. Due to the intense
emotional distress that I was experiencing within the context of trying to
discern if I should stay in my marriage of 20 years or seek a way out, I was
urgently and frequently praying “Come, Holy Spirit” and “Lord, send
Mercy!”
In the dream, I’ve been lifted by helicopter to the peak of a high natural
formation somewhere out west where I have never visited in waking life. I’m
with a whole group of other very religious women, and we’re being brought
to this high pinnacle to attend a religious retreat of the pep-rally variety. The
admission to this event requires that we submit to a process of “reverse
mouth-to-mouth” by means of which our original, authentic spirit is replaced
with an artificial spirit in conformity with all the others. I feign compliance
but I actually resist the procedure by refusing to release my own spirit to
their purposes. No one notices that I retain my own spirit. For the next few
days, I’m faking it — all the “unity” of doing everything together. Being in
total conformity with all the others in this type of religious feeling is
oppressive to my spirit, and I’m suffering a nearly deadly dose of “nice”! It’s
suffocating. I desperately yearn to be released from this company of “happy”
women. I gaze across the canyon to read the inscription written in an ancient,
wordless text on the opposite canyon wall. This Wisdom-text speaks peace to
my authentic soul and seems to be older than time.
A few days after the dream, I was startled to be directly confronted by an
image of the exact pinnacle that had appeared in my dream. I was casually
flipping through an issue of The Artist’s magazine and the page fell open on a
painting titled “The Skirts of God” by Gil Dellinger, a professor of art at the
University of the Pacific in Stockton. I immediately called him on the phone
and asked him if the image in the painting actually existed some where in the
world or if it had been inspired by his imagination. He told me that it existed
and that he had painted it based on his study of Mount Hayden, a fairly well-
known formation that can be seen from the north rim of the Grand Canyon.
He casually suggested that perhaps I might go there someday. Within three
days, my car was packed, and I was on the road for a solitary vision quest
from Michigan to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, to spend some time in
communion with Mount Hayden.
The full humor of this whole story didn’t dawn on me until nearly a
decade later, when I was filling out my application to The Haden Institute for
the study of Dreams and Spiritual Direction for the purpose of furthering my
study of dreams. The connection hit me unexpectedly and hilariously. A few
years after completing my training at the Haden Institute, my husband and I
returned together to the Kanuga conference grounds in North Carolina to
attend another conference, and my husband finally met Bob Haden, the
founder of the Haden Institute. In the intervening years that had passed,
natural forces were carving and shaping my own being in ways very similar
to the forces of the mighty Colorado River. My theology underwent nearly as
radical a revisioning as my marriage. Much that was dysfunctional in both
was jettisoned, and I learned to tune into the ancient, (wordless) language of
the archetypes which continue to guide, heal and revitalize my authentic,
original spirit.

Annunciation
Mary Melinda Ziemer
At moments of urgent decision, prayer, a call to God for help, can
bring forth the most comforting of answers in our dreams. The
beauty and clarity of Mary Melinda’s dream illustrates how
immediate our connection with the Divine can be.
An apparently “simple” dream has changed the trajectory of my life in
profound ways. Before this dream, I had spent 25 years growing up in
Southern California. Since this dream, I have spent 25 years living in Europe.
I vividly recall the days before the dream. At that time, in 1990, I had to
decide whether to accept an offer from the United States Peace Corps to go to
Poland with the first volunteer group — in the newly independent Eastern
Europe — or to stay in California to pursue my doctorate in English
Literature and a new relationship. My mother had taken the news that I might
leave quite hard. When I told her of my plans she cried, “But if you go to
Europe, you’ll never come back!” The two of us had a tearful conversation.
To clear my mind and heart, the next day I took a walk in the sunny,
California foothills, taking in the view I loved. Standing there, I called out to
Jesus to send me a dream to help me with my difficult decision. Before going
to bed, I said another heartfelt prayer for guidance. That night, I had this
semi-lucid dream:
At the base of the golden, California hills of summer, I wander through
crowded carnival grounds, feeling alone. I only want a friend to go walking
with me in the hills. The pressure of the crowds pushes me out into the golden
foothills, where a man approaches me saying, “I’ve heard that you’ve been
looking for a friend.” His gentleness reassures me. I feel I can trust this
stranger who wears a royal-blue poet’s blouse and has wavy shoulder-length
blond hair. His fine features and form radiate beauty. As we walk in the hills,
we communicate without words. The sea-washed breeze cools us. I ask him
his name. He answers, “Gabriel.” I turn to him and say, “You know, that
name means ‘Child of God.’” He turns to me with a healing smile and says,
“I know.”
He invites me home to meet his family. His elderly parents and three
sisters greet me warmly. A gentle fire burns in the hearth. They feed me
freshly baked bread and fresh milk. I feel the meal makes me whole and gives
me new life.
After supper, Gabriel tells me we will take a journey into the night. Since
childhood, I had been terribly afraid of the dark, but now it feels like a friend.
Gabriel and I get into his invisible “car” and disappear at an incredible
speed into a velvety blackness. With this I awake.
Upon awakening, I felt suffused by the presence of the angelic being and
glad I had asked his name. To me, the dream experience clearly said, “If you
go into the unknown, Gabriel — God’s “Messenger Angel,” the Holy Spirit
— will guide, protect, and empower you. Fear not!” And, the end of the
dream illustrated that the Holy Spirit would support me whenever I moved
into the unknown. I felt, and still feel, a great relief and humility in accepting
this awareness. Physically and emotionally, I felt centered, replenished, as if
something new could be born through me. That morning I told my family I
had decided to go to Europe. I left the United States a few weeks later.
I grew up a great deal in Poland. In the outer world, I founded the
English Department in a new Teacher Training College and met the man who
would be my husband for 19 years. Since that time, I have also lived in
Switzerland and England. The energy of the “Gabriel Dream” also supported
me in the effort of directing the Charity HELP Counselling Centre in London,
a job I undertook in 2006.
Around this time, Gabriel visited me in a second dream and embraced
me. I understood this to be an invitation to the study of dreams and
psychotherapeutic work from a spiritual perspective. I completed the training
in Transpersonal Psychotherapy at the Centre for Counselling and
Psychotherapy Education, founded by Dr. Nigel Hamilton. In 2012, I became
the CoFounder and Director of its Dream Research Institute. In the process, I
also discovered the International Association for the Study of Dreams and
have had the pleasure of presenting at their conferences and serving on the
board.
In 2014, at another crossroads in my life, I found myself reflecting on
the “Gabriel Dream.” This time, I faced the end of my marriage and the new
journey that lay ahead. “Gabriel” has announced many pivotal turning points
in my life. Looking back, it strikes me that the dream comes as a metaphor,
inviting me to move more deeply within so that something new can be born.
The “Gabriel Dream” has become a touchstone for me, reminding me of who
I am and that “I belong to more than myself.”

This Is To Recognize the Child Within

Cynthya Rackerby Engdahl
Here again in Cynthya’s dreams, we get a constant reminder of the
connection and oneness we always have with the Divine regardless
of the struggles we may have with accepting or navigating the
expectations of our religious upbringing.
When I was 16, I attended a church camp sponsored by the Episcopal
Church, where after 12 hours of silence, I had a religious experience. This
experience was so profound that I was left in a euphoric state for several
weeks. I soon seriously considered becoming an Episcopal nun. I began
going on religious retreats and at one point visited a convent in New York
and talked to a nun about joining a convent. Her first question to me was,
“Have you been called by God to become a nun?” I knew that I had not been
called by God. In fact, the convent appealed to me because I thought it was a
way to have someone else make the major decisions for my life. I was
seeking a kind of refuge from the world, which at the age of 19, felt
overwhelming and quite threatening. As a teenager, I had witnessed the
Cuban missile crisis, and John F. Kennedy had been assassinated on my 18th
birthday.
Soon after the realization that I had not been called by God to become a
nun, I became fed up with the church’s focus on sin and threw the whole
system out on its ear and began to live my life on my own terms. I had been
going to college in Virginia. I quit physical therapy school and returned to
California, where I had spent most of my life. I soon met my future husband
who was planning on building a 50-foot sailboat with the idea of sailing
around the world. This appealed to my sense of adventure and my desire to
do something unique with my life, as I did not want to be a typical housewife
living in suburbia with two children. We got married in 1966, moved to
Southern California in 1967 and began building the boat. Four years later, the
sailboat was finished, and we had been living on it for four months in Dana
Point Harbor, California.
I had the following dream: I go to visit my friends Rafael and Renata.
They are in a modern room. (This surprised me because they are hippies
attending college and actually live in a ramshackle house with three other
couples on the bluffs of Costa Mesa, California). It feels like possibly a future
time due to the modern room. Rafael says to me that he is waiting for the
Christ to come. I say, “Oh, great, I have always wanted to meet him.” We
then prepare for his arrival. I get a feeling of anticipation.
Suddenly, I am standing on the bluffs of Costa Mesa, which overlook the
Santa Ana River. I see a vision in the sky of beautiful pink clouds. Christ
arrives from out of the clouds and stands before us. He comes up to me and
puts his arm around me and kisses me like a long-lost friend. He moves on to
greet someone behind me. I turn around to watch him greet others who are
there. He then returns to me and greets me again. This time he kisses my
stomach and says, “This is to recognize the child within, Noel.”
I sought out Ernest L. Rossi, Ph.D., whom I had heard lecture on his new
book, Dreams and the Growth of Personality at the C.G. Jung Institute of Los
Angeles. I joined one of his dream groups and also did therapy with him.
From that time on, I was well on my way toward a unique spiritual life
through working with dreams and dream groups. My husband and I sold the
boat in 1975, having never traveled farther than off the coast of California.
We divorced in 1976. My travels from then on were to be more inward than
outward.
Christ has visited me two more times since my dream in 1972. The
second time was around 1992, when I was visiting friends in Austin, Texas.
They invited me to attend church with them as they sang in the choir. Right
after taking communion, I felt Christ’s presence. The experience brought
tears to my eyes. This was quite a surprise, as I had not been in church for
over 30 years except for weddings. I felt he was communicating to me that he
can still be found within the very church that I had rejected so many years
ago.
The third visit from Christ took place when I was in the hospital having
major surgery in 2001. I was quite afraid, as I had never had surgery or
stayed in a hospital before. There was a Catholic priest in the hospital who
offered me communion, which I accepted. That night I had the following
dream: Christ comes to my bedside (just as the priest had done) and offers me
a round loaf of bread.
My fears disappeared, knowing the Christ within was always there
protecting me. All I needed to do was to be open to my dreams to know this
profound truth.
Reaching Beyond the Senses
Juan Obligado
 Chapter 17

Transcending Space and Time

Stanley Krippner
Reports of strange, extraordinary, and unexplained experiences related
to dreams have been a topic of fascination to people throughout the millennia.
For many Native American tribes, there was no distinction between nighttime
dreams and daytime visions; either could portend the future or describe
distant events. In modern times, these reports persist and have become
controversial because they seem to transcend conventional notions of time
and space, at least to highly educated members of Western society. However,
in ancient eras, they were often attributed to divine forces and found their
way into the sacred writings of various faiths. The Old Testament, for
example, relates the puzzling dream of an Egyptian Pharaoh that was
interpreted by his Israeli slave Joseph as forecasting seven years of plenty
followed by seven years of famine, leading the Pharaoh to stock extra food
supplies that saved the country from starvation when it came to pass. The
word “dream,” as a noun, appears 64 times, and as a verb “to dream” 28
times, in the Old Testament and only nine of these were “ordinary” dreams
— most are warning messages to patriarchs, prophets, kings, and
occasionally to ordinary people such as Joseph.
Carl Jung used anomalous dreams in his psychotherapeutic sessions,
especially those that exhibited an apparent “synchronicity,” an internal event
(such as a dream) that matched a later external event (such as an unexpected
occurrence of good or bad fortune).
Psi phenomena remained outside of mainstream science but became the
focus of investigations at a “parapsychology laboratory” at Duke University
in North Carolina, bearing that appellation to indicate that these studies were
“alongside” (i.e., “para”) conventional science rather than opposing it. Some
members of the British society proposed neutral terms to differentiate psi
phenomena, for example “psi beta” (better known as clairvoyance, telepathy,
and precognition, or “extrasensory perception”), “psi kappa” (better known as
psychokinesis or “distant influence”), and “psi theta” (better known as life-
after-death studies, including purported “past lives”). Most anomalous
dreams fell into the “psi beta” category, although some were “psi theta,”
including purported episodes from the dreamer’s previous “incarnation.”
More recently, such terms as “nonlocal perception” and “nonlocal
perturbation” have been introduced to encompass possible connections of psi
phenomena and quantum mechanics.
As a group, dreams of this nature are often called “extraordinary
dreams” or the somewhat less value-laden term “anomalous dreams.” At
Duke University, in some 7,000 self-reported anecdotal telepathic
experiences that had been collected by Louisa Rhine,1 nearly two-thirds of
them reputedly had occurred in dreams. Rhine also collected presumptive
precognitive dream reports, which allegedly forecast events that had not yet
occurred, and clairvoyant dreams in which distant events are depicted. For
example, at the end of World War II, a woman in Florida claimed that she
awakened one night crying out between sobs that she had seen her soldier son
die in the crash of a burning airplane. The next day, a cheerful letter arrived
from her son, and the woman regained her composure. Five nights later,
however, the same nightmare occurred. The next day a telegram arrived
relaying the news that her son had been killed in an airplane crash on the
night of her initial dream.
In his work as a psychoanalyst, Montague Ullman2 often had patients
reporting dreams that coincided with events in his personal life. He began to
research this phenomenon in 1966 and later moved his operation into
Maimonides Medical Center in Brooklyn, New York, where I joined him,
becoming director of the new laboratory. A protocol was devised in which a
“target picture,” sealed in an envelope, was to be randomly selected once the
research participant had retired for the night. The “telepathic transmitter”
would interact with the research participant, and then the research participant
would be separated into a sound-attenuated room to sleep. The transmitter
threw dice to select one of a stack of double-sealed envelopes. Upon viewing
the target picture in the envelope, the transmitter then related to the picture
contents through associations, enactments, and emotionality. An
experimenter awakened the participant when the instrumentation (EEG
tracings, plus eye movements and muscle tension tracking) indicated that a
dream was in process, asking, “What has been going through your mind?”
The dream report was recorded and transcribed. In the morning, the research
participant was asked to provide associations for each dream report, and then
was shown copies of each picture in the “target pool,” arranging them in
order of correspondence to the dream reports. These selections provided
statistical data that would support or rebut the telepathy hypothesis. The
precognition dream studies were done much the same way except that the
target was randomly selected following the participant’s night in the
laboratory.
Before the laboratory closed in 1978, Ullman and I had conducted 13
formal experimental studies (11 focusing on telepathy, two on precognition)
and three groups of pilot studies in which telepathy, precognition, and
clairvoyance were investigated — in total, 450 nighttime dream sessions with
a 63 percent confirmation rate. A meta-analysis of the results, conducted by
Dean Radin,3 concluded that the odds were 75 million-to-1 against achieving
the results by chance. In 2003, Simon J. Sherwood and Chris A. Roe made an
attempt to compare the Maimonides studies with other attempted replication
studies.4 Even though there were some differences in measures and dream
collection methods, they concluded that in both sets of studies “raters could
correctly identify target materials more often than would be expected by
chance” — with 95 percent confidence.
Laura Faith and I collected 1,666 dream reports from women and men
from six countries between 1990 and 1998 in order to identify anomalous
dreams.5 When an independent rating was performed on the 910 reports from
women and 756 from men, there was no statistically significant differences
between genders; 8.5 percent of female reports, and 7.7 percent of male
dream reports were considered anomalous. The categories reported most
often were lucid dreams (1.7 percent), out-of-body dreams (1.4 percent),
visitation dreams (1.1 percent), and precognitive dreams (1.1 percent).
Despite the data that has been collected, the studies cannot be considered
conclusive from a strict scientific standpoint because of difficulty in
replication and variation in evaluation procedures between studies and over
the years. Mainstream science places them in the “events” category due to
their ephemeral nature, their resistance to appearing on demand, and their
lack of satisfactory explanatory mechanisms. As a result, they remain in the
“reports” category.
Anomalous dreams can change a person’s life or, at a minimum, prepare
a person for what life is about to bring. Fariba Bogzaran related a dream5 by
one of her clients, an illustrator I will call Louise.
I am racing about in a distant city, trying desperately to reach a friend.
The nature of the urgency is unclear; I only know that I must find her. I
awake feeling frantic and distraught. I then return to dreaming. I hear a
woman’s voice repeating, “It was the worst pain — terrifying. I thought I
was dying.” There is no accompanying imagery. I awake confused with the
bizarre thought that I am having someone else’s dream.
That morning, Louise decided to give her friend a call. The friend told
Louise that her timing was remarkable. The night before, at the time of
Louise’s dream, the friend had been rushed to the hospital in excruciating
pain. Her friend repeated the exact words Louise had heard in her dream. She
had thought she was dying.
This dream not only connected Louise more closely to her friend but
also prepared her for the worst — the possibility of her friend’s death.
Although the anomalous elements in this dream could have been
coincidental, in retrospect the dream served a useful purpose.
Not all anomalous dreams are intentional in nature. Some serve no
apparent purpose but, at best, are mere curiosities; others can have unforeseen
maladaptive consequences. In 1980, Steve Linscott had two disturbing
dreams: In the first, a man approaches a young woman with a blunt object in
his hand. In a second dream, this man “is beating her on the head. … She is
on her hands and knees … and doesn’t resist. … Blood flying everywhere.”
Linscott went back to sleep, but later that day he noticed police cars two
doors away from his house. A young woman had been brutally beaten and
murdered in a nearby apartment building. He told the dream to his wife and
two colleagues at the Christian halfway house in the Chicago suburb where
he worked. They all persuaded Linscott to tell his dream to the police, and he
complied with their suggestions.
A few weeks later, Linscott was charged with the murder of the young
woman. The dreams, according to the police, included too many accurate
details to be coincidental. Linscott was convicted and sentenced to 40 years
in prison. The prosecution finally dropped the case after several appeals by
defense attorneys. Apparently, the police department did not consider the
possibility that the dreams might have represented anomalies, nor did they
realize that coincidental “matches” frequently occur in dreams.6
There may be qualities of the sleeping brain that make us sensitive to the
subtle influences that appear in anomalous dreams. Allan Combs and I have
proposed that there are two such remarkable qualities: First, a small shift in
the brain’s neuro chemistry can introduce a new image into an ongoing
dream narrative; and second, the sleeping brain responds to signals so tiny
that the brain would not otherwise be affected by them. Ernest Hartmann7
described how the brain’s neural networks are open to greater novelty and
emotional impact during sleep than during wakefulness and noted that
anomalous dreams often involve someone close to the dreamer with whom
there is an emotional connection.
Anomalous dreams, whatever their explanations, suggest that there are
profound interconnections and entanglements among human beings, as well
as between humans and the rest of nature.8 Perhaps these linkages can help to
mend the torn social and ecological fabric of the current era. Working with
dreams is one way of reweaving this tattered tapestry, and anomalous dreams
may represent a resource that could play a vital role in addressing the
imbalance between humans and their environment.
One postscript to my research and the bonds that I made along the way
— a life changing dream of my own. A few months after Montague Ullman’s
death, I had the following dream. It was the most colorful dream I can
remember, with vivid images throughout the duration of the dream.
I am standing by Monte, who is sitting on a throne. He knows he is about
to die and passes his scepter to me. I take it with some hesitation. I face a
large audience, apparently after his death. I tell them that nobody could be
Monte’s successor. He was one of a kind. But I intend to pass the scepter
from person to person, to everyone using his person-centered dream
appreciation method. Some people in the audience object but eventually
agree with me.
I wake up content to know that the scepter is in constant circulation.
This is a dream that I often tell dream groups. It emphasizes the democratic
aspect of the method, making each dreamer the final authority on his or her
dream.
This brief history of humankind’s attempts to explain and cope with
anomalous dreams can be applied to five more dream stories that were
submitted for inclusion in this book. Each of these dreams changed the lives
of the dreamers and in one case saved a life.

