A WORLD OF DREAMS

 

A WORLD OF DREAMS

From the very first dream that I recorded, I had no doubt that the dreams held important information that I needed in my quest; but digging out this information by decoding the symbolism proved to be an awesome task. In the long run it was worth the effort, and I found that often the dreams that were the most difficult to decipher were ultimately the most helpful. To describe the individual dreams, together with their interpretations would require a volume in itself; but in a single chapter I can at least outline the principal themes and some of the lessons that I learned, together with a few of the individual dreams, by way of example.

Initially the dreams seemed to have the purpose of encouraging my effort to study them, luring me on until the habit was established. For example, one early sequence of dreams presented a variety of works of art - full color paintings of various genres, abstract sculpture, a stained-glass window of remarkable beauty, a mosaic, a scene done entirely in stitchery, a quasi-two-dimensional wood sculpture that is difficult to describe in words. The final dream in this series alluded mysteriously to an experience more beautiful and rewarding than the fine arts, but with no specific description of its nature.

These initial dreams of aesthetic masterworks were interspersed with dreams of universal upheaval. The symbols were similar to those in the Apocalypse of John - war, earthquakes, floods, and windstorms so violent that they hurled rocks and metallic objects. I had read in Jung's works that such symbols are indicative of the uprooting of the foundations on which we have based our lives. These dreams were often nightmarish but, at the same time, dramatic and exciting.

Another type of dream provided information about the state of my subconscious. These dreams were introduced by a descent down a staircase or passageway that would have a sharp turn or a gradual bend to the left before it opened into an underground room, a cave, or even a whole nether world.

Some dreams appeared to be designed to improve my physical health by suggesting certain exercises or games, or by commenting on my diet. Others were directed more toward my psychological wellbeing, warning me if I was putting too much emphasis on my research, and urging me to develop a more relaxed and lighthearted outlook whenever I began to take life too seriously.

During this time, I was reading a variety of books and articles on mysticism, religion, and depth psychology. Occasionally the dreams would offer a comment on the subject matter; and also, on the little insights that would sometimes occur to me during a period of revelation. If I came across something that would be especially helpful, according to the dream guide, I would dream of discovering something of value, like a trove of old coins, or antique heirlooms, or a golden key.

On the other side of the coin, the dreams would warn me away from a harmful practice or doctrine. For example, I fell into the habit of reading my daily horoscope in the newspaper. I was not aware of taking any of it seriously, but the dreams told me to drop the practice; so I did. Another problem arose when one of my colleagues began telling me about his involvement with a currently popular psychic development group (Scientology). He was enthusiastic, but when I began to develop an interest in the matter, I had a dream about it. I was present at a meeting of the group - a sizable gathering in an auditorium, with a leader at a podium. The proceedings appeared childishly immature and ritualistic; but not evil. The impression that the dream left was that the subject was at best a waste o

The quality of my prayers and meditation periods was measured by the properties of bodies of water in my dreams. If my meditations were too brief and superficial, the water was shallow. If extraneous thoughts kept intruding during my meditations, the water would be polluted. If the meditation went well, the water would be deep, clear, and populated with beautiful fish. But if negative thoughts lurked in the background, the water creatures would be frightful.

Different aspects of my personality were symbolized by the various people and animals that populated my dreams. When I became a scientist to the point of neglecting more important things, then I would dream of one of my colleagues who had devoted himself to his work almost exclusively. If I argued with someone during the day, I would dream of a barking dog. If I carried malicious gossip, I would dream of a rat. In fact, over a period of time, my dreams went through a virtual Noah's ark of animals: dogs, cats, lions, roosters, pigs, cows, horses, rabbits, elephants, turtles, snakes and fish.

One dream actually presented a whole parade of animals walking in single file up a path leading out of a subterranean dwelling, into the open light of a rural road. To me this dream symbolized the process of drawing these character aspects out of the subconscious one by one, so that I could recognize them and learn to deal with them.

Early in my dream work I believed that all animal symbols had a bad connotation, and one of my goals was to "kill off" those animal aspects of my character. I had decided that this was the symbolic meaning of the heavy emphasis on animal sacrifice in the Old Testament. But this view of the animal symbol had to be modified eventually, as I came to realize that life in a physical body is not meaningful without its animal aspects, as long as those animals do not become so strong that they are effectively objects of worship. In my dreams the ability to understand and deal effectively with any one of these inner animals was indicated by the rather strange experience of carrying on a conversation with the animal.

At times the dreams took on a spiritual aspect. The Higher Self appeared in a number of various forms. Whenever he showed up in a dream, he provided helpful comments on my life

In other dreams God appeared as a man, cast in a role appropriate to the message being conveyed. In the first dream of this type, I was talking to the superintendent in charge of the construction of a large building, possibly a hotel. We were standing beside the swimming pool, which was still under construction. To my surprise, he seemed anxious to have me work for him. "We have a need for your abilities," he said. Although he was credible as a construction supervisor, I was thinking throughout the conversation, "This man is really God."

An entirely different message was expressed in a third dream. I had become discouraged after a long period of recording dreams that seemed to be unremittingly critical. That night my prayer went something like this: "Look, I have been taught that God is love; and I have received a lot of revelation through these dreams, for which I am grateful. But virtually all that I get is criticism, and I don't sense any of that love that I need to sustain me." I went on in that vein for a while, and then fell asleep. Immediately, a kind, rather elderly gentleman appeared and embraced me like a long lost son.

I have already mentioned that the major part of the dream material was critical - as if the primary function of the dream maker was to keep me informed of where I had gone wrong and what I needed to change. I underwent a long but enlightening education in learning his priorities and his sense of right and wrong, which were different in many respects from what I had been taught. One way that I learned was by comparing the severity of the criticisms for my various transgressions. For example, if I spent too much time watching television, I would dream of a huge television set. I considered that symbol to be a mild slap on the wrist. But if I watched programs with a trashy content, I would dream of a junk pile - a more severe rebuke. If I ate too much, I would dream of a pig. If I spread critical gossip, I dreamed of a rat (a worse symbol than the pig). But if I undertook to lower someone's opinion of another person, I would dream that I was vomiting and all manner of horrible matter was spewing from my mouth.

If I neglected my spiritual studies for a few days, I would have the common nightmare about being unprepared for an exam. An even worse nightmare involved snakes that would often be striking at me. It took me years to figure out this symbol, and I am still not certain that I grasp its full significance, but I will take it up again in a later chapter.

One might think that a dream of a snake coiled to strike would be the ultimate nightmare, but there was one that was even more frightening. It was related to a complex, a part of myself that is referred to by various writers as the "aged king", the "old man", the "old Adam", and the "ego"; although the word "ego" here has a somewhat different connotation from its common use. Later I will devote a chapter to this devilish complex, but the point here is that I had been laboring for months to kill off this part of my personality and was beginning to have some success, according to my dreams. But occasionally I would slip and have a day when I would let my emotions be controlled by a critical remark or some act that I considered to be unfair or insulting. Then I would have the following dream. I would be in an environment of death - a morgue, a cemetery with an open grave, or just a room with a corpse in it - with a sense of uneasiness in this ghastly atmosphere. Then, to my horror, the body, or bodies, would begin to move and exhibit various signs of coming back to life. I had seen zombie movies, but it is one thing to watch something like that on a movie screen, and something altogether different to be present when it is actually happening.

From the stark terror of this nightmare, I drew the conclusion that this problem carried a high priority, but I didn't quite understand why until years later.

In this way my inner guide undertook to re-educate me, by reordering my own sense of my character faults and the changes that were needed. In one dream this re-education took place in a very direct way. The dream began with the usual symbol for entering the subconscious. I went through an opening in the ground and drifted downward through a tunnel that slanted downward, then arced to the left and finally opened into a world beneath the earth. The sun was not shining here, but there was plenty of light of a diffuse nature from some unseen source. I walked across a green meadow to a brook, at a place where the water dropped two or three feet. The pool at the bottom of the waterfall was covered by a cage of metal bars, holding captive a dark, vicious, amphibious beast. It appeared to dwell in the water although, to the best of my recollection, it had fur like a mammal. As I stared, it roared and lunged at me, and I instinctively stepped back, even though the beast was restrained by the cage. At that moment, I became aware of a man standing beside me - a tall figure in white clothing. As I stared at the snarling animal, he spoke calmly, reassuringly, as one with knowledge, "Oh, you don't have to worry much about him - not nearly as much as the one over there." He gestured toward another cage some distance away. This one was made of wire, larger than the first one, and not set in the water. As we drew closer to it, I saw that it contained a cute little monkey, engaging in all kinds of playful tricks and stunts. I was about to put my hand on the cage to pet him, but quickly withdrew it when I saw that the animal had blood on his lips. He had the vicious habit of biting people.