The Lonely Widow and the Forgotten Child

Ivy Black
Ivy’s dream is a beautiful illustration of “meaningful coincidence,”
the definition Jung applied to synchronicity.
My dream begins in a modern museum where I am waiting in line
behind a father and daughter. Abruptly the dream jumps to a movie theater in
the 1940s or 1950s, and the father disappears, leaving his daughter alone.
While looking around the theater, I see an interesting poster. Looking closer,
I realize that the girl in the poster is the same girl who “jumped” with me.
She is about 8 years old, with blue eyes and short blond hair. Sitting on a
gigantic, antique wooden chair, she seems to be immobile, and her mouth
and jaw look stiff and inflexible, as if she is unable to speak. I am very
intrigued and captivated by the design of the poster, then notice that there is
something written across the bottom, which seems to be the name of the
movie. As it is written in a foreign language, the only word I can decipher is
“Von.” Although I can’t read the text, I can tell it is either a mystery or a
horror movie.
Suddenly, I realize that the poster is not a poster; it is the actual girl
sitting on a chair. And something is happening to the girl’s face. It is
superimposed with the face of a boy, who also has blue eyes and blond hair
and is about the same age. The faces flicker back and forth a few times, each
one lasting a few seconds.
The next day, I asked my husband if he knew the meaning of the word
“Von.” He said that it could be either German or Dutch, and it means “from”
in English. That day and for days afterward, I kept thinking about the dream,
trying to comprehend why I would dream about a German girl. Later that
week, I attended a workshop in Manhattan at the Jacob Javits Center.
Arriving early, I was the only person on the entire floor. Soon after, a lady
(let’s call her Lisa) approached and asked if she could sit next to me. I told
her she was more than welcome to join me.
During the course of the day, we had a few casual conversations. I
mentioned to her that I was taking a dream-life coaching class, where I was
studying to help others interpret their dreams to help improve their lives.
Immediately, her face lit up, so I asked if she would be interested in having a
dream-life coaching session during lunch break. She was excited and happily
accepted.
As we began our session, I asked Lisa what was on her heart/mind. She
told me that her husband had just passed away from cancer. She was still
grieving and missed him very much. She felt that he was still with her after
he passed and related an incident where she felt her husband was there with
her, lifting her up from the bed, making her feel as though she were floating
on thin air, hugging her, and showing he was still there to support her even
though his body had passed. I told Lisa that our loved ones are always
around, and when we are in the dream state, we are able to connect more
easily with spirits and even with our higher self. Lisa thanked me for being
empathetic and said she greatly appreciated our session, then during our
conversation, I was reminded of the dream I had about the German girl. I
mentioned to Lisa that I felt as though I had somehow met her in that dream,
and I asked if it would be OK for me to share my dream with her. She said
she’d love to hear about it, and after I finished, she was overwhelmed and
astonished.
Lisa told me that she was born and grew up in Germany. When she was
around 8 years old, she underwent major surgery on her mouth and jaw.
During that time, she was hospitalized and could not speak. Since the medical
facility was not advanced at all back in the 1950s in Germany, she was
attached to all kind of tubes and wires and she was immobile during that
time. She said that she had a brother who was just a year older than her (the
young boy’s face?). The day that Lisa was scheduled to be discharged from
the hospital, her father was supposed to bring her home but, for whatever
reason, did not show up. She felt as though she had been abandoned by her
father. As the hospital did not expect her to be there, they ran out of beds.
Consequently, Lisa was transferred to another room, where she had to share a
bed with another girl, who spoke Dutch and was traveling with her father, an
ambassador in Germany.
Lisa told me she found the experience eye-opening, and it validated for
her that her deceased husband had visited her in her dreams. I, too, was
overwhelmed with how my dream paralleled Lisa’s experiences as a child. It
was one of the most amazing, gratifying experiences I’ve ever encountered.
My waking life, dream life, my study and practice of spirituality are all
wrapped in such a magical, synchronistic way. I believe my dream was
guiding me, affirming to me that dreams are a key form of communication. If
sharing my dreams can illuminate and brighten the life of even just one
person at a time, it is my honor to carry out this mission.
_______________
Author’s note: Many of Jung’s examples of “synchronicity” were
precognitive in nature (picturing a future event) — in this case the later
conversation with Lisa. Call it precognition or simply coincidence,
nevertheless, the incident was meaningful to both Ivy and Lisa,
demonstrating why Jung termed synchronicity a “meaningful” coincidence.
The encounter may have been therapeutic for Lisa, easing her lonely
condition and providing some new meaning for her “forgotten” status
decades earlier. According to Jung, a synchronistic event spreads its nets
wide, enveloping many people and experiences along the way, as it did here.

Telepathic Intervention
Laurel Clark
This is a dream, and subsequent waking experience, both of an
extrasensory nature that was not only life-changing in nature but
literally lifesaving.
 The dream itself was a brief snippet but quite profound. I believe it
helped me save my husband’s life. I was married at the time to a man with
juvenile diabetes, which had now become quite out of control.
I am dreaming that John is having a low–blood-sugar reaction and can’t
wake up.
I awakened suddenly from this dream with the clear perception that it
was not symbolic and that John, indeed, was having a low-blood-sugar
reaction and could not wake up. He worked about 50 miles from where we
lived and often spent the night in that city. When I had the dream, we were in
different cities, 50 miles apart
This was quite alarming to me because I thought he might die. When
insulin-dependent diabetics have too much insulin and not enough sugar in
their blood, they can go into a coma, which may result in death. So I
immediately called him on the telephone. The phone rang and rang, but he
didn’t answer. So, then I sent out a mental telepathic call, yelling his name in
my mind with the command to wake up! Then I called on the phone again.
This time he did answer, but I could tell from his groggy voice that he was,
indeed, having a low-blood-sugar reaction. I asked him to test his blood
sugar, but he sounded confused and couldn’t understand what I was asking.
I pleaded with him to stay awake, then got off the phone and called a
friend of ours who lived in the same town where he was. I asked her if she
could go over and check on him. She did, tested his blood sugar, and
discovered that it was indeed dangerously low. She was able to get him to
drink some orange juice to raise it and to get him some medical help.
Had I not had that dream or if I had ignored it, John would probably
have slipped into a coma in his sleep. He might never have awakened. It was
life-changing not only for my husband but for me as well because it showed
me how powerful telepathic connections can be in the dream state. John and I
had a strong telepathic connection while awake, but this was the first time I
was aware of it entering into the dream state. I feel very grateful for this
dream, for my response, for our generous and kind friend, and for listening to
my dream helping me to help John.
_______________
Author’s note: There are no symbols or metaphors in this dream; the content
reflects an actual event that was playing out at the same time that Laurel’s
dream took place. Most of the tribal shamans I have visited acknowledge the
role that dream symbols (i.e., dream images with a deeper meaning) and
dream metaphors (i.e., activities with a deeper meaning) often play. But these
shamans claim that there are occasions when the dream must be taken
literally, especially if someone’s life is in danger. Rita Dwyer, a past
president of IASD, worked as a chemist; a coworker once had a dream in
which there was an explosion in Rita’s laboratory and he saved her life by
dragging her to safety. Not long after, this event actually took place and
because he had “rehearsed” it in the dream, the coworker was able to locate
Rita in the smoke-filled room and drag her to safety. Laurel was not
physically present but reacted quickly and was fortunate to find a helpful
friend who acted promptly. They were also fortunate that the friend did not
respond to her urgent call by saying, “Go back to sleep. It’s just a dream.”
Technically this dream may have been “clairvoyant” (viewing an event at a
distance), but then Laurel sent out “a mental telepathic call,” one that aroused
her husband and confirmed her impression.

Who Am I? – Part 2
Bob Hoss
You may recall reading about Bob Hoss’ lucid dream “Who Am I”
in Chapter 9, The Power of Lucid Dreaming. What Bob Hoss did
not know at the end of the dream is that the adventure had only just
begun. The dream, and his subsequent inquiries, would immediately
trigger a sequence of synchronicities that placed what meaning he
initially got out of the dream into a much greater “universal”
context than he could ever have imagined. So as not to repeat the
entire story Bob gives only a brief summary of the dream itself,
then goes on to tell the amazing series of events that transpired
afterward.
In 2015, I decided to join the IASD online PsiberDreaming Conference
(PDC) to present a paper called Is There a Science to Life Changing Dreams?
I was unaware of the powerful psychic energy that can get generated at that
annual IASD event — but I was about to find out! I was extremely exhausted
from all of the activities I had gotten myself involved in, trying to make too
many of my “visions” happen all at once. I was asking myself, “Who am I”
and “Are my visions really of any value.” A couple of days into the PDC, I
had the lucid dream that introduced me to four parts of myself that I later
realized matched my Myers-Briggs ENTJ personality type (a dream that
Robert Waggoner discusses in Chapter 9, which I briefly summarize here). It
subsequently started an amazing chain of synchronous events.
When the dream goes lucid I am introduced to four characters that I
eventually understand to be parts of myself. The first is a tall man who says
he is “my fun loving party side” (“E”, my extrovert). Then I meet an
impatient artist, frustrated with the amount of work it takes to make a clay
sun sculpture come out as he envisioned (“J”, my judging side). Then I meet
a “tin man” made of technology who says, “I am your wise and learned past
… and your future” (“T”, my thinking side). Finally, a beautiful woman
comes by. She has black hair surrounded by sparkles of light. I am instantly
and deeply attracted to her, and pick her up and place her in front of me and
ask, “What part of me are you?” She looks straight into my eyes and says, “I
am your visions — I am like diamonds” (“N”, my intuitive).
I woke with a sense of great joy, with a renewed sense that my visions
were of great value. But that is only where the story begins — before doubts
and frustrations could convince me that it was just a lovely dream, the
universe was about to shock me into an awareness of the deeper wisdom it
really represented.
When I was with the tin man, I thought about his answer, that he was my
past and future, so I asked him in the dream, “Well, if you are my future, then
what will become of me?” He answers, “Come back after the 13th dream,
and I will tell you.” This answer felt very profound even in the dream, but I
had no idea what it meant then or after waking. I knew I could not count the
13th dream because we don’t recall all of our dreams — so it must be a
metaphor, memory association or perhaps an archetypal symbol (1 plus 3
becoming 4 and such). Nothing fit, so I decided to share it with the
participants in the PDC conference to get their ideas on the number 13. The
feedback that evoked the strongest inner response was from Maria Carla
Cernuto, who said, “13 in the Tarot is the Death card!” I replied that this
didn’t sound good: Getting the Death card has always been pretty scary to
me! Maria corrected me, stating, “The Death card is positive; it is a total
transformation and rebirth.” I joked that maybe on the 13th of the month (a
few days away), I would draw a card from the Tarot and see what happens;
but I could not find my Tarot deck, so I put the whole thing out of my mind.
But the “universe” had other ideas.
The next day I received an email from a total stranger. It said, “My name
is Mary Nason, and in a dream today, I received a call from a gentleman by
the name of Bob Hoss. After awaking, when I Googled your name, I was
quite surprised to find your website with your work on dreams as the number
one result. I have no conscious memory of knowing about your work
previously. This seemed like an important dream, and I decided there would
be no one better to tell it to than you. If you are interested, here is the dream.”
I answer the phone, and an older gentleman with a very sophisticated,
distinguished voice, greets me. He says, “I found you on Body-Unconscious.”
I “know” in the dream that it is a website about a book that studies the topic
of death and dreams. I “know” the cover art (I see it, a painting of an elderly
man on the brink of death with dreams illustrated above his head) and I
“know” there are two writers. I ask this man’s name, hoping he is one of
them. The man says, “Some call me Bob HossAZ.” I know he is a coauthor of
the book, and I’m overjoyed. He then says, “When you draw a card that is
usually considered to be negative, you know in this case it should be
considered positive because of where you are and where you’ve been. I
understand him and add, “Yes! How we view things is all a matter of
context.”
The hair stood up on my neck when I read this note. The parallels with
my personal conflict at that point, as well as the PDC discussion of the Death
card and the Tarot, were astounding. My reaction of negativity toward the
Death card and the message Maria gave me during the PDC — “No, the
Death card is positive!” — was identical to the message that the “dream Bob
Hoss” gave Mary over the phone.
Other elements of the dream were astounding as well. The cover of my
Dream Language book looks like what she describes; my other dream book
does have two authors, my wife and I; and as to Bob HossAZ, I live in
Arizona, which is abbreviated as AZ. There is also a similarity in the names
of the two involved in delivering this message to me: Mary and Maria! We
know from experience that often telepathic information comes in dreams with
telephone imagery — and if this be the case, then my “dream Bob Hoss”
seems to have made a call on that telepathic “body-unconscious” network
through a total stranger to reinforce something that my waking “Bob Hoss”
again needed to hear. But why?
After this, I searched again and finally found my Tarot of the Moon
Garden deck and patiently waited a couple of days until the 13th of the month
to pull a card. I shuffled and split the deck — and with all this synchronicity I
of course fully expected the Death Card — but again the universe had other
ideas. It was the Queen of Cups. WHAT? How can this be?
So I again thoroughly shuffled the deck and split it. Again the Queen of
Cups! Now I got it: Obviously, there must be a message here! So I looked for
the meaning for the Queen of Cups in the little book that came with the deck,
and it read, “The Gift of Vision!” I had been taken full circle back to the
dream, back to the message of the beautiful black haired woman with
sparkles who said, “I am your visions. … I am like diamonds!”
And it didn’t stop there. I knew that I was going to want to share this
experience at some point, so I wanted to find an image on the internet that
looked like this woman. I went online searching for “black-haired woman
with sparkles,” and in almost no time I actually found … her! There were
many beautiful images, but my heart “jumped” when that one image came up
— she had the same face, black hair, and sparkles of light surrounding her as
in the dream. I wanted to find the reference to the artist, but nothing; no
credits, title, or copyrights, just an image of the woman I saw in my dream.
So I decided to click on the URL. It led me to the “Tarot Project” — it was a
picture from a Tarot card … and you guessed it — the Queen of Cups!
_______________
Author’s notes: Of note is how this dream illustrates the nature of
synchronicity. As Mary’s dream suggests, “How we view things is all a
matter of context.” I would suggest that these synchronicities be considered
in the context surrounding their appearance. The online conference, in which
the focus is psi-related dreams, coincided with an examination of his own
life, which provided the context for his lucid dream about the various aspects
of himself — in a Jungian context. The response from Maria provides another
context, that of the Tarot. The “Death card” coincides with Bob’s
introspective journeying, again in a Jungian context of transcendence. All of
these experiences combine as synchronistic linkages to Bob’s search for
meaning.
But Jungians note that synchronicities often contain archetypal
“trickster” surprises. The surprising email from Mary and her “discovery” of
Bob Hoss in her dream: Is this coincidental? Dream telepathy? Dream
clairvoyance? Dream precognition? The world of dreams, particularly
transformative ones, is not neat and tidy and does not always reflect the
dream’s intent — often quite the opposite. In any event, Mary’s dream
reinforces Maria’s earlier message that the Death card is not a negative but a
positive. As Bob then randomly selects a Tarot card, expecting the Death
card, the “trickster” once again intervenes and the Queen of Cups emerges
(twice), inviting another cluster of synchronicities. The search for the
meaning of the Tarot card links back to the “gift of visions” and the beautiful,
black-haired woman, which links to the image from a Tarot card of the Queen
of Cups.
There may be yet another important linkage in the Tin Man, whom he
equated with his thinking self. The Tin Man in The Wizard of Oz sings, “If I
only had a heart.” The juxtaposition of the tin man and attraction to the
woman is perhaps balancing or tempering of masculine intellectual pursuits
with the “feeling” feminine. Reflecting on Blaise Pascal’s injunction, “The
heart has its reasons that reason does not know.”

The Empty Office

B. B.
Sometimes our dreams know before we do.
After I received my Master’s degree in Architecture from Columbia
University, I worked for six months in an office in New York City for my
thesis adviser, whom I will call Arnold, before returning to Chicago. I had a
lucid dream about 34 years later, which began in my workspace in that office:
There is no one in the office, which is about 1,000 square feet for the half
dozen of us at the time. I walk up front to our second-story picture window
overlooking the street, and as I begin to recognize Sixth Avenue looking west,
I awake.
I realized then that it was Arnold’s office and went back to sleep. Next
morning, opening The New York Times on the train as usual, I happened to
look at the obituaries, which I never do, and saw Arnold had passed at 89
years of age. This experience, along with a waking psi experience from my
earlier college days, confirms for me our synchronistic interconnection.
_______________
Author’s note: Here again, we have the dream as an inner experience
matched to the obituary as the outer experience. Each of us has many
experiences every day, and so there are bound to be coincidences. However,
as this story illustrates, Jung seemed to realize this when he defined
synchronicities as “meaningful experiences” — the deceased architect having
been the dreamer’s thesis adviser. The bond they formed many decades
earlier may have still been resonating, making this coincidence very
“meaningful” indeed.