I awoke and began to probe the dream symbols, and in seconds the meaning struck me. My fear of the ugly beast referred to my concern with controlling my physical body, but the vicious monkey symbolized my tendency to make jokes about people, especially colleagues, that I didn't like - a transgression that I had committed the previous day.

It is not surprising that most people who set out to record their dreams quickly become discouraged, when so many of them are critical, and even nightmarish. I assume that is the most efficient way of inciting someone to make the needed changes. For me, although many of the dreams contained favorable or encouraging symbols, very few - less than one in a hundred - were outright complimentary.

Some of the dreams were instructive or inspiring without being either critical or complimentary. They had an interesting way of teaching me the means to attain a certain desirable goal. I would enter the front door of a building, proceed through it to the rear door, and then exit into an environment that symbolized the desired goal. For example, in one dream I floated gently through the broad double doors of a small farm building - something like a tiny barn - and out the back into a bright, glowing landscape of green meadows, colorful flowers, and stately trees. The farm and barn symbolized a simple, unsophisticated, unencumbered lifestyle, and the garden-like landscape denoted a heavenly state of mind (because the word "paradise" is roughly translated, "beautiful garden"). Going through the barn meant that it was "through" that lifestyle that I could attain the desired state of mind.

Often, in dreams of this type, I would go through some specialty shop, whose goods symbolized the means of attaining my goal. The first dream of this type was strikingly vivid and filled with meaningful symbols. I was in a dark, foreboding street in a relatively neglected part of the downtown section of a city. I entered a bookstore, browsed among the books as I worked my way through the shop, and then exited by the back door. Now, it happened that the building had been constructed against a steep hill in such a way that its rear was built into the hill. That is why, when I went out the rear door, I found myself in a dimly lit underground passage. A flight of steps led upward, but it was steep, and soon my legs began to ache from the climb. Fortunately, I came to a landing, where fresh air and sunshine poured in from an opening somewhere to the side. Then the stairs began again, and again I became tired and exhausted; but somehow I felt compelled to go on, and finally reached another landing, where fresh air and sunshine rejuvenated and encouraged me. After completing several of these stairs and landings, I was exhausted and unsure that I would be able to continue; but then I looked up and saw a door at the top of the steps. It was standing slightly ajar, and light shone through the opening. I struggled to the top step, but by then my legs were so heavy that I couldn't negotiate the last step into the room. But then it occurred to me that I didn't actually have to lift my foot. I simply bent my knees and crawled into the room on my knees.

Once there I pulled myself to my feet by means of a tall stool that was placed by a table. I found myself in another room of books - but not a book store. The interior wall was lined with shelves filled with row after row of beautifully bound ancient texts - treasured knowledge of the ages, all collected here in these impressive volumes. The keeper of the books was there, a small, rather elfish gentleman, with a beautiful, though aged, countenance - the epitome of both wisdom and gentleness. The front and ends of the building were plate glass, providing a clear view of the city street outside. An early morning shower had cleaned the streets and walks; but now the sun was shining, and clean pure air drifted in through the open doors.

What did I learn from the dream? Through my spiritual studies (bookstore) I could undertake a quest for a higher level of being at the subconscious level (underground stairs). It would be arduous (tiring climb), but there would be times when I could take a "breather" and receive new revelation and inspiration (landings with fresh air and sunshine). But the last step could be taken only on my knees. At the time I thought that this symbol meant "by means of prayer"; but now I believe that it refers to the principle of humility, which I will discuss at greater length in a different post. The reward for completing the task would be access to a higher knowledge (upper level book collection) and a better outlook (nicer street than the one I started on).

Another type of instructional dream presented as its main protagonist a hero that I should emulate. It was a kind of teaching by example. Those dreams usually portrayed a being reacting in an ideal, noble way to adversity of some kind. But the most inspiring of these dreams had the most unlikely star that one can imagine - a worm. I was a child again, playing with my childhood friends in my cousin Billy's back yard. A narrow cement walkway led from the porch out past the garage to a gate in the rear