A Warning in Threes
Ms. Toby Fesler Heathcotte
Such a blessing that, when we don’t pay attention to a warning in
our dreams, our mother might still be there watching over us.
One summer night in 2010, I have the following dream: I am watching a
woman work on my alarm system in my house. She tells me it doesn’t work
properly.
The next morning, remembering the brief dream, I decided I was
probably the woman in question, as I’d been putting off cleaning the
windows that contain the alarm boxes attached to them. I decided to do the
work over three Saturdays since it’s a big chore. The first day, as I was
washing windows, I considered running a security check to make sure
everything functioned all right. The check involves opening each window and
door to ensure you hear three beeps to indicate a charged battery, ensuring
that the security company receives a strong signal. Because someone needs to
stand near the alarm box to hear the beeps, I decided to wait until my grand-
twins arrived. Previously, they’d helped me run the checks. That night I had
three dreams of unusual clarity:
In the first dream, I am sitting in my living room when a coworker
arrives to help me with a project. As he tries to open the metal screen door, I
yell to him, “Wait, I haven’t got the alarms turned off.” Too late. His hand
stretches through as if the screen door were nothing more than thick air, a
diaphanous substance, pliable and easy to pierce. I feel afraid. If he could
enter my house, anyone could.
The dream locale then changes to one difficult to describe. I stand alone
in clear air as if there were no location, no environment, just empty space or
a thought of space. Mother walks toward me wearing a long, white, loose-
fitting gown. She looks about 60 and wears her white hair much longer than
in physical life. Her image looks clearer and more vibrant than I can ever
recall when dreaming about her. I say, “Mother, you look great.” Mother
laughs and holds out her arms for a hug. I put my arms around her and can
feel her shoulders, sturdy and strong, beneath my palms. It is wonderful to
see her, hear her laugh, hug her.
Then a third dream begins to unfold: I am back in my living room
watching my coworker’s hand pass through my screen door. I yell at him in
fear that I hadn’t turned off the alarms, a repeat of the first dream with the
same thick air and threatening scenario.
I awoke concerned that my alarm system had gone down. I went around
the house doing the security check on the windows and doors, dashing back
toward the alarm box when necessary to hear the beeps myself. Of the 13
stations, three failed to return the three beeps that indicated good batteries. I
called the security company, which sent a repairman out that afternoon. He
resolved all the issues, installed new batteries throughout, and checked the
system for any potential problems. Both the repairman and I found it odd that
three batteries failed at the same time.
Later in the day, I began to absorb the implications of my experience.
Now I had a whole different take on the dream scenario. Of course, my
coworker could put his hand through the screen door without tripping the
alarms because the alarms weren’t working. The message of three turned out
to be important symbolically: three beeps in the alarm system, three
Saturdays that I intended to work, three dreams in a row with the same
message, and the three beeps of the alarm system all to demonstrate that three
batteries weren’t working. And then the caring appearance of my mother who
had passed over 10 years before these dreams. I’ve had many dreams about
her but none like this one. Not even close. Was she also the unrecognized
woman in my first dream? When I didn’t respond correctly the first night, she
went to a great effort to get my attention the second night. For a few hours
after the repairman left, I didn’t analyze or dissect the dream. I just lived with
the acceptance of it as truth. I wanted to know how it felt to believe she’s out
there and still cares about me. Joy! If she’s there, so are all the others I’ve
loved and lost to death. Bliss!
_______________
Author’s note: The story begins with what is called a “clairvoyant” dream,
the ability to view something at a distance. The recurring number three: three
dreams, three Saturdays, three alarm systems, and three beeps could be
coincidental or a synchronicity, the psyche’s way of getting Toby’s attention.
When Toby ignores the warning, her deceased mother intervenes in what
appears to be a “visitation dream” based on the nature of the experience. She
states that her mother has never appeared in her dreams in this manner before,
a manner in which she was able to hug her mother and experience kinesthetic
sensations, itself a rarity in dream reports. After all, this is what good mothers
are supposed to do!

Ghost Girl
Katy Kane
At times of tragedy, our dreams can be touched by the emotional
fabric of the universe around us, picturing traumatic events
 occurring or about to occur to others in other places and times.
The following two dreams foreshadowed a horrific event of which I had
no previous knowledge. The year was 2012, and I was staying alone at our
family vacation house in Florida, having arrived early to prepare for holiday
festivities with our family. I had two unusual dreams on December 12 and
December 14 — I recorded both of them in a dream journal, as I had been
taught to do in a dream class I had taken at Atlantic University the previous
year. The following are the relevant excerpts from the dreams put into a
narrative form. For reference, Mike and Rob are my sons, and the unnamed
career schoolteacher is a family member.
In the first dream, recorded on December 12, 2012: I see there is blood
pouring out its mouth (I didn’t record what “it” was). Wearing a knight’s
costume, I am trying to escape with my kids by sneaking out the side doors of
an auditorium. I see a ghost girl sitting on top of a big carved coffin with a
brown vinyl top. The coffin is at the side of the road along with a pile of junk
for the trash man. I am directly in front of an old abandoned school. There is
a lady asking the ghost girl, “Why did you end up dying here?” I think it is so
disrespectful to put a coffin at the side of the road in that manner. As we
drive away, I hear the theme song from the old TV show “Gidget.” The song
seems inappropriate for what I am seeing, as it is such a happy tune.
Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, we are in a closet with a gun called a Glock
3 — it is blue. I am thinking of getting a two-way mirror put in the hallway
so if somebody broke in I could see who it was before I had to shoot him. I
think the gun on the floor is loaded and cocked, but Rob says it isn’t.
In the second dream, recorded on December 14, 2012: My sons are little
boys again, and they have to share with a child we don’t know. I see the face
of a career schoolteacher who is normally always smiling and extremely
upbeat — but this time she is not smiling. My son Mike gets a pained
expression on his face and starts to cry — I wake up with a violent jolt.
My heart hammering, I shakily wrote the dream in my journal. I
assumed my now-grown son must have been having problems, so I planned
to call him as soon as I thought he’d be up, as he was in a later time zone.
Meanwhile, I got up, made my coffee and glanced at the clock. It was 9:45
a.m., and I was surprised at having slept so late. I sat down in front of the TV
with my coffee and turned on the news.
 The newscaster described a school shooting that had taken place just
moments before in Connecticut, at approximately 9:40 a.m. Some of the
details described then and later that day mirrored the ones in my dreams, such
as a school, a gun, a Glock, hiding in a closet, attempting to escape from an
auditorium, children, the concerned face of a teacher, and a pained expression
on a child’s face followed by a child’s cry.
Over the next few days, I pondered the dreams and the horrible event,
trying to make some sense of the senseless. As the first dream opened, I was
dressed in a knight’s costume while trying to help my children escape. Could
this represent the traditional view of a knight as a hero who saves people,
much as the heroic acts performed by the teachers as they tried to protect the
children and help them escape? Could the school being abandoned mean that
in the future, no one would want to go there anymore after what had
happened? Could the coffin and the ghost girl being put out with the trash
symbolize how the shooter felt about his victims — that their lives were
worth so little? And could “blood pouring out its mouth” be describing the
shooter himself after he took his own life with a gunshot to the head — with
a Glock? Then there was the song from “Gidget.” I found the lyrics, and here
are some of the words: “If you’re in doubt about angels being real, I can
arrange to change any doubts you feel.” Trying to find some sense of peace in
this whole experience, I choose to believe that the happy tune represents that
the little ghost girl, along with the other children who had lost their lives that
day, had all become angels on the morning of December 14, 2012.
This dream changed my life because it not only showed me the potential
power of dreamwork, it emphasized the importance of timing in recording
my dreams in a journal immediately upon awakening.
 Chapter 18

The Power of Precognitive Dreams

Marcia Emery
When that first predictive dream came in May 1970, I didn’t know what
precognition meant. I was so naïve about expanded consciousness studies and
couldn’t imagine that the mind could be stretched to foresee upcoming
events. I was an assistant professor in a Washington, D.C., university
teaching psychology to undergraduate and graduate students, and a member
of the American Psychological Association. With this background, it is not
surprising that I was baffled by having dreams that came true. There was no
mention of this phenomenon in any of my psychology text books.
Back to May 1970: My mother handed me an astrological guide for
Pisces written by Sydney Omarr. I opened the book immediately and read,
“Pisces, keep a record of your dreams since something surprising is about to
happen.” For the first time ever, I wrote down my dream that night. I had a
dramatic and crystal clear dream that probably saved my life. What a
synchronicity of getting that book and being directed to a world where
dreams came true. Here are some of those prophetic dreams that altered my
beliefs about the dream world.
May 1970 Dream: I am driving a car, put my foot on the brake, and it
goes right to the floor. The car turns over, but I get out unharmed.
I woke up with my heart beating frantically and wondered if I was in the
middle of an accident. Soon the familiar sights in my bedroom assured me
that I was at home. A week later, I was driving down a heavily trafficked
street in Washington, D.C., when I put my foot on the brake. The brake failed
and my foot went right to the floor, just as it had in the dream image. The
emergency brake didn’t work either. In the midst of major traffic with this
brake failure, my intuitive voice came to my rescue and told me to make a
quick right. I did, and the car came to a stop between two clothing stores,
which was the only area of safety. I emerged with a few bruises and scratches
from my totaled car. My dream had alerted me to this possibility, though I
failed to get the brakes checked.
Then a week later I had a similar dream: I’m driving down 15th Street
NW in Washington, D.C., on my way to an 11 a.m. meeting. I put my foot on
the brake, and it goes right down to the floor. I hear a ping noise. I see a
policeman coming toward me and notice a no parking sign. I ask the
policeman if I can leave my car and go to a meeting. He agrees, and I walk
away.
This time, no rapid heartbeat upon awakening but feeling amused about
having another brake dream. I couldn’t imagine brake failure in my new car.
Once again, I dutifully recorded the dream in my journal and forgot about it.
Days later, I was driving on 15th Street NW to attend an 11 o’clock meeting. I
applied the brake, and like before, my foot went right to the floor. This time I
heard a ping. When I saw a policeman approaching, as well as the no parking
sign, I remembered the dream and guided the car to the curb. How could real
life imitate the dream? I later found out that the brake cable had snapped in
my brand-new car.
These precognitive dreams continued: I am frantically running to catch
a connecting flight in the airport. I lose my luggage and miss my connecting
flight.
Though I dismissed this dream as a mere reflection of my fear of flying,
I was in for quite a surprise the following day. This nightmare became reality
when I missed a connecting flight because the plane was three hours late. I
had to rush to another airline to catch a flight with a minute and a half to
spare. Just as the dream had shown, I missed a connecting flight, and my
luggage was lost. The dream had given me a warning about the delayed
flight, and I ignored it.
For weeks, I was baffled and frightened that all my dreams were coming
true. This couldn’t possibly happen, especially to an academic psychologist. I
wondered if I was losing my mind since I couldn’t find a plausible
explanation about this phenomenon anywhere. Years later, I discovered the
book Psychic Exploration edited by Edgar Mitchell and Martin Ebon, and
was introduced to the term “precognition.” The research in that book
validated how these precognitive dreams were linked to the mind’s expanded
capability to reach forward in time and preview an upcoming event.
In the last chapter, Stanley Krippner outlined the research studies on
precognitive dreams led by Montague Ullman and himself, at the Brooklyn-
based Maimonides Hospital in the 1960s. Malcolm Bessant, the prime
precognitive dream subject, was able to foresee randomly created events of
the next day more than 60 percent of the time. Of the 10,066 precognitive
experiences that Louisa Rhine of Duke University collected, three-quarters
occurred in dreams.
These precognitive dreams expand our perception beyond the
boundaries of ordinary reality and cover the range from trivial to life-altering,
with red flag alerts that can provide a warning or preview of an upcoming
event such as an accident, death, health challenge, calamity, or natural
disaster. I was warned of appointments I had forgotten, accidents, health
challenges, and robberies that came true. On the more positive side, don’t
think that all precognitive dreams carry dire or worrisome predictions. In my
dreams I saw a job promotion, evolving friendships, and a new baby come
into the family, and was prepared to meet the love of my life — my husband,
Jim.
I finally acknowledged these dreams were the best inside source of
information. I discovered a quote from Edgar Cayce, the late great psychic
from Virginia Beach, Virginia, who said, “Nothing of significance happens in
our lives unless we first preview it in a dream.” It took me a while to realize
the profundity of that statement. I had ignored the many dreams that had
visited me to preview upcoming events. The “Hallelujah” chorus sang loudly
in my mind when I finally acknowledged and respected these visionary
dreams that came true.
One tip to help you capture your precognitive dreams is to keep a dream
journal and review unusual recurrent themes. Psychologist Sally Rhine
Feather of the Rhine Research Center notes, “Keeping a diary of our dreams
can help us recognize the difference between an ordinary nightmare and a
true precognitive warning we need to act on.” I agree that keeping a dream
journal is essential. As you glance through your dream journal, most of the
dreams probably contain personal recurrent themes. Be alert to the odd theme
that doesn’t seem to fit with the others, which may signify a warning dream. I
learned this the hard way. All the signs were there in my journal, though I
failed to understand them at the time. There were so many precognitive
dreams getting me ready for the untimely passing of my mother, which
started coming four months before her passing. Sadly, I didn’t understand
them and failed to heed the warning implicit in these dreams and missed my
chance to say goodbye to my beloved mother.
Dream on July 23: I am in a setting with Tom Hughes. He says he is
Scorpio and wants to come see me and talk. When I met my mother’s doctor,
I was astounded that he looked just like the actor Tom Hughes from the
dream. This meeting was in November — during the month of Scorpio.
Next, I am riding in a car in the front seat; performer Doug Fast is on
my right and Grandma Carner is driving the car. Could this be a metaphor?
Mom left this world fast, without any warning, to join my Grandmother?
Furthermore in mid-November this strong journal entry clearly predicted her
passing.
Dream on November 18: Mom is in the next room. She is sleeping when
we get up and can’t get out of bed. A man comes over who looks like singer
Pat Rahming. The night after the dream we were at a nightclub where the
singer looked like Pat Rahming. When we got home, we got the call that
Mom had a heart attack and couldn’t get up.
Note that a precognitive dream can occasionally show that someone
close to you is leaving your life. So how would you know this from the
dream? Well, for one thing, if a close relative or even a friend comes to say
goodbye, that might be a sign. If one of your parents looks much younger in
the dream than they do in real life, be alert to this change. This may prompt
you to reach out to that loved one and express your love.
Here is another tip. Be vigilant and prepare to change, if practical. An
analysis of 433 premonition cases submitted to the Rhine Center showed that
most of the attempts to intervene were not futile. Sally Rhine Feather notes
that “a future foreseen is not a future written in stone.” Of significance in the
study was that the failed interventions were greatly outnumbered by the more
successful attempts.
Most dreams predict possibilities and prepare or protect ourselves from
what might come — not necessarily what will come. Physicist Dale E. Graff
also eschews any fixed causality to our dreams and focuses more on
probabilities. He suggests there is “something quantum physical” operating
with the precognitive input. In other words, the writing is on the wall, and we
have to keep our eyes open to see it before it evaporates.
How do we decide what to pay attention to in a dream and what to do?
As my experiences with the brakes on my car illustrate, if you have a dream
that you think might be predictive, just be vigilant and be prepared to change
your behavior or plans when it is practical to do so. Every plane crash dream
does not mean that you should cancel your vacation plans. A plane crash, for
example, can be a simple metaphor for such personal issues as your goals or
ideas crashing to the ground or your body crashing if you don’t slow down. It
is best to explore the metaphors to see if there is an obvious personal
meaning relating to conflicts in your life but remain vigilant if that dream has
that special numinous character to it. If altering your behavior is practical, it
can even be lifesaving, as you will see from my experience as well as those
who contributed the following stories.
I am continually grateful for the preparatory previews in my
precognitive dreams that do come true. As prophets, we can become more
profitable in living, as we acknowledge and embrace the dream information
forecasting future events. I hope that my dreams and the five dreams that
follow will encourage you to be mindful of the precognitive dreams you have
written in your journal.

Changing the Meeting Place

Janice Baylis
Although most dreams are not literal, sometimes it is prudent to
alter your plan when it is practical to do so – it might even save a
life. Listen carefully when someone else has a dream about you. At
the time of the dream, Janice was a 31-year-old elementary school
teacher living in Burbank, California.
The incident is about a dream had by Mabel, my carpool passenger, not
by myself. But her dream saved me and my three sons as well as the dreamer
from being under a crashing private airplane. She had the following dream: I
dream an airplane will crash at the place and time we are to meet, and we
will be under it when it crashes.
She phoned me and told me to meet around the next corner instead of
our usual place. While we were meeting around the corner, a small airplane
crashed where we would have been. As we drove by the wreck, I asked,
“Mabel, how did you know?” She answered, “I dreamed it. I didn’t tell you it
was a dream. You might have thought I was silly to react to a dream.”
“Thank God you did!” I exclaimed. That got my attention on the importance
of dreams.

Taking the Bull by the Horns

David Cielak
Carl Jung coined the term “synchronicity” to describe a situation
when waking life, physical reality, mirrors events in our dream life
at times of crisis or transformation. In reflecting on the dream,
David comments that he felt the bull in this dream to be his “Inner
Self” (Jung) or “Inner Ego” (Seth), which appears in the dream
state and the waking state to help him face his fears and make
personal changes.
In 1985, I was 26, working as a wilderness instructor and leading
outdoor adventure courses for delinquent and at-risk kids at Southern Illinois
University in Carbondale. It was a role I had previously loved, being
outdoors in nature, teaching and helping kids grow and develop. After five
years of this, I felt very stuck, tired, and didn’t know how to change tracks
and figure out what was next or what I could do. I was pretty unhappy with
the entire situation.
About two years before this dream, I had discovered popular texts by
Patricia Garfield, the Carlos Castaneda books, and The Seth Material and
regularly wrote my dreams. I worked on my own to understand them and
even started a morning dream group with my housemates.
One morning I had what I realize now was probably a precognitive
dream that was very vivid. In the dream I am running down a long, straight
country road, a peaceful scene in the farmlands of southern Illinois. I look
ahead of me down the long, straight road, and about 150 yards ahead of me
on the left I see a horned black bull and a herd of five cows in a field. As I
approach they break through the fence and come charging down the road at
me! Terrified, I feel I can do nothing as they approach, with the horned bull
in the lead. Running straight at me, he lowers his head, hitting me with head
and horns and tossing me high into the air.
I immediately awoke and felt relieved that it was only a dream. I wrote
down the dream and got ready to go into town. That afternoon I finished my
errands and went to the gym, changed into workout clothes and set out for a
leisurely 10-kilometer run. I decided to circle the university. Part of the run
was along the University Farms road. About 5 kilometers into the run on a
sunny and hot and humid day, I was running down the long, straight rural
road when ahead of me I saw a herd of cows and a big horned black bull. At
once I recalled the dream, astonished at what then unfolded. As I ran, the big
black horned bull broke through the barbed wire fence and, followed by the
herd of cows, was running straight at me! I was shocked to see this! Just as in
the dream! I thought, “I’m a goner.”
Maybe a second later a white car I hadn’t heard came up behind me and
just squeezed past me, putting itself between me and the charging horned bull
and herd of cows. I ran up to the car and essentially stayed behind it as the
big horned black bull and the cows thundered past me and the car. They ran
down another 100 yards and crashed through another fence into another field.
Heart in my throat, legs shaking, with a pulse that “was off the planet,” I was
safe! I wobbled and shook as I ran but made it back to locker room and went
home. The dream had been precognitive, warning me about the charging bull
and herd.
For weeks afterward, I pondered the dream and began to realize that it
had greater significance for my life beyond just a warning about the bull. In
the greater sense the dream, and its repeat in waking life, warned me not to
keep going down the road as I had been in my life.
What occurred then within the frame of my life was reaching out and
exploring other career and work options. Within a month or so, I made a
career change and began to work as a therapist at the local mental health
agency while I worked on a master’s in rehabilitation. I believe the dream
jolted me out of the rut and the long, straight road that I had been on.

Taking My Uncle into His Glory

Prasantha Kumar Battula
A future event can touch more than one of us, as we might discover
during the mutual sharing of our dreams.
When I was a student in Vikram University Ujjain, I had a dreamed
about my uncle Jagapathi Rao, an evangelist at Laymen’s Evangelical
Fellowship International, who loved us as his own children and often prayed
for us. In the dream: I see his dead body on a cot. I particularly notice the
blanket that is placed on the cot.
At the same time my friend John had a dream about Jagapathi Rao, and
in it he received a date. In his dream, my uncle tells John: “I am going to God
on July 24th, 1989.” Both of us met and discussed the dreams and wondered
about the date and if the dreams were foretelling something that was about to
happen.
As it turned out, my uncle was “called into glory” on that exact date. We
found this out through a friend, Solomon Raju, who informed us in a letter
that he had passed away on that date. We reached our aunt (his wife), who
showed us photos. In the photos I recognized the blanket I had seen on my
uncle’s cot in my dream. We both were shocked. This was my first
experience where a dream had come true as we experienced it. God speaks
with us in dreams, in a symbolic language, and sometimes directly.
I praised God. This dream has given me a greater understanding that
God is with us and His hand had taken my uncle directly into His glory.
 A House Afire
Elliann Rea
Sometimes the event is more significant than the timing. The
manifestation may come several years later.
As a youth, I lived in a suburb intersected by the main east-west route
running between Philadelphia and West Chester, Pennsylvania, which I often
traveled. Along this route were many north-south-running side streets,
populated with typical suburban homes. One night I had this dream: I am
driving west along a main road just outside Philly and happen to look down
one of the southern side streets to my left. All the way at the very end of the
east side of the street a house is completely ablaze. Or maybe it is a tree in
the front yard. It is an eerily arresting site in some ineffable way. But I
continue silently along my route.
Several years later I lived in one of the neighborhoods my dream travel
had taken me through, in a house at the very end of the east side of a street
that ran to the south off that same main road to West Chester. I lived there for
a few years while I continued my college studies and worked in Philadelphia.
Only very rarely did I think of my dream, wondering casually if it held a
portent that I ought to be concerned about.
One night, as I was preparing for bed, I noticed that my cat hadn’t
climbed into bed before me, as he usually did, to wait patiently for me to join
him. That night he sat on the window seat even as I was beginning to drift
off. I wondered dreamily what was up with him and called him to come a
couple of times as I got more heavy-lidded. But he remained sitting and
looking at me intently. As I began to nod off, I caught a vague whiff of what I
thought was smoke and thought that my neighbor must be having a cigarette,
not unusual. I roused myself enough to take a few more sniffs and noticed
nothing more. I quickly began to nod off again, my cat still watching me with
peculiar focus.
Just as I was crossing the threshold into sleep, I suddenly sat bolt upright
when the dream image of the house (or tree) ablaze rushed vividly into my
mind’s eye. I jumped out of bed to discover that the house was indeed on
fire! I got my cat safely out of the house and then called the fire department
in time to prevent all but some minor property damage. A smoke detector had
shorted out and started the trouble. Between the dream and my cat’s curious
behavior, our lives had been saved.

Focus
Marcia Emery (by permission of Jeffrey Mishlove)
In this story, Jeffrey Mishlove discovers that following your dream
can sometimes change your life and your career.
Years ago, Jeffrey Mishlove was a graduate student in the University of
California, Berkeley School of Criminology, struggling to study the positive
forms of human deviant behavior. He wasn’t getting anywhere, and after
months he said to himself, “Tonight, the answer will come to me in a dream.”
His dreaming mind honored that request by sending him this dream:
I’m visiting some friends who live across town in Berkeley. I get to their
home, and no one is there. I knock on the door, and there’s no answer. In the
dream, I know where they keep the key. I find the key, open the door, and
walk into the living room. In the middle of the floor I see a popular magazine
called Eye. I’m paging through it in the dream.
Upon awakening, Jeffrey knew he had the answer, though he was not
completely clear what the answer meant. Acting out the dream drama, he put
on his sneakers, ran across town, got to his friends’ home, knocked on the
door, and just as in dream, no one was there. He knew where the key was
hidden and let himself into the house. As he had dreamed, a magazine was
sitting in the middle of the floor. The title, much like the Eye in his dream,
was Focus. He began paging through the magazine, which literally brought
focus into his life.
Focus magazine was about listener-sponsored radio and television
programs in the Bay Area. His “Eureka!” moment was realizing that he could
pursue this interest in the positive forms of human deviance through
educational broadcast media. Following this insight, Jeffrey took a volunteer
position as a receptionist at a local public-interest station. Soon after, he was
trained in producing radio programs and began hosting his own show. A
month after having the dream, he found himself sitting across the table
interviewing leading figures in the consciousness movement. This gave him
the confidence to create an individual, interdisciplinary doctoral major in
parapsychology at the U.C., Berkeley. Six years after receiving his unique
doctoral degree, Jeffrey began hosting the nationally broadcast public
television series Thinking Allowed.
Journey’s End and Beyond
Joseph Kemeny
 Chapter 19

The Healing Power of Mourning

Dreams
Kelly Bulkeley
This chapter discusses dreams relating to one of the most emotionally
difficult experiences in all of life — the death of a loved one. When someone
we care about dies, whether it be a parent, child, relative, friend, or teacher,
we can become over whelmed by a host of turbulent and painful emotions.
Anger, confusion, fear, and crushing sadness are unfortunately common as a
whole lifetime of memories come rushing back — the vivid recollections of
the person when he or she was alive clash with the painful reality of the
person’s absence. After the death of a close loved one, it can feel as if life
will never be good, or light, or happy again.
Fortunately, we have dreams to help us navigate through the stormy
emotions and find our way to a new place of calm, gratitude, and wisdom.
The three dreams presented in this chapter illustrate the process and highlight
important potentials that can emerge in dreams during times of grief and
mourning.
In many cultures around the world and through history, dreams have
been considered very close to death. Many traditions believe that when
people sleep, their souls are free to travel to other realms, and death occurs
when the souls do not return to their bodies. Visitations from the dead are one
of the most prominent cross-cultural types of dreams, celebrated in cultures
and spiritual teachings nearly everywhere. This indicates the importance of
this kind of dreaming experience for the mourning process. The cross-cultural
evidence strongly suggests that dreaming of the dead is a normal, natural, and
healthy part of mourning.
 It is crucial to note that the dreams that come during these times are not
trivial or disjointed but usually quite vivid, complex, and memorably intense.
The dream-generating system in the mind seems to rev up when a death
occurs, providing dramatic visions of mortality and what lies beyond. In most
cultures such dreams are considered spiritual gifts that enable the living to go
on with life, while accepting and even embracing the reality of human
finitude. In some cases (for example, the third dream below), they are truly
big dreams, which C.G. Jung described as highly significant dreams with a
lifelong impact on the dreamer. Such dreams emerge from the depths of the
psyche, often at times of crisis and transition. In ways that can be hard to put
into words, the dreams give the individual a broader perspective on life and
death, and their eternally intertwined relationship.
The death of a loved one tears a hole in people’s customary frame of
meaning, shattering their usual sense of balance and social support. Apathy,
numbness, and depression often follow. The value of dreams at such times is
this: The dead person may be gone physically but is still present emotionally
and spiritually. Gone forever, and yet never gone. This is the gift, and the
paradox, of such dreams. The images can bring up painful feelings and
memories, but they have an ultimately healing effect in bringing forth
emotional truth and honesty, showing the way toward an acceptance of
sadness and a capacity to grow beyond the loss, not in denial of death but in
mature acceptance of it.
The three dreams in this chapter highlight some important facets of this
process. All three dreams reflect the profound complexities of our relations
with our families; all three give the dreamer important and valuable insights
into the wounds of the past and the hopeful promise of the future.
I have learned about the values of mourning dreams not only from
research, but from my own experience. When I was in my early twenties, my
paternal grandmother died, unexpectedly at least to me. I never got to say
goodbye. But soon after hearing news of her passing, I had a dream in which
she and I had dinner together, and she gave me a special golden book. When I
awoke, I still felt very sad, but now I also felt a calmer sense of loving
connection with her that I knew would last throughout my life, and this book
would always be a memorable symbol of her living presence.
Therapists, teachers, and hospice workers have much to gain by paying
closer attention to these remarkably widespread and deeply impactful types of
dreams. Indeed, everyone will probably experience a death-related dream at
some point in their lives, and everyone will probably have the opportunity to
serve as a companion to someone else as they dream about the approach of
death. As the examples below suggest, no elaborate interpretation or analysis
is needed for such dreams, just a willingness to listen and to honor the
healing power of the images and feelings that flow through them.

A Chance to Say Goodbye

Sherri Lacy
In this first dream, Sherri is given a vision of mystical beauty that
shows her dead brother moving to a place beyond this life, while
also guiding her back to this world and emphasizing the importance
of living now.
I’m 46 now, but when I was 7 my brother was killed in a car wreck. He
was 18 and in a month would have graduated as valedictorian in his class, as
well as had his next birthday. I was really close to my brother, and it
devastated me. I was sent to stay a month with my grandparents on the farm.
They had his funeral without me, found another place to live on 10 acres, and
moved. While I was staying at my grandparents’ house, I was sleeping with
my Granma. One night, I was asleep but remember the following experience:
I am asleep but floating on the ceiling of the bedroom with my back to it
looking at Granma and me sleeping peacefully. Then there is a loud boom,
and I am floating above the farm with a white glowing presence beside me. I
can see the cows; even though it is dark, I can see everything brightly. Then I
am pulled to another place full of large flowers that smell so good as I float
around. I am then pulled to another place where I am walking on a clear,
yellow-gold road with rock walls on each side. In between the rock wall and
the road are trees placed evenly apart, sitting in clear running water. There
is a bright presence next to me and in front of me. I am told I can’t go in the
gates ahead of me where I know my brother is. I have to go back; I have
things to finish.
Then I woke up in bed in a sweat and looked at Granma sleeping. I knew
right then my brother was OK and I would see him again one day.
A couple of nights later in a dream I am in a room floating around. I
look, and my brother is lying in a beautiful wooden box. I think this is
strange. He is dressed up with a green shirt. He looks peaceful.
I told my Mom about that later, and she said I couldn’t know that. She
said that was him at the funeral home. So I guess I was able to say goodbye
to him after all, within these beautiful dream experiences.

The Boy in the Suitcase

Anne
This second dream is a kind of “surrogate mourning dream” in that
Anne expresses the sadness and blocked mourning of another
family member.
I had the following dream in June of 2014: We adopt a young black boy
and keep taking him away from his mother — or sister? I’m with another
woman. We come many times to the house and then take him away after we
put on his coat and hat. We take these things off and then put them on again.
Then we have to put him in a large suitcase around a big block, and he fits in
around it. We then carry the suitcase out. It is very difficult. It must be cold
out, as we bundle him up. There is no sadness from the mother in the dream
when we take the boy away.
Before this dream, I had several dreams of young boys. In one the boy
leapt into my arms and wanted to stay with me. I felt that this boy was my
mother’s brother, Michael, who died when he was 8 years old and my mother
was near 20. I learned right before she died that my mother had never cried
after this event, and truly I never saw my mother cry in my life. Tears were so
difficult for her that she once told me (a very emotional person who is often
moved to tears), “At least if you are going to cry, water the flowers in the
pot.” This has been a huge “block” for me regarding allowing myself to cry,
and I never understood why. This dream gave me a dawning realization that I
had been carrying her little brother all my life, and it was becoming very
difficult.
Michael’s death created a huge grief for this whole family. Michael was
a very sweet child. His death was sudden, his illness only two weeks long. I
never heard much about him from my mother. However, I found a box in her
sister’s things that she had kept all her life. In the box were all the letters of
sorrow they received, the calendar showing the two weeks he was ill before
he died. The grief was still palpable.
As I processed these dreams, I talked with my mother in my imagination
and truly feel that my actions surrounding this dream allowed Michael, her
little brother, and my mother herself to finally be free. I grieved for all the
losses, and a weight came off my shoulders, relieving a pain in my back that I
had over a long period. I “reburied” Michael under a new rose bush that I
planted in the meditation garden that I developed after my mother’s death.
When I “buried” Michael with his picture and some childhood toys, it was a
very emotional moment. After this long processing, I believe we are all a
little freer. I can cry without shame — can simply cry when I feel it. I
redreamed this dream in my imagination, and the block burst into little
particles, and we all grieved and said goodbye.

The Tidal Wave

Travis Wernet
In a dream Travis is prepared for his father’s imminent death,
enabling him to meet the loss with compassion and composure.
Every once in a while, my father sent letters. They always spoke of the
weather or cars he was fixing up. Opening the envelope, aware of desiring
more connection to the man who helped bring me to this life, I read to the end
and stopped cold in my tracks. Very matter-of-factly he wrote, “I have
cancer,” followed by his usual, “Take Care, Dad.”
 At the time, I was working in social rehabilitation in San Francisco. My
parents had divorced when I was 4 years old, and the family was never close.
I barely knew my father before he became ill with “asbestosis.” Although I
lived in California, my whole family resided in Colorado, and we barely even
spoke to one another.
I ran the news past a friend who reflected how her sister died. She just
went to bed one night and didn’t wake up. My friend imparted that if her dad
were sick, she would go see him right away. I felt that in my gut and made
plans to go see my father, who was staying with my sister in the Western
Rockies.
Phoning my sister to seek to ascertain any sense of urgency about Dad’s
health, I talked with her, and she said didn’t really know. I also spoke to him,
which was extremely odd, considering we barely saw each other since he left
home. How could I ask if he thought he was going to die and would he like
me to be there with him? I said I wanted to go there to be with them, and they
said that would be fine. Details were handled, and I set off for my homelands
for the first time in many years. Having journeyed from Oakland to Denver
and then across the Rocky Mountains, I finally arrived at my sister’s home.
I was shocked to enter the trailer, finding my father on the couch, all
skin and bones and looking 20 years older than his sixty-one years. Shortly
after I landed, my sister left for work. This put myself and my father alone
together for the first time in 20 years. To say that we felt awkward would be
an understatement. I was grateful for how my work with dying people in
mental health somewhat prepared me for the sight I beheld there. Still, this
was personal and unlike anything I had ever gone through before. A rhythm
developed during our time together. Dad lay on the couch, and we talked as
he came in and out of wakefulness. My sister and I carried on daily activities
and tried to determine what might be “in the cards” for our sick father. It was
pretty clear that he was close to dying. Still, how does one determine such a
thing?
My dad had decided to forgo chemo. It was obviously just a matter of
time. I had a lot of issues with my dad around his leaving when I was a kid
and was very angry earlier in life. When I saw him lying on the couch, and
even before I got to Colorado, I sought to understand how he could have
made the choices he did. It helped me to realize that he was a father at an age
younger than I myself was at the time of his illness. To imagine myself with
all those responsibilities created a strong sense of compassion. I had become
intimate enough with my own wounds to be able to realize that Dad must
have had his, too.
I made a willing choice to forgive our past in the interest of finding
connection in the present. Right away, I told my dad that I wasn’t interested
in holding grudges and that maybe we could find a way to get to know each
other now. He shared things while I was with him that also helped to create
an air of resolution between us.
One week into my stay, I received a dream: I’m on the Pacific coast. I
look out to sea, aware that my sister and father are nearby. A huge tidal wave
is approaching. Though I don’t see it, I know it will arrive soon and that I
must tell the others of this enormous wave that is headed for us. I awoke
disturbed, poured a cup of coffee, and went outside. My sister came to say
good morning. I told her about the dream and had a strong hunch that
something was coming that was really big.
The hospice worker came to see Dad. Coming out from his room, the
hospice woman said he was starting to make his journey. I grabbed my copy
of Coleman Barks’ The Glance, a book of Rumi poems, and we went to him
in the early morning light of that deeply memorable April day. I wanted to
share these poems with my father all week, but it never seemed like the right
time. We sat to the left of the bed. Golden light streamed through the freshly
leaved young apricot tree outside the window as we became dappled in
waves of fire and shadow. My father was in a mystical state — spoken
language had left him and his eyes had begun to drift in opposite directions.
He reached out to hold our hands, so it was clear that he was aware of us
there.
As if guided by Rumi himself, my fingers turned the pages, and I read to
my sister and the man whom I now call my father with pride and ardor astir
in my breast. The words flowed like water across a mountain bed of stones,
refracting rainbows and illuminated sparks, awash in the light. Each poem
revealed another layer of our shared history, while also offering adept
guidance for my father’s leave-taking. Words gurgled out of my throat: “…
the full moon slides out of hiding, make one sound, please! You are the
precious hyacinth that the sickle will spare, not the wheat plant Adam ate…”
 Dad turned, squeezed our hands and made an utterance of sound despite
his total silence otherwise. I was absorbed in the moment, completely
connected with my family’s past and the depth of yearning for healing,
conscious of the image of Jesus on the wall at the foot of the bed. It was
apparent that now we would fall into silence after sharing the poems,
personal words of love and forgiveness, and prayers for this life and the next.
Amid tears of grace, the freshness of dawn, and the arrival of the tidal
wave from out there on that mighty dream-ocean, our father looked at Christ,
and a final breath left his body, all three of us knowing that he had returned to
the great mystery of dying and becoming again, crafted into deep friends
through his early morning departure.
That tidal wave dream and its awareness created the energetic opening,
which guided us through an act of dying. The gift of this dream has strongly
influenced my own life, as well as continued family connection and healing
that may not have been possible without the recollection of and honoring of
the dream itself.
 Chapter 20

Life Continues
Laurel Clark
John, the love of my life, died too soon. He was 42. We had been
married only six years, and I felt as if I had been robbed of the future we
dreamed about together. I missed his friendship, companionship, laughter,
warm and loving presence. His absence left a hole so gut-wrenchingly deep
nothing could fill it. We had not even said goodbye. We had been apart from
each other for six days, and I was away teaching at a retreat when he died.
As a student and teacher of metaphysics, I fully believed that he would
come to me in a dream to say farewell, for one last hug so that we could have
some closure. To my dismay that did not happen. Weeks passed. One night,
distraught, I prayed fervently for John to come to me in my dream. I
meditated and went to bed.
That night, I dreamed: I am at a graduation ceremony. The stage seems
far away. I see people lined up, and there is John, wearing a baseball cap he
used to wear when young. Although I can see him, it doesn’t seem that he
sees me. After the ceremony is over, someone comes up to me and hands me
my Bible that apparently I have left on the edge of the stage. When I pick it
up, a small piece of paper flutters out. On it is a heart in John’s handwriting.
I realize it is his way of telling me that he loves me.
I awakened with a bittersweet feeling. Finally, John communicated with
me, but it was not the reunion I expected. I thought we would embrace,
perhaps say parting words. John did the best he could. He was still
“graduating” to the other side and did not yet have the facility for verbal
communication.
This dream changed my life by showing me that we can, indeed, reach
those who have left their physical bodies. It proved to me that John was not
“gone” but merely in a different place. Knowing that he existed somewhere
and could hear me gave me comfort. It humbled me, showing that I needed to
be patient and allow John his own process. The dream gave me hope that we
might have future contact.
This dream exemplifies one characteristic of visitation dreams: a
profound knowing that love is eternal and that death is only a change, not
annihilation. It demonstrates two other qualities that commonly appear in
such dreams: The dead person appears alive and healthy, and the dreamer has
a profound sense of knowing that the person who died is actually there, that it
is not symbolic.
Patrick McNamara writes in Psychology Today that researchers have
discovered some common characteristics of visitation dreams: “The deceased
appeared as they did in life rather than as they did when they fell ill. They
often appeared much younger or more healthy than when they died. The
deceased conveyed reassurance to the dreamer: ‘I am okay and still with
you.’ This message tended to be conveyed telepathically or mentally rather
than via spoken word. The dream structure was not disorganized or bizarre.
Instead visitation dreams are typically clear, vivid, intense and experienced as
real visits when the dreamer awakens. The dreamer is always changed by the
experience. There is resolution of the grieving process and/or a wider
spiritual perspective.”
In addition, I have found that visitation dreams seem clear and objective,
without fear, anxiety, or worry. They also may contain universal messages
beyond the scope of the deceased’s personal relationship with the dreamer.
On the morning of September 12, 2001, I had a profound dream that
seems to contain all of these elements. My husband died on September 10,
2000. After a year of mourning, I wanted to spend a day alone,
contemplating, praying, meditating, and reflecting. Since I was teaching all
day on September 10, 2001, I chose to celebrate John’s memory the next day,
September 11.
I awakened, meditated, and got into my car to drive to a nearby church
for some prayers. Turning on the radio, I heard the announcer shout in alarm,
“The second tower has been hit!” In horror I listened to the unfolding story of
what was happening in New York City. The day was surreal. Everyone
seemed to be in a daze. Every place I went I saw televisions with images of
people jumping out of the buildings, smoke billowing everywhere.
I grew up in a suburb of Manhattan and have friends who live and work
there. My sister-in-law and her then-10-year-old son lived there. I was in
Missouri, halfway across the country, and wanted to know if my friends and
family were OK. I tried to call, but all of the phone lines were down and the
cell phone towers disabled. I had no idea if they were dead or alive.
That night I had the following dream: John is in New York, helping the
people who have died in the World Trade Center. He looks beautiful, radiant,
and healthy. I ask him with alarm, “Are they OK?” When I say that, he
beams a brilliant smile, and his whole being lights up with an effulgence I
have never before experienced. “Yes,” he responds emphatically, “They’re
fine. Once they’re out, they’re fine!” I feel a “whoosh” of exhilaration. I
know he means that once the people who have died are out of the body, they
are fine. Their spirits are free!
This dream changed my life. It was personally healing, because I saw
John in his glory. Had he still been alive, he would probably have traveled to
New York to help. He looked so healthy and radiant; I could tell that he was
no longer limited by the ravages of diabetes on his physical body. I felt a
great sense of peace, calm, and exhilaration when John radiated light and
smiled his beautiful smile. I was no longer afraid or worried. I had the sense
that whatever happened would be part of a divine plan.
The dream was healing in a global sense as well. I knew that this
message was not just for me. I am a minister and counselor. People came to
me for counsel in the aftermath of 9/11. It helped me to give them some
measure of comfort and peace in the face of their fear, anger, and distress. I
have since been in a position to help people who are grieving the loss of a
loved one or facing their own impending death. This message, “Once we are
out of the body, we’re fine,” seems universal. This dream changed me from
being a “believer” to a “knower” that life exists eternally beyond the physical
form.

Streaks of Life
 Tanvi Deepak
This final dream is different from the rest. Rather than a visitation
from someone who has died, it is the dream that precedes the
dreamer’s death. The author of the story is not the dreamer, but the
dreamer’s granddaughter. Tanvi writes that hearing her
grandfather’s dream “altered my outlook to life.”
I was brought up in a very rational environment. Both my grandparents
and parents being highly educated, I was told to regard only the noumenon. I
had a very neutral emotion to the experience of my senses. As a child, I grew
up in the footsteps of my grandfather whom I loved the most. He was tall and
fit, drove his Luna like a teenager in heavy Bangalore traffic and played
badminton even in his eighties. He never complained of any illness, and I
only saw him buy spectacles in his nineties to read the morning newspaper.
He never visited a temple or prayed at home. As a very logical individual, he
was clear cut that office was his temple and hard work his god. “There is no
hell and heaven above,” he would say. “What we sow in this world is what
we reap.”
One Sunday morning I dragged my lazy self up from the bed and got up
to stumble upon a pond of water that my house had become. My feet were
completely immersed, and I was alarmed for a minute. I pinched myself to
confirm whether it was a dream, except it wasn’t. I slowly balanced myself
and reached my parents’ room and found them asleep. I woke them up and
asked, “Is there a leak in any of our taps? The entire house is flooded.” My
dad got up immediately and rushed to my grandfather’s room to check up on
him. The room was empty, and the bathroom door was locked from within.
My parents banged on the door and received no response. My dad decided on
breaking the door and did just that with some help from our neighbors.
My grandfather was discovered on the floor stupefied with his eyes
widely fixed on the flowing water and his body numb. He was unconscious
and unable to move. My dad switched off the on-flowing tap. We admitted
my grandpa to the nearby hospital. He was completely comatose. He was
shifted to ICU and kept under surveillance, and no family member was
allowed in. I had tons of unanswered questions in my mind and not a soul to
account.
 At one point the medics ran into the ICU, and after some time one of
them came out to inform us, “Sorry, we have lost him” — but shortly
thereafter a nurse came out of the ICU and uttered these magical words: “His
pulse has returned.” My grandpa was discharged after a day.
We had the plumber examine the entire house, and there was no issue
with any of our taps, and none were leaking. All my granddad had to do was
to turn it off when the water was pouring out, and yet he did not. The strong
nonagenarian who was sound and healthy couldn’t shut down a tap that had
absolutely no problem and was under shock that no one could explain.
From the time he came home, he kept on murmuring and secluded
himself. He was very fragile. Two days passed, and he never spoke a word to
us. I finally decided to break the ice and questioned him, “Are you not able to
open up or do not want to?” He looked at me with his pale eyes, and I saw
more than exhaustion. It was vulnerability. He felt defenseless. I calmed
down and asked him subtly, “What happened? Why didn’t you switch off the
tap?”
“I tried. It would just not listen to me. You know I don’t quit, so I tried
for an hour, and it could never be shut. Then I fell down and felt as if the
water completely enveloped me. I started to suffocate.” He continued “When
I close my eyes I am floating amidst white clouds for a while and then see a
lofty dark shadow with horns. While he fastens a rope around my throat, I
hear a lash on the ground. As he tries to haul, I feel a sprain in my neck so
agonizing. I begin to palpitate with fear. Then all of a sudden, another
apparition whom I feel like Lord Shiva liberates me from that lofty figure and
unties the rope. The shadow with horns is still standing. Lord Shiva instructs:
‘Five days more, not until then’ and they both disappear.”
“My mother always prayed to Lord Shiva, but I never believed in any of
those things and considered them hocus-pocus. This episode has annihilated
the principles, credence, theory I have been following for ninety-four years. I
feel like I know nothing at all. Maybe I misguided you by incorporating my
ideology. I do not feel wise anymore. It would bring me harmony to know if I
were hallucinating. But the worst part is three days have passed and I will
leave this world in two more days. Nobody should ever know when they are
going to perish. Certain knowledge needs to be kept under wraps. Counting
your last days is a very disturbing ordeal. I should have deceased in the
hospital,” he said and went to sleep.
I sat beside him and tried to convince and cheer him up: “You are tired,
and that’s why you have become delusional. Nothing of that sort will happen.
It is too far-fetched. You will cross a hundred, and I will take you on a world
tour as promised.” He never replied, which left me cold. He breathed his last
exactly two days later, which left me flabbergasted.
I began asking myself irrational questions. Do heaven and hell really
exist? Was this a premonition or mere coincidence? The incident crumbled
my ground. I could no more distinguish the line between the virtual and real.
Everybody consoled me that my grandpa departed peacefully in his sleep,
whereas only I knew that he died of trauma worse than solitude. He had a
brush with death and bounced back alive only to get consumed by it all over
again. That day in extreme silence, I heard a little voice in me that evolved
my view that there could be something more.

Gran’s Story
Jo-Ann Morin
Most people report that visitation dreams give them great comfort,
aiding them to know that their loved ones are not “lost” or “gone.”
In some cases, dreamers have a chance to communicate and resolve
unfinished business. Jo’s dream exemplifies this kind of
reassurance that allowed her to heal.
It was the first time I had lost someone close to me. Gran had lived with
us since I was born. For several years we had shared a room. My mother and
father both had full-time jobs, and although they were home in the evenings
and on weekends, Gran was always there. She was the one who got me off to
school, had a meal ready for me each day when I came home at lunchtime,
and greeted me when I got home. She was the one who comforted me and
helped me to figure out who I was when I first found out I was adopted.
She was my rock. I was 18 when she took ill. I couldn’t bear to go into
her room. I didn’t know what to do, how to cope. I had always been a
sensitive person and I’m sure on some level I knew what was coming but
didn’t have the ability to deal with it at the time. My mother was at her wits’
end working all day and coming home to look after my ailing grandmother
with no help from me. I felt as though I was abandoning them, but I just
couldn’t bring myself to face what was happening.
One night my mother came downstairs and said, “We need to call an
ambulance.” Gran had pneumonia, she was having trouble breathing, and my
mother could no longer care for her. I remember looking at Gran at the
hospital that night. She was conscious but unable to speak. Our eyes met, and
I knew. She was saying goodbye. I wished I had done more, I wished I had
been there for her; I wished she would get better. I told her I loved her and
that I would be back tomorrow. The next day my grandmother passed. I was
overwhelmed with the loss of my grandmother and the incredible feeling of
guilt that I had let everyone down. How could I have not been there for Gran
after all she had done for me? How could I not be there to help and support
my mother? Perhaps if I had stepped up and helped out, this wouldn’t have
happened. How could I have been so selfish?
A week or two after Gran passed, I had the following dream. The funeral
was over, and I was having a very difficult time moving forward. I couldn’t
move past my sense of loss and guilt at not being able to give back what she
had always given me, love and support.
I am with my grandmother in her bedroom. The same room,
coincidentally, that is my room now, some 30-odd years later. We sit together
on the window seat, and it is a beautiful, bright sunny day. She is holding my
hand and telling me that everything is OK. “You don’t need to worry about
me; you don’t need to worry at all,” she says. She is happier and more joyful
than I have ever seen her. Her presence is so strong: such love and
contentment. We are chatting as we have so many times before, but somehow
this time is different. As always, Gran is looking out for me, picking me up
when I fall and kissing my “boo-boos.” She is looking after me now. “It’s all
right,” she says. “It’s all all right.” She gives me a big hug and smiles at me.
I know that whatever is troubling me will be fine; she is here to support me
and she loves me.
I awakened feeling incredibly peaceful, calm, and loved. I felt forgiven.
I was confused and somewhat disoriented. How did I get from Grannie’s
room, which is at the other end of the hall, to my bed? I felt as if I were in a
time warp. I was just speaking to her; I just heard her voice and felt her
touch. Each moment was so tangible, so real.
I had an overwhelming feeling of calm and relief. The heartache of
losing my grandmother and the incredible guilt that I felt around the
circumstances of her passing had disappeared in an instant. It took me several
minutes to come back to reality and to remember that Gran was gone, at least
physically. The incredible sense of sadness, guilt, and loss that I had gone to
bed with was also gone. It had evaporated. Gran came to tell me she was fine,
that she loved me, and that everything was all right. She was happy. I knew
this was not an ordinary dream.
My dream was so incredibly real. I felt it, in my heart and in my soul.
Gran was not upset or disappointed by what I had done. She was happy. All
was well. She loved me. I was with her in her room. The immediate and
complete release of grief and of my overwhelming feeling of guilt when I
awoke was something so incredible, so miraculous that my life was changed.
Over 30 years have passed since that event, and the profound effect of that
experience continues to impact my perception of events today. Ever since the
beautiful gift that my grandmother had given me, whether it was from beyond
or simply from the love that she and I shared, I know in my heart that she is
always with me. I know that love and support, those beautiful “intangibles,”
never die. They are always there for me; I just need to open my heart and let
them in.

Beyond What Appears to Be

Yvonne
Yvonne shares a dream that also helped her to resolve distress.
After her father’s death, he “visited” her and let her know he loved
her in a way she had not known when he was alive.
I came from a family of six children, and my parents were raised during
the Depression era. My father was in World War II and also the Korean War.
He was a very emotionally distant person, and I do not remember him ever
telling me that he loved me while I was growing up. I actually was afraid of
his big-bear voice as a child and avoided him at times. In August of 2013, he
went into hospice due to bladder cancer. I went up there to see him, and he
died the day after I arrived. About a month later, I had the following dream:
I am in what appears to be a hospice room. My dad is deceased, lying on
a queen bed. He has a pair of pajamas on. I have a pair of scissors in my
hand and start cutting along the seam of one of the pajama pant legs. Then I
decide to leave the room. I go to the door and look back at him lying in the
bed. I see that he has started breathing. I think, “Oh, my God, he is alive!” I
go closer to the bed and say, “Dad!” There is no response, but he is still
breathing. I again say, “Dad!” — this time louder. Still no response. I now
yell it loudly a third time. He abruptly sits up in bed with a startled look on
his face. He appears to be about 40 years younger. By this time, I am right at
the edge of the bed. He leans over to me. He embraces me with the most
warm and loving hug I think I had ever felt in my life. Tears run down my
face as we hug. I tell him that I love him. I tell him that when he was in
hospice, I didn’t want him to have to stay for all of us (that he could go to the
light). He just makes sighing sounds as we embrace.
I woke up with tears in my eyes. This dream was a gift from him to me. I
had to cut away at what “seemed” to be my dad (cutting along the fabric
seam of his pajamas) to get to the real spiritual being of my dad underneath.
This dream experience gave me a higher viewpoint about my dad. I realized
the inherent beauty that we all have as Soul. Many of us walk around in life
with an “outer shell of protection” around us (pajamas) that can shut down
emotions that make us feel more vulnerable. These outer appearances often
never let us get a glimpse of the true love and compassion we naturally have
as spiritual beings. This dream made up for the 45 years I experienced of a
dad who rarely showed loving emotions and affection while living in his
physical body. Thank you, Dad, for this gift.

She Was There!

 E.J. Wiley
EJ’s dream also shows how the deceased can reveal their existence
as spirit or soul even when they have left the physical body. Such
experiences open some dreamers’ minds to possibilities of life after
death.
In my 65 years I have had thousands of dreams. I have never had a
dream that was in real time, real place. This dream took place in my bedroom
as it is currently: My mother, who died in 1999, comes into my room as I lay
asleep on my side. She pulls my blanket up over my shoulders. Then she leans
down toward my head either to kiss me on the cheek or whisper in my ear. I’ll
never know which because when she leans toward me, I smell her and I jerk
awake!
My mother had Alzheimer’s for over 17 years. My sisters and I took
care of her at home for many of those years. She did not have your typical
body odor, but she had a smell. I don’t know what the smell was. It was
unpleasant and “funky.” I thought it might have been a side effect of
medication. I had never smelled anything like it before or since, until that
dream. The scent was as familiar to me as the scent of popcorn is to you. At
first, I was disturbed by the dream, but that gave way to fascination. I have
never been a big believer in afterlife. Now I have to rethink things. I’ve tried
to explain it away but in the end I have to believe my mother came to me in
that dream. She was there. It’s the only conclusion I can come to. I wish I
would dream it again.

I’m Coming Back

Victoria
Some visitation dreams bring the dreamer messages from “beyond”
that help them look at life from a new perspective. Victoria’s dream
shows how her father helped her be more compassionate and
understanding.
 My only brother and his wife decided to adopt a child because no
fertility treatment was successful. I did not like the idea very much because
consanguinity was important to me. The people in charge of the adoption
process told them that it might take from six months to a year. I don’t
remember having been thinking about this when I had this dream.
My father, who died when I was a little girl, calls me and says, “I’m
coming back.” “From Spain?” I ask. “No,” he says, “I’m coming back from
death.” The next day I visit him in a place that looks like an orphanage. He is
in a dorm where I can see many beds with light blue sheets. His physical
appearance does not correspond to my father’s. He is young, about 30 years
old, with blue eyes. When we meet, he embraces me very tenderly and
whispers in my ear, “You don’t know how difficult it is to become a mother.”
I woke up feeling very happy, and that evening my brother called me to
say that on that day they had received a call from the adoption center and had
met his 3-month-old son. Nobody can tell if this was a reincarnation, but
what changed in me with the dream was my attitude, and when I met my
nephew, I felt I loved him deeply.
People who dream of life beyond death sometimes are left with more
questions than answers. The intensity of such dreams seems to remain with
dreamers forever. Jungian psychologist and scholar Clarissa Pinkola Estes
writes in her introduction to the book Visitations from the Afterlife by Lee
Lawson, “We sense that ‘visitations’ themselves not only present an event in
time, but infuse the visitee with a completely different kind of consciousness
than before, one that can be called both transpersonal and transformative.
When my patients ask me, ‘Is this real? Is this all right?’ this ‘leaking
between worlds,’ I reply that if it uplifts, helps, heals, enlightens, gives
richness and goodness into your life, by all means.” I hope that the stories in
this chapter encourage other dreamers to share their own visitation dreams so
that we all may open our minds and hearts to the continuity of life.
 Chapter 21

A Place in Time
Susannah Benson
“The human emerges not only as an earthling, but also a worldling.
We bear the universe in our beings as the universe bears us in its
being. The two have a total presence to each other and to that
deeper mystery out of which both the universe and ourselves have
emerged” (Thomas Berry).1
In this chapter we look at dreams that feature a relationship to nature and
our ancestral or cultural identity, and sense of place — often beginning in an
alluring landscape setting. We learn from the dreamers who share their
dreams how this relationship can give rise to a profound sense of connection,
leading to a significant change in each dreamer’s sense of self and, in some
cases, life calling.
My interest in this area of dream imagery developed during my Ph.D.
research, when I experienced a dream that I called Coming Alive in the
Landscape. This dream came at a significant point in the research and was a
life-changing dream on two significant levels: First, it helped renew my
commitment to continue with the research study that I had been considering
not completing; and second, it connected me to a sense of belonging and
profound connection to the Australian landscape. I had been out of Australia
for 17 years, and this dream connected me once again to my homeland. The
themes of land, of a sense of place, and of belonging also echoed with other
participants in the research, several of whom were born outside Australia.
Over the course of the study, I heard many dreams of land and place, dreams
of longing to be in familiar environments and dreams of wanting to know and
feel a sense of being at home in the Australian environment.
In my dream, it is a warm, sunny day. It feels like early or midmorning.
The sky comes into view — a soft jacaranda blue. I see a woman to the left of
the landscape, and she is walking on and around the rim of a beautiful
canyon landscape. The rugged, sandstone rock face is a burnished orange
and reddish-yellow ochre. The woman continues to walk, taking out her
camera, which is hanging from her waist near her right hip, and bringing it
up to her face. She begins to slowly rotate, bringing the landscape into focus
with her eye and camera. She stops to capture an image when her attention is
caught by something of special interest or beauty. She continues to walk,
looking across and through the deep gorge walls. It is a large vista, but still
the horizon and landforms feel very close and present. She doesn’t seem on
top of the landscape, but in the landscape. Finally, her gaze settles onto the
riverbed flowing at the bottom of the gorge. It is a harmonious scene — soft
filtered light, the trees hugging the riverbank, casting shade and a light,
green-yellow hue.
This dream seemed to break into my consciousness, expanding my view
and inviting me to take a closer look and new perspective about inner and
outer boundaries. It deepened my inquiry about my sense of self and
ultimately my sense of relationship to nature. From the dream I gained a felt
sense of spaciousness, of layering and depth, and complex systems. It was
these feelings that helped me to reconnect to the Ph.D. study with renewed
purpose.
This initial dream and the experience of others in the research study
sparked my continuing interest in these themes of interior landscapes, sense
of place, and feeling at “home” — of belonging. To belong and feel part of a
family, group, culture, and ultimately natural world is a key existential
animator or driver.
My dream of landscape connected me through image with feelings that I
had not been consciously aware of. Carl Jung emphasized the compensatory
as well as transformative function of dream, and the power of symbol, to
enable integration and emotional processing. He also warned in many of his
writings of the dangers inherent in modernity consciousness that overvalues
scientific rationalism and, as a consequence, contributes to continuing and
deepening a feeling of isolation from nature and natural processes, and loss
of a sense of place.
These reflections have been confirmed in the last 30 years within the
fields of social ecology, ecopsychology, and ecotherapy, which recognize
that while humanity is shaped by consciousness of the modern world, its deep
foundations are underpinned by the more-than-human environment in which
we have evolved. These fields of study recognize human beings have an
innate instinct to connect emotionally with nature, emphasize the
interconnectivity of the “web of life,” and discuss how the growing lack of
connection with natural environments results in important loss of sensory
information and information-processing ability.
What is also becoming increasingly obvious is that large-scale forced
migration from ancestral homes and cultural connections is contributing to a
growing sense of grief and anxiety in many populations. My dream of
Coming Alive in the Landscape brought these issues into the foreground of
my awareness and connected me also with my own sense of loss. It also
energized me, compelling me, in a sense, to continue to focus on the broader
picture of biodiversity and well-being.
As we see in this chapter, our dreams can shed a bright light and provide
a doorway into engaging with complex feelings connected to nature and
ancestral ties, enabling the possibility of healing and transformation. While
each dream narrative is unique, there are two common threads woven through
the stories shared in this chapter: the vivid, felt relationship to a natural
environment; and the lasting impact of the dreams on the dreamer’s life.
Some of the dreams focus on life direction and career change. Some also
invite reflection around the collective and social function of our dreams.
These point to the importance of warning dreams that can transcend the
concerns of the individual dreamer to embody shared psychological, spiritual,
and existential concerns.
C.G. Jung wrote, “At times I feel as if I am spread out over the
landscape and inside things, and am myself living in every tree, in the
splashing of the waves, in the clouds and the animals that come and go, in the
procession of the seasons.” 2
As we are part of nature giving expression to ourselves, I invite you,
after reading these dreams, to reflect and consider: What are the gifts of your
dreams, and what might nature be communicating to you?
 Woman in the Desert
J.D.
For this dreamer, a vivid image of a young woman standing in a
desert staring at the dreamer was the theme of a recurring dream
image. The dream of the Woman in the Desert and those that
followed resulted in a fusion of the dreamer’s typical Anglo-
American identity with a previously unknown sense of an
indigenous identity that he came to embrace in his own way as a
positive influence in his life.
In 1968, I took a noon nap on my pickup truck front seat before going
back into work as a microwave technician. When I was half-awake just
before getting up: There is a vivid dream image of a young woman standing
in a desert and staring at me. After a moment, she turns and walks away, and
I wake up.
Simple dream, but it really struck me. This was no big deal, except it
then happened over and over for many years as a brief recurring dream: She
would make gestures with her face, body, and hands as if to say I had to
come along with her into the background desert scene.
I thought maybe this regular visitor is my “dream babe?” For years I
kept trying to figure out who she might be. At first, I thought southern
Mediterranean, then perhaps Latina, since she had long black hair and tan
complexion. In 1993, one night I was watching “The Real West” on the
History Channel and got a breakthrough. I even yelled out loud in my TV
chair, “She’s an Indian!”
This changed the dream completely, as when it happened from then on:
There is a whole group of indigenous looking people among some rocks in
the desert. They are all furiously gesturing to me to come with them. They
can talk among themselves but only wildly gesture to me to join them. The
“young lady” is no more. However, I can’t tell the gender of the folks I see.
It’s as if they’re both male and female together. The young “woman” I saw
could’ve been male, I later realized. Impossible to tell actually.
Years later I learned that in a half-awake (hypnopompic) state, I could
participate in dreams, so after a lot of practice and reading, I taught myself to
lucid dream after reading a couple of books. So once when the dream
recurred: I am finally able to walk into it and join the folks there! But as soon
as I do, the whole scene explodes into a spray of color and light, and I get a
“high” feeling that lasts 10-15 minutes after being jolted awake.
Very amazing, and I was able to do that several more times before the
dream never ever happened again. However, it seems they are still there. I
just never see them anymore in dreams.
Over the years, this recurring dream greatly influenced my life. I had
never given any thought to Indians or indigenous peoples at all; now I did.
Indians largely had been treated as shootout fodder in Western movies. That
completely changed for me. I protest to my banks when they celebrate
Columbus Day as a holiday. I had been a Republican conservative — that
changed. From 1968 onward to the present, I always take vacations in the
desert. Although my background implies big city, I always feel like a
“boonies” person and often tell people that. I routinely take walks in the dark.
My neighbors ask how I see without a flashlight, and I tell them I always
have done that. No artificial light. It was great when there was a moon.
Recently, I got obsessed with picking wild blackberries in the nearby woods.
I can easily buy them at the supermarket, but I had to do this instead. This
seems sort of indigenous to me. I liked looking at these “dream people” so
much that I finally decided one day never to cut my hair again. Now when I
look in a mirror, I roughly look like the people I see in my dream, and it
causes a pleasant feeling. My favorite entertainment for years became Indian
powwow attendance. During the intertribals and round dances, I go in the
arena and dance with the folks, and several years ago even won a prize doing
that. I don’t know why I would have an influential dream like this, since I
have zero real-world connection to indigenous people and cultures.
What has happened is that the dream seems to have resulted in a fusion
of my typical Anglo-European identity with this “visiting” influence. It has
been benign, and I just let it happen. In fact, I feel as if I have no choice since
those “folks” don’t seem to take “no” for an answer.
 Sacred Hill
N. Jagan Mohana Laxmi
Mohana shares a recurring dream of a large, smooth hill and a
beautiful lake filled with fresh rainwater. She eventually discovers
that the vivid imagery is a real landscape — a discovery that totally
changed her life. It ultimately led her to change careers and to move
to the real locale of her dream to undertake Ph.D. studies. Such a
dream reminds us of the calling power of our interior landscapes to
engage us and also carry us forward as dreams frequently have an
anticipatory quality.
In my dream, I see one hill, which is very big, very smooth on three
sides, and very beautiful. In the middle of this place is a lake and a tamarind
tree near that lake. The lake is filled with fresh rainwater.
I had this dream repeatedly frequently from age 17 or 19 until age 30. I
always used to ask trekkers about this place and look at their pictures
curiously, never finding the place of my dreams. By now, most of my friends
became vexed and advised me to stop looking for the Hill.
Professionally, I became a financial and recruitment consultant. My life
became busy, and there was good money in what I was doing. However,
there was some unknown thirst in me that prompted me to enroll in an
undergraduate course in psychology. Eventually, it became a passion, and I
completed a postgraduate degree. My job no longer made me happy, so I quit
to fully dedicate my time and energies to a Ph.D. in psychology. Quite
naturally, the topic I chose for my Ph.D. was dreams.
Life passed by while I was engrossed in preparing my synopsis. At one
point, I received a call from a friend and in the conversation casually referred
to my recurrent childhood dream. To my astonishment, he said he is well-
aware of such a place. He did not have any pictures of the place, however, as
it was a protected area and restricted. He said he works on a project there and
could get me permission for a visit. When I reached the location, I could not
believe my eyes! It was exactly the same place, the same as I have dreamed
of all these years. Same smooth hill with a beautiful, small lake by a tamarind
tree. I found the place of my dreams, thanks to this friend of mine. I will
always be indebted to him.
All my happiness of visiting this beautiful place was crushed, however,
as my synopsis got rejected by the university. It was because the university
did not have an adviser on my chosen topic. I now had to find a different
university, one that did have an adviser for dreams, and start my Ph.D. again
from the beginning. During my search I came across someone from a
university that was located exactly at the same place as the hill in my dreams.
I was amazed!
A year later, I enrolled into the Ph.D. program at that university.
This vivid dream, which I always thought was just a dream until I
actually visited it as a real place, has changed my life, changed my career and
my university, too. In the end, I am a happy and better person.

The Call of the White Bear

Claude Desloges
Claude Desloges’ dream reveals a confrontation in the wild that led
him into an international career in forestry. It also took him on a
deeply personal, psychological, and spiritual inquiry into
consciousness through engaging with his dreams and learning to
help and facilitate others to do the same.
In my dream, I am walking on a small road, marveling at the grand
Canadian Rocky Mountains landscape, alone and enjoying the silence after
the effervescence of a busy meeting. All of a sudden, the silence is broken by
the high-pitched yell of children. Turning around in the direction from where
the cries were coming, I see two young children with their back to a tall red-
colored door, like that of a barn. A few feet away, standing on his hind legs,
is a big brown grizzly bear. In a wink of the eye, I am running down the road
bank, crossing a small brook to find myself standing between the children
and the bear, facing the menacing bear. Standing on his hind legs, the grizzly
is taller than I am, stares at me intensely, and starts growling — a deep,
loud, long growl. And, I start growling back at him. This growling duel lasts
for some time, neither the bear nor I giving ground. And then, the bear drops
to his four feet, turns round, and starts walking leisurely across the small
clearing where we stand. Upon reaching the edge of the forest, the bear
stops, turns his head around, and looks at me. But now, it is a magnificent
white bear that looks at me for a moment and then slowly disappears along a
small trail in the forest. And in his silent look, I “hear,” although not with my
external ears, the words “Suis-moi” (Follow me).
I woke up astounded. Filled with awe. It was a cool November morning
in 1979. I had arrived a few days earlier in the charming city of Antigua
Guatemala to learn Spanish, on my way to Honduras where I was to work for
the next two years as head of a joint Honduras-Canada forest management
program.
At that time, I did not pay much attention to my dreams and seldom
remembered them. But this one I would never forget. The next morning, I
went down the street to the pupusa, the small corner store, and bought a
notebook to write down my first dream, starting a dream journal that
continues to this day. More importantly, this was the beginning of a
relationship with my dreams, and through them, with someone I knew only
very superficially — me.
On that November morning in Guatemala, on one level, I was starting a
career in international forestry that would last some 20 years and entail
traveling throughout the world. But the White Bear was inviting me to follow
him on a quite different journey: a voyage within, a quest for meaning and
the essence of what/who delves beneath the surface.
A few years later, I joined L’Arc-en-ciel, a dream school in Montréal,
first as a student and then as dream group leader and trainer, while
maintaining some international consultant activities, until it became clear I
could no longer do both … and the White Bear led the way.

Connecting with Ancestral Roots

Lidia Adaman-Tremblay
 Lidia experiences a feeling of finally coming home through the
dream imagery of a Mongolian community, a ritual, and a Baba
Yaga figure. Subsequently she learns of actual Mongolian family
connections, which not only connects the dream with her true
ancestral line, but brings about a broader point of view toward
cultural differences and relationships.
In this dream I am in some community that seems remote, ancient, and
seminomadic. Mongolia – it feels like Mongolia. The landscape is hilly, and
the ground is open to the constantly blowing cold winds. There is little
vegetation, only scruffy tough grass and stunted trees around. But I fall in
love with it immediately. I remember that I visited here, and now I am back
intending to teach here. Someone takes me to a very large tent, full of
colorful rugs and deep cushions on the ground. The tent is full of children
and a teacher. All are dressed in thick layers and head coverings, but all
exude feelings of warmth, joy, and eagerness. The teacher, a middle-age
woman, greets me kindly and introduces me as the new teacher. “But first,”
she says, “there is much that she needs to learn from us.”
At this, the children start singing a song as they lead me into the center,
sit me down onto a beautiful, thick, red cushion and serve me a meal
consisting of fish and roots. Simple though it is, the food is delicious, and I
gratefully eat all that is placed before me. They then tell me to get up and pull
the rugs back. I see that there are boxes full of food that have been buried in
the ground and covered with thick bales of straw, which are then covered by
the rugs. I’m told that this is their way of using the ground itself as
refrigeration. A man comes in and takes me on a tour of the community. I’m
very surprised to see that on the other side of the hill, there is a more
established neighborhood, with adobe and brick buildings, some domed, and
some as high as three or four stories tall. I say something about how difficult
it will be to become accustomed to life without the technology I’m so used to,
and the man tells me, with some surprise, that such technology exists here,
although not in such abundance as what I would normally see. In fact, it is
established that I shall be teaching the children how to use devices such as
computers. Suddenly, though, teaching doesn’t seem nearly as important as
my learning about this wonderful, friendly people who are so full of wisdom
about that which is really important.
As night falls, I am told that I will be spending the first night in the
classroom tent. I look forward to it, knowing that it will be warm and cozy in
spite of the howling wind. The hostess-teacher then tells me there will be a
very important ritual first thing in the morning and lays out a beautiful white
wool and fur outfit for me, complete with boots and cloak. I’m eager to
participate in this ritual but first snuggle deeply into the warm furs and
blankets and fall asleep.
Waking up at the first hint of light, I get dressed in my ritual fineries and
go outside. There I see everything is set up — a very large rectangular table
that is draped in snow-white cloth. There are three built-up platforms on the
table, also covered in the white cloth, holding beautiful ceramic brown
bowls. The only other decorations are boughs of dark green fir along the four
sides of the table. I am thrilled to see everyone else wearing much what I’m
dressed in and smile at them all, even as they smile back at me. The man I
met the night before, the teacher, and the children surround me and excitedly
tell me they look forward to this day even more than they do Christmas,
because this is the day they honor the Dark Grandmother, Baba Yaga. I smile
in delight, “Baba Yaga!?” My companions are surprised that I would know
about her, while all I can feel is that I am finally coming home.
This dream was life-altering for me in ways that I almost don’t have
words for, so I simply say that I find I’m a better person from having this
dream. For most of my life, I had only my mother and father. Due to World
War II, I had no chance to be acquainted with my grandparents or know
anything about the ancestors and the lives of people from whom I came. It
was only in the past few years that I learned more about my heritage. My
mother passed away, but my father is still alive and well at age 98. We finally
got together after a long estrangement, and the first thing I asked him about
was our family history. That was when I learned I had Mongolian blood in
me (from my great-great-grandfather). This surprised and delighted me. It
just felt … right.
Afterward, I had the dream, where I actually traveled to Mongolia and
experienced a ceremony that united my Russian roots with the Mongolian
ones — a ceremony that I recreated in waking life. The ritual established a
“connection” within me that was amazing — it filled my heart with the
presence of ancestors I had not known in life but now felt I knew on a
spiritual level. I now see things in the world through a much broader point of
view, accepting the differences of other cultures as mosaic pieces in a larger
picture.

Sign on the Fence

Jianulla Zimmerman
Jianulla’s dream, although just a brief experience, provides her with
a connection to the limitless beauty of nature and sense of well-
being and security. The realization in the dream of how our Earth
sustains all life is deeply reassuring, reconnecting her with an inner
landscape of well-being, which is restorative and renewing and to
which she can return.
There was a fence and something, a word, was painted on the fence —
but I don’t remember the word. Walking along the beach, I was lifted up
away from worries into the unspeakable beauty around me. My thoughts are
saturated with pristine beauty of blue sky and the rhythm of the waves
throwing themselves at the sand, then pulling back again. I wrote this when I
woke up: “Pray thee salty lacy swishing toward me, come closer with each
‘whoosh.’ Crash and crash washing me clean.”
As brief as it was, this dream changed my realization of how we all fit
into life on this wonderful blue planet we call Earth. I am now 78 years old,
and this dream surfaced a memory that reminded me of growing up over the
market my parents owned and operated in South Central Los Angeles, where
we lived. Right next to our parking lot, there was a large animated billboard
advertising Aunt Jemima pancakes. I loved watching this billboard with her
friendly, smiling face and constant movement up and down.
I feel as if this dream, “Sign on the Fence,” brought me a message — a
positive message from my higher power that the security I had as a small
child was still with me. Although I’m not sure what the message is, as I can’t
remember the word painted on the fence, I feel the message is supernatural. I
can appreciate the home I have now, which is near the ocean, and that I can
walk to the ocean every day and get in touch with the natural flow of the
waves coming in to the shore. The dream has given me courage and a sense
of well-being and security.

Dropping to Earth
Sally Gillespie
Carl Jung said that some dreams do not belong to the individual;
they have a collective meaning. Sally Gillespie shares one such
powerful dream, that of imagined impending climate disaster. Her
dream impacted on her so powerfully that she changed her life path
and career as a Jungian psychotherapist to take up and complete
doctoral studies focused on a depth psychological approach to
climate change.
In 2008, after completing some writing and speaking about climate
change and depth psychology, I was ready to shift my focus. But then I had a
dream experience that was so intense it not only halted my backpedaling
from further climate change work, but it also forged a resolve to commit the
rest of my life to it. My dream catapulted me into a terrifying vision of
climate change.
In it, I see whole continents sinking beneath rising seas while millions of
people attempt to cling to land and their lives. Meanwhile, I swing on a rope
high above the Earth as the landmasses shift around beneath me until finally
I let go and drop into this catastrophic world, becoming one of many
grasping for the heaving shores. Then, into the midst of this overwhelming
horror creeps some tenderness, when a desperate poodle swims into my
arms. I care for it as best I can, even while feeling the futility of everyone’s
struggle to survive.
I awoke from this dream gasping, my heart thumping. Urgent questions
pressed in on me: “How do I respond to this? How can I respond to this?”
Any possibility of distancing myself from climate change reports
collapsed through the experience of this night vision, which left me shaking
for the vulnerability of all beings on Earth. My personal consciousness
crashed into collective realities. I did not believe my dream was precognitive
or prophetic, but I felt my psychological foundations crack as myths about
the primacy of personal autonomy and independence were ruptured. The
dream breached my habitual boundaries, crashing through all justifications
and denials with its insistence that I live fully in the know ledge of the
seriousness of global warming.
Carl Jung wrote that dreams about the world or social concerns “have a
character which forces people to instinctively to tell them … such dreams do
not belong to the individual; they have a collective meaning.” This is how my
dream felt. While I could conjure up personal interpretations related to major
changes in myself and my life around this time, such interpretations felt
reductive and dismissive of both my own instincts and of the world out there.
They arose from a split that I could no longer hold, one where personal and
collective concerns existed in separate and disconnected realms. In all its
vividness, my dream captured the way in which my growing awareness of
global warming pitched me into a disordered world where the old life was
impossible.
After this dream, unable to keep my attention within the confines of my
psychotherapy practice, I made the decision to commence a doctorate on
psychological responses to climate change engagement. This research has
since become the basis for my work today as a writer, speaker, and workshop
facilitator.
 APPENDIX

Is There a Science Behind Life-

Changing Dreams?
Robert Hoss and Carlyle Smith
After reading this book, you may have gained a strong sense that dreams
play a powerful role in accompanying and guiding us along our life’s journey
— from our earliest childhood experiences through the many changes and
challenges that life places before us to our final journey and beyond. Along
the way, dreams appear to help us learn to adapt to life and to change us in
ways that help us to transcend our prior state of mind. Dreams and life
become one interweaved learning experience.
Is the life-changing power of dreams simply our waking imagination
interpreting an inspiring dream story, or is there a natural, purposeful process
of learning taking place that can truly transform our lives — whether we
recall the dream or not? Although the stories in this book suggest that the
forces bringing about change in dreams may not always be purely biological
or psychological, change itself depends on our brain’s ability to learn and
alter our viewpoint and behavior accordingly — a process that appears to
originate within the dream itself. Is our dreaming brain really capable of such
learning and transformation?
This Appendix will attempt to shed some light on these questions from
the viewpoint of various psychological and scientific thinkers, as well as
contemporary researchers dedicated to answering such questions. Aside from
the powerful anecdotal evidence, from a purely scientific standpoint the
concept of dream sleep bringing about life changes remains largely
theoretical, although many of those theories have found recent support and
others serve as useful hypotheses that researchers are working to fully
substantiate. Ultimately, change depends on incorporating new learning into
our existing memory, and fortunately this is one function of sleep and
dreaming that many researchers are beginning to agree upon.

Do We Learn in Dreams? Carlyle Smith

One of the most important elements to change is adopting new learning.
In recent studies using microprobes to monitor individual neurons of the
brains in rats, it has been shown that the unique firing patterns of individual
neural place cells in the hippocampus of a rat as it learns a food maze, appear
again, or are then “replayed” during subsequent sleep episodes. Likewise, the
firing patterns in the visual cortex of the rat was also replayed, perhaps
suggestive of visual dream activity during the process. These results provide
very suggestive evidence that some kind of mental learning activity is
reoccurring in the sleeping animal.1 There have been over 40 years of animal
studies, mostly in rats and mice, suggesting that sleep states are important for
the efficient consolidation of recently learned material into stable long-term
memory.2 There are now many studies as well showing that postsleep states
in humans are changed as a result of successful learning or task acquisition3
during sleep. In human virtual maze experiments employing fMRI brain
imaging, overnight improvement was found to correlate with hippocampal
activity during post-training sleep.4
The sleep state involved depends on two types of basic learning
situations. Declarative learning basically involves the conscious
memorization of facts. Evidence of learning is demonstrated by reproducing
or identifying the learned material at a later date. An example would be
knowing the name of the capital city of England (London). The other basic
type of learning is classed as nondeclarative. There are several subcategories
of this type, but one of the most common is procedural learning. This
involves the unconscious learning of how to do something, and the best way
to assess if procedural learning has occurred is to actually observe task
performance. Such a task might be learning to ride a bike or how to skate.
Cognitive procedural tasks that involve more complex nonmotor problems
(also) require “how to” solutions. From the literature on sleep and memory
studies involving human subjects, there are a number of basic findings that
can be listed:
a) The memorization of facts (declarative learning), is followed by increases
in deep NREM (Stages 3 and 4).5
b) The successful learning of a motor or cognitive procedural task is followed
by either increases in Stage 2 NREM sleep or in REM sleep. If the
participant is already somewhat familiar with the task and only needs to
refine his/her skills, the postlearning sleep changes will appear as increased
amounts and/or intensity of Stage 2.
c) If the task is completely new and novel to the participant and requires a
brand-new cognitive strategy, the postlearning sleep changes will manifest
as increased amounts and/or intensity of REM sleep.6
d) Several studies have implicated dreaming content that accompanies these
postlearning REM periods as being related to the task.7 In one virtual reality
maze study, those who dreamed about the task improved their memory 10
times more than those who did not dream specifically about the maze!8
In these studies both NREM and REM sleep states appear to be
involved. It is now widely accepted that dreaming (sleep mentation) occurs in
both NREM and REM sleep, although differences in dream content are still
being debated. From a learning task point of view, the conscious, intentional
effort to memorize factual material results in postlearning sleep increases in
deep NREM sleep. Further, the refining of motor tasks that are somewhat
familiar result in post learning increases in Stage 2 (lighter NREM) sleep.
While these are interesting findings, dreams from these sleep states might not
be expected to reflect the big personal life problems of the dreamer. Rather,
they would reflect the material being learned. On the other hand, the
procedural tasks, especially the complex cognitive ones, result in postlearning
REM sleep increases.
While the lab tasks might not be of major importance to the dreamer,
they may represent the same kind or category of problem as unsolved life
problems. These are problems that require a new cognitive strategy if they are
to be successfully mastered. For simpler problems, the phenomenon of
“sleeping on it” is fairly common. When a problem seems unsolvable, the
individual often goes to bed without a solution. However, next morning, on
reexamining the problem, the answer just seems to magically be there. The
sleeping brain has done its work. This phenomenon has been verified
experimentally.9 Very often, no dream is remembered in this process,
although that does not mean that there was no accompanying sleep
mentation.
Some participants will show faster learning and larger postsleep
increases than others. This has been demonstrated for tasks in both animals10,
11 and in humans.12,23,14 It is possible that some individuals are more likely to
have these very helpful and adaptive life-changing dreams than others.
Humans are regularly exposed to ongoing, unsolved life problems.
Making or breaking relationships, moving to new locations and changing jobs
are all important life events that are never easy. These situations are
undoubtedly stressful and emotionally intense at times. Life-changing dreams
can result in the dreamer successfully adapting to a new reality. Like both the
animals and humans learning complex cognitive procedural tasks in the lab,
these dreams may be accompanied by marked increases in REM sleep.
However, life-changing dreams are unlikely to just “arrive.” If the process is
essentially the same as in the lab, the dream will only appear after a sufficient
amount of intentional mental problem-solving energy has occurred. The
dream may be a response to a complex, apparently unsolvable situation that is
very important to the dreamer and be accompanied by a particularly intense
episode(s) of REM sleep. It could be the solution to a problem that has been
incubating for some time. While this idea is yet to be experimentally verified,
it would seem to be a reasonable hypothesis.
In summary, imagine that the origin of a life-changing dream does not
simply come out of a vacuum but is indeed the brain’s response to a complex,
less-than-ideal life situation. The dreamer is presumably thinking about how
to solve his/her life problem during the day and has considered a number of
possible scenarios. None of these scenarios is considered to be a complete
solution to his/her situation. The life-changing dream might be considered as
having elements that provide a more complete solution to the problems of the
dreamer than anything s/he could have imagined. It may present, perhaps in
somewhat symbolic form, a cognitive strategy that has never before been
considered by the dreamer. If this idea is correct, then the origin of the life-
changing dream has some remarkable similarities to the more mundane and
manageable cognitive procedural tasks presented to participants in the lab.
 A Psychological View
Aside from task learning and performance improvement, a number of
contemporary psychologists and researchers have concluded that dreams
promote a particular type of psychological learning — adaptive learning. To
list just a few: Dreams help us adapt to stress as proposed by Donald Stewart
and David Koulack;15 dreams test mental schemas and modify our concepts
and social skills16 as Richard Coutts contended; or according to Antti
Revonsuo, dreams simulate threatening events and rehearse avoidance
responses in the safe virtual environment of the dream17 — all to better
prepare us for dealing with waking life.
As we learned in the first section of this book, Carl Jung was one of the
earliest psychological theorists to propose that dreams bring about change
that can help us better adapt to life. He added another element to the process,
however. In addition to weaving new learning from the previous day into our
existing memory systems to improve performance or adapt, he proposed a
powerful organizing influence that comes from the deeper layers of the
unconscious — one that also transforms us and brings about our growth as
individuals. Although there are as many theories on the psychological
function of dreaming as there are theorists, a starting point might be to orient
around Jung’s work in this area, simply due to its breadth, inclusiveness, and
relationship to so many others that have come after his time.
Let’s begin with the transcendent function, which was introduced in
Chapter 1. This is a natural self-regulation aspect of the psyche, which
enables transition from one psychic condition to another — manifesting as a
new attitude toward oneself and life.18 Jung indicated that this process arises
from a confrontation and tension between conscious and unconscious forces.
The unconscious introduces a compensating scenario, which generally
opposes, balances, or corrects for misconceptions of the conscious ego. From
this tension, a third element arises — a less conflicted integration of the two
whereby the conscious and unconscious work together as one.
In dream sleep the process may begin with illumination of an unresolved
emotional problem, conflict or memory — perhaps triggered by a waking-life
experience that day. Researcher Ernest Hartmann19 observed that dreams
“illuminate the patterns in the dreamer’s memory related to the emotional
concern.” The “illumination” generally appears in the dream as a picture-
metaphor or picture analogy of the situation. Jung characterized it as
revealing “the unconscious aspect of the conscious event” and presented it as
“emotionally charged picture language.”20
In any case, the unconscious psyche attempts to resolve the conflict by
introducing compensating scenarios counter to that conscious viewpoint. The
juxtaposition of and tension between the two is played out in one or more
dream plots, until a unifying resolution is achieved. A new ego state or
attitude emerges often accompanied by a rewarding experience and
emergence or rebirth imagery.
The following dream illustrates this theoretical process accompanied by
the symbolic death and rebirth imagery that Jung often spoke of. The young
woman had just been fired from a job that was important to her career. This
was the second time in a row. This drove her to feel “I have no future, is all
over for good.” At that point she had the following life-altering dream:30
I dream that a building falls on me and I am crushed under the rubble.
All goes dark, and I stop breathing. I know I am dead, and it is all over, there
is no future. Then I become another person in the dream who was strong and
determined, and dig my body out of the rubble. Suddenly, I come back to life
and realize that I can go on.
What is interesting is that the change or new learning seemed to be
achieved entirely within the dream. Although she did not fully understand the
dream until many months afterward when we worked on it, she set out to start
her own company. Today she runs three.
The process outlined above is similar to that found in waking-state
memory reconsolidation studies when permanent change is observed. Studies
by Nader, Schafe and LeDoux in 200020 concluded that even strongly
consolidated memories (old learning) can be made unstable and readily open
to change when we recall them. The synapses involved become temporarily
labile (unlocked or deconsolidated) for about four to five hours before
relocking (reconsolidating). If a critical new learning experience takes place
during that reconsolidation window, the old learning can be permanently
altered or replaced by the new learning. In a review of animal and human
studies from 2004 to 2009, Bruce Ecker22 observed three common process
elements that brought about permanent change, which he termed the
transformation sequence: 1) reactivate (recall/ deconsolidate) the original
learning; 2) create a mismatch schema, an experience contradictory to that
original learning; 3) juxtapose the two in a new learning experience during
the reconsolidation window such that the memory reconsolidates with the
new learning.
Although these are waking-state studies, the key elements of the process
are similar to those of the transcendent function and can be observed in
dreams, as illustrated in the following example. The dreamer was offered a
teaching position in an area of expertise he had abandoned many years
before. He felt he could never resurrect his talents, so he decided to turn it
down the next day. That night he had the following dream:30
I am wandering through a desert and see an old, rusty car. I look inside
and find a man who is not moving. I am going to give him up for dead
(recall/deconsolidation). My unknown companion from behind states he may
be just asleep and urges me to wake the man (contradictory schema). I argue
that it is useless but after much discussion I reluctantly give in and shake the
man (juxtaposing and testing the schema in a learning experience resulting in
a reversal). When I do, both the man and the car come to life, and the car
transforms into a newer car (emotional reinforcement influencing
reconsolidation).
Here again, the learning seemed to occur within the dream. The next day
the dreamer accepted the assignment, having reversed his decision. It was
only upon later reflection that he fully recognized the role the dream may
have played in this change.
If these theories are plausible in the dream state, the first principle to be
considered is that there is an unconscious mind that contains information that
emerges in dreams that the conscious mind has little access to. The concept
that an unconscious function is operating in dreams has been proposed since
the time of Freud, who considered dreams to be the “royal road to the
unconscious.” Sleep researcher Robert Stickgold, however, found some
interesting evidence of this in a learning study performed using a game called
Tetris. He found that amnesiacs reported the unique Tetris shapes in their
dreams, although they could not consciously remember them. The memories
were there in the unconscious being processed in dream sleep, but not
available to the conscious mind.23
 Second, this process relies on the dreaming brain to illuminate an
emotionally important memory, conflict, or episodic event. This, followed by
and integration of the conscious event (and its emotional “meaning”) with
existing unconscious memory systems, result in a change in those memory
systems — thus a change in attitude. According to Erin Wamsley, dreams are
a reflection of memory consolidation in the sleeping brain.24 She finds that
memories are “reactivated” during sleep and that dreams incorporate these
reactivated memories to enhance our memory systems. And it is not just any
memory: Several studies have found that sleep preferentially promotes lasting
memory changes for emotional memories.25 Also these memories are not
simply integrated in their original form, “meaning” is extracted from those
memories,24 or as Jessica Payne puts it, dreams preferentially extract and
retain the general theme, or “gist,” which is what actually “changes” your
memory.26
Dreams recall and reactivate memory fragments, they reorganize,
interleave, and reintegrate fragments of the recent event with past experiences
and other content to prepare for the future.24 As Stickgold puts it: “When you
wake, you understand how the world works better than you did when you
went to bed.”27
Another key element of this process is that of compensation, that the
dreaming brain highlights a conflict or emotional viewpoint, then introduces
a contradictory “what-if” scenarios in an attempt to resolve it. This concept
has found recent support among some researchers who observe that dreams
often introduce counterfactuals, which Patrick McNamara explains as mental
simulations of what might happen if a different decision were made or
imagined scenarios that promote an alternative outcome. He observed that
that there is a cognitive operation in dreams that functions to identify a norm
violation in episodic memory and generate counterfactuals to the violation in
the process of integrating it into memory. In a pilot study28 McNamara and
his team observed the introduction of counterfactuals in 97 percent of dreams
studied in a 34-subject study. In the dream examples above, we could see the
introduction of the counterfactual: In the first example, an imagined stronger
self within resurrecting the dreamer from the rubble; and in the second, as the
unknown companion suggesting that the man in the car may be just asleep
and urging the dreamer to try to wake him.
 Finally, Jung observed that the resolution or change (transcendence) is
often accompanied by imagery of release and emotional reward, or what he
termed a rebirth motif. This may be particularly the case when there is a
reversal and the alternative scenario succeeds, as in the examples above.
Ernest Hartmann stated that it is emotion that guides the new connections in
our memory systems and organizes our memory.19 Perhaps it is the emotional
reinforcement or self-reward of a positive dream ending that helps
reconsolidates the new learning, while still in dream sleep. Lampros
Perogamvros and Sophie Schwartz found that emotional reward circuits to be
activated during sleep.29 They indicate that the activation of the reward
system during sleep prioritizes information with high emotional or
motivational relevance for memory processing during sleep and dreaming,
and to the generation and motivational content of dreams. One study
illustrated that when a subject recalled elements of a rewarding presleep test
in their dreams, similar reward areas of the brain activated in their dream as
in waking. A form of neural and mental reverberation in sleep helps our
brains learn from our daily failures and accomplishments.
Emotional reinforcement may be present in dreams or nightmares that
end negatively as well. Although much of the thinking is that a nightmare
may be a failure in the adaptive process, a few nightmares may actually help
us to adapt. In these cases, the negative ending may be (as Jung suggested) a
warning regarding behaviors or beliefs of the dream ego that are not well-
advised. For example, in the dream of a young girl with a fundamentalist
upbringing, she had adopted an unhealthy practice of going through a prayer
ritual to repress what she considered “sinful” thoughts every time she had
one. In her dream, she was trying to exorcise an evil entity by going through
her ritual. But instead of the entity disappearing, the sky became surprisingly
darker and stormier the more she tried (the introduction of a compensating
view). Finally, when she would not stop, a loud voice jolted her awake as it
boomed from above “Stop — you are only making it worse.”
Perhaps Ernest Hartmann presented it best when he wrote that dreams
are an emotion-guided, hyperconnective mental function that is part of how
the brain learns by creating new connections and weaving new material into
established memory, providing new insight that can help us make new
decisions.19
 A Dreamworking View
Although the discussion so far addresses learning that occurs while in
the dream, Hartmann (2011) stated that “the entire dream to waking
continuum is adaptive,” implying that the emotional impact and waking
reflection on the dream might continue the process of change6. This, of
course, is what dreamwork and subsequent therapeutic intervention are all
about. Here is a simple, short example. A student of mine complained at
times about her married life, pretty much convinced that all of their problems
originated with her husband. Then, she had a dream that changed this
perception for good:30
I have had a recurrent dream of being terribly angry with my husband,
who I am always running away from. I had another one this week, but this
time I turn around and face my husband and look at his face — it is my
father’s face!
Upon reflection on the dream and her marriage, she realized that it was
unfinished business with her father that she was projecting onto her husband,
which was at the core of their problems. Here, we again see the dream
illuminates the old memory of dysfunctional emotional belief (anger at her
husband), then produces an image that pictures the situation (her rejection of
her husband), but then juxtaposes a contradictory scenario (her father’s face
on her husband’s body). Although the dream ended at that point, the
emotional impact stayed with her. The new learning seemed to take place as
she reflected on the dream and opened herself up to accept a new viewpoint
when we discussed the dream and its relation to her situation and existing
attitude.
 REFERENCES
Chapter 1 The Journey of Transformation

1. Jung, C. G. (1971). The Portable Jung (Edited and with an

introduction by J. Campbell). New York, NY: Viking Press. p. 279
2. Jung, C. G. (1964). Man and His Symbols. New York,
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Chapter 2 The Power Within

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Chapter 3 Little Children Big Dreams

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Chapter 5 Conflict Resolution

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Chapter 8 Dreams that Transform Careers

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Chapter 9 The Power of Lucid Dreaming

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happens. Psychology Today, Jan. 1981, 48-57.
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dreaming: A state of consciousness with features of both waking
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F., Steiger, A., Obrig, H., Samann, P. G., Czisch, M. (2012).
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Chapter 10 Breakthrough Nightmares

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8. Siegel, A. (2002). Dream Wisdom: Uncovering Life’s Answers in
Your Dreams. Berkeley: Celestial Arts.
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nightmares in sexual assault survivors with posttraumatic stress
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12. Siegel, A. (1990). Dreams That Can Change Your Life:
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Chapter 11 Dreams that Physically Heal

1. Text provided by permission of the contributor from

Parker. S. Heart Attack and Soul: In the Labyrinth of
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Chapter 12 Healing in Cancer Dreams

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Transforming Illness and Crisis. Balboa Press, May 14, 2012.
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 Chapter 13 Wisdom of the Serpent

1. Quote from: Carl Jung, The Red Book: Liber Novus, p 318.
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and Interpretation of the Testimonies, Johns Hopkins, Baltimore.
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Thirteenth PsiberDreaming Conference, available online.
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Faber, London, p. 201-2.

Chapter 14 Creative Dreams

1. Shelley, M. W. (1818). Frankenstein. London: Lackington,

Hughes, Harding, Mavor & Jones.
2. Barrett, Deirdre (2001/2010) The Committee of Sleep: How
Artists, Scientists, and Athletes Use Dreams for Creative Problem-
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Chapter 15 Embracing Spirit

1. Wilhelm, R. (1962). The Secret of the Golden Flower.

New York: Harcourt, Brace and World.

Chapter 17 Transcending Space & Time

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2. Ullman, M. (1969). Telepathy and Dreams. Experimental
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5. Krippner, S., Bogzaran, F., de Carvalho, A.P. (2002).
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8. Ullman, M. (1999). Dreaming consciousness: More than
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Chapter 21 Connecting with our Ancestral Roots

1. Berry, T. (1988). Dreams of the Earth. San Francisco, Sierra

Books, p 85.
2. Sabini, M. (2002). Ed. The Earth has a Soul: the Nature
Writings of C.G. Jung. Berkeley, CA, North Atlantic
Books. p.35

APPENDIX: Is There a Science Behind Life

Changing Dreams?

1. Louie, K., and M.A. Wilson. (2001). Temporally structured replay

of awake hippocampal ensemble activity during rapid eye
movement sleep. Neuron 29:145-156.
2. Smith, C.T. (2011). Sleep states and memory processing in
rodents: a review. Sleep Medicine Clinics 6:59-70.
3. Peigneux, P., and C.T. Smith. (2010). Sleep and memory. In
 principles and practice of sleep medicine. Elsevier, Philadelphia.
335-347.
4. Peigneux P1, Laureys S, Fuchs S, Collette F, Perrin F, Reggers J,
Phillips C, Degueldre C, Del Fiore G, Aerts J, Luxen A, Maquet P.
(2004) Are spatial memories strengthened in the human
hippocampus during slow wave sleep? Neuron. 2004 Oct 28;
44(3):535-45.
5. Gais, J., and J. Born. (2004). Declarative memory consolidation:
Mechanisms acting during human sleep. Learning & Memory
11:697-685.
6. Smith, C.T., J.B. Aubrey, and K.R. Peters. (2004). Different roles
for REM and Stage 2 sleep in motor learning: a proposed model.
Psychologica Belgica 44:79-102.
7. Smith, C.T. (2010). Sleep states, memory processing and dreams.
Sleep Medicine Clinics 5:217-228.
8. Wamsley, E.J., Tucker, M., Payne, J.D., Benavides, J.A.,
Stickgold, R. (2010) Dreaming of a learning task is associated with
enhanced sleep-dependent memory consolidation, Current Biology;
Volume 20, Issue 9, p850–855, 11 May 2010.
9. Wagner, U., Gais, S., Haider, H., Verleger, R., Born, J. (2004).
Sleep inspires insight. Nature 427:352-355.
10. Fogel, S., Smith, C., Beninger, R. (2009). Evidence for 2-stage
models of sleep and memory: Learning-dependent changes in
spindles and theta in rats. Brain Research Bulletin 79:445-451.
11. Smith, C., Wong, P.T.P. (1991). Paradoxical sleep increases
predict successful learning in a complex operant task. Behavioral
Neuroscience 105:282-288.
12. Fogel, S.M., Smith, C.T. (2006). Learning-dependent
changes in sleep spindles and Stage 2 sleep. Journal of
Sleep Research 15:250-255.
13. Fogel, S.M., Smith, C.T., Cote, K.A. (2007). Dissociable
learning-dependent changes in REM and non-REM sleep in
declarative and procedural memory systems. Behavioral
Brain Research 180:48-61.
14. Smith, C.T., Nixon, M.R., Nader, R.S. (2004). Post training
 increases in REM sleep intensity implicate REM sleep in memory
processing and provide a biological marker of learning potential.
Learning & Memory 11:714-719.
15. Stewart, D., Koulack, D. (1993). The function of dreams in
adaption to stress over time. Dreaming: Journal of the Association
for the Study of Dreams, 3(4), 259–268.
16. Coutts, R. (2008). Dreams as modifiers and tests of mental
schemas: An emotional selection hypothesis. Psychological
Reports, 102(2), 561–574.
17. Revonsuo, A. (2000). The reinterpretation of dreams: An
evolutionary hypothesis of the function of dreaming. Behavioral
and Brain Sciences, 23(6), 877–901.
18. Jung, C.G. (1971). The Portable Jung (Edited and with an
introduction by J. Campbell). New York, NY: Viking Press. pp.
279.
19. Hartmann, E. (2011). The Nature and Functions of Dreaming.
New York, NY: Oxford University Press.
20. Jung, C. G. (1964). Man and His Symbols, New York,
Dell Publishing; paperback, p.5.
21. Nader, K., Schafe, G., LeDoux, J. (2000). Fear memories
require protein synthesis in the amygdala for
reconsolidation after retrieval. Nature, 406, 722-726.
22. Ecker, B., Ticic, R., Hulley, L. (2012). Unlocking the Emotional
Brain. New York, NY: Routledge, 21–26.
23. Stickgold R, Malia A, Maguire D, Roddenberry D, O’Connor M.
(2000). Replaying the game: Hypna gogic images in normals and
amnesics. Science, 290, 350-353.
24. Wamsley, E. (2016). Memory Consolidation in Dreams and
Waking Thought. Presented at the International Asso ciation for the
Study of Dreams Online Research Con ference, November 11, 2016
www.iasdreamresearch.org
25. Payne, J.D., Chambers, A.M., Kensinger, E.A. (2012) Sleep
promotes lasting changes in selective memory for emotional scenes.
Frontiers in Integrated Neuroscience. 2012; 6: 108.
26. Payne, J.D., Schacter, D.L., Propper, R., Huang, L., Wamsley, E.,
 Tucker, M.A., Walker, M.P., Stickgold, R. (2009). The role of sleep
in false memory formation. Neurobiology of Learning and Memory.
2009 Oct; 92(3): 327–334.
27. Stickgold, R. (2016). The Induction of Specific Dream Content.
Presented at the International Association for the Study of Dreams
Online Research Conference, November 11, 2016
www.iasdreamresearch.org
28. McNamara, P., Andresen, J., Arrowood, J., & Messer, G. (2002).
Counterfactual cognitive operations in dreams. Dreaming, 12(3).
Also: McNamara, P. (2012). In Barrett, D., McNamara, P. (Eds.),
Encyclopedia of Sleep and Dreams: The Evolution, Function,
Nature, and Mysteries of Slumber. Vol. 1, 181, Greenwood (2012).
29. Perogamvros L1, Schwartz S. (2012) The roles of the reward
system in sleep and dreaming. Neuroscience & Biobehavioral
Reviews. 2012 Sep; 36(8):1934-51.
30. Hoss, R. & Hoss, L. (2013). Dream To Freedom: Hand-book for
Integrating Dreams and Energy Work, Energy Psychology Press,
2013.
 Chapter Authors
Deirdre Barrett, Ph.D., teaches two courses on dreams at Harvard. She is
the author of The Committee of Sleep, editor of Trauma and Dreams, and co-
editor of The New Science of Dreaming and The Encyclopedia of Sleep and
Dreaming. She edits IASD’s journal Dreaming and is an IASD past
president.

Susannah Benson, Ph.D., is an educator and transpersonal counselor with

qualifications in Transpersonal Counselling, Social Ecology, and publishing.
Dr. Benson is a past president of IASD and founding president of Dream
Network Australia.

Kelly Bulkeley, Ph.D., is a visiting scholar at the Graduate Theological

Union, former president of IASD, and senior editor of Dreaming. His books
include Dreaming in the World’s Religions, Dreaming in the Classroom,
Lucid Dreaming, and Big Dreams.

Laurel Clark, DD, DM, is a certified dreamologist, metaphysics teacher and

ordained interfaith minister. She is the author of Intuitive Dreaming,
contributing writer for the dreamschool.org dream study program and
coeditor of Interpreting Dreams for Self Discovery. She is the 2016 president
of IASD and past president of the School of Metaphysics, and a frequent
media guest dream expert.

Gayle Delaney Ph.D. (Clinical Psychology), cofounder and founding

president of IASD, author of All About Dreams and In Your Dreams.
Director, Delaney & Flowers Professional Dream Center. Creator of the
Dream Interview Method, she had the first daily AM talk radio show on
dreams, extensive TV and online training experience in French, Italian, and
English.

Marcia Emery, Ph.D., is a psychologist, former professor, intuitive

consultant and author of Intuition Workbook, Intuitive Healer, and
PowerHunch! She was a former IASD board member, featured on the
“Dream Decoders” TV series, was the dream expert on the “America Now”
TV program, and hosted the Voice America internet radio show “Partnership
of Intuition and Dreams.”

Patricia Garfield, Ph.D., is a renowned dream expert and prizewinning

author of 11 books on dreams. Her best-seller Creative Dreaming is
considered a classic and appears in 15 languages. She is a cofounder and past
president of IASD and received the 2012 Lifetime Achievement in
Dreamwork award.

Robert Gongloff, MA, is a director and past president of IASD and author of
Dream Exploration: A New Approach. He is the program cochair for the
IASD international dream conferences and prior host of three of them. He is
also a coeditor of Dreams that Change Our Lives plus a pending two-volume
reference book for Greenwood.

Bob Haden, M.Div. is founder of The Haden Institute, a Jungian

psychotherapist, an Episcopal priest, and author of Unopened Letters from
God. He studied at The C.G. Jung Institute in Zurich, Switzerland. He is a
diplomate of the American Psychotherapy Association, holds Master’s
degrees in theology and in the Use of Dreams in Spiritual Direction.

Robert Hoss, MS, is a director and past president and board chair of IASD,
directs the DreamScience Foundation for research grants, is a faculty trainer
for the Haden Institute, and advisory board-member of the National Institute
for Integrative Healthcare. He is author of Dream Language and Dream to
Freedom, is published in 12 other books, and is managing editor of Dreams
That Change Our Lives plus an upcoming two-volume reference book on
dreams.

Ed Kellogg, Ph.D., earned his degree in biochemistry from Duke University

and has published over 100 papers in fields as diverse as the biochemistry of
aging, bioelectricity, general semantics, dream healing, lucid dreaming,
OBEs, and the phenomenology of consciousness. A proficient lucid dreamer,
he has recorded and indexed well over 35,000 of his dreams.

Stanley Krippner, Ph.D., is professor of psychology at Saybrook University,

Oakland, CA, and a past President of IASD. A former director of the
Maimonides Medical Center Dream Research Laboratory in Brooklyn, NY,
his many books include the coauthored Dream Telepathy and Extraordinary
Dreams and How to Work With Them.

Justina Lasley, MA, is founder of the Institute for Dream Studies, an

internationally recognized program that educates leaders in the field of
dreams. She is the developer of DreamSynergy™, a process using dreams for
personal transformation. Justina is the author of Wake Up to Your Dreams:
Transform Your Relationships, Career, and Health While You Sleep and
Honoring Your Dreams.

Jacquie E. Lewis, Ph.D., is codirector of the Dream Studies Certificate

Program at Saybrook University, and former IASD Dream News editor. She
coedited the book, Weaving Dreams into the Classroom and Working with
Dreams and PTSD Nightmares: 14 Approaches for Psychotherapists and
Counselors.

Tallulah Lyons, M.Ed., has facilitated dream groups and guided imagery in
hospital cancer wellness centers for many years. She is the author of Dreams
and Guided Imagery: Gifts for Transforming Illness and Crisis, and Dream
Prayers: Dreams as a Spiritual Path.

Wendy Pannier has led dreamwork in cancer settings for 20 years. She is a
past president of IASD and has had extensive training with Montague
Ullman, MD. She is cocreator with Tallulah Lyons of an IASD project,
Healing Power of Dreams.

Alan Siegel, Ph.D., is associate clinical professor, UC Berkeley, and past

president and Education Chair of IASD. He is a licensed psychologist of
assessment and psychotherapy in private practice in Berkeley and San
Francisco. He has 40 years of experience working clinically with dreams and
is the author of Dream Wisdom.

Carlyle Smith, Ph.D., C. Psych is Professor Emeritus of Psychology and

Director of Trent University Sleep Research Laboratories. He is an
internationally respected expert on the topics of sleep, memory, and dreams
with approximately 100 scientific publications. He is author of Heads-Up
Dreaming.
Gregory Scott Sparrow, Ed.D., LPC, LMFT, is a professor of counseling, a
psychotherapist in private practice specializing in dreamwork and a past
board chair and president of IASD. He is the education chair and manages the
online CE course offerings for IASD. He has authored several books,
including Lucid Dreaming: Dawning of the Clear Light.

Jeremy Taylor, D.Min., cofounder and past president of IASD, and the
founder/director of the Marin Institute for Projective Dream Work, serves on
the board of the Unitarian Universalist Society for Community Ministries. He
is the author of many globally influential books in the field. In an effort to
extend the audience for dream exploration, he has written and illustrated
graphic cartoon books about basic dream work principles.

Robert Waggoner is the author of the acclaimed book, Lucid Dreaming:

Gateway to the Inner Self, coauthor of Lucid Dreaming Plain and Simple
(2015), and past president of IASD. A lucid dreamer since 1975, Waggoner
coedits the online magazine, Lucid Dreaming Experience and speaks
internationally on lucid dreaming.

Kelly Sullivan Walden is a nationally recognized dream expert who is on a

mission to awaken the world to the power of dreams. She is the author of
nine best-selling books, including It’s All In Your Dreams and Chicken Soup
for the Soul: Dreams and Premonitions. She’s been featured on “Doctor Oz”
and “Ricki Lake.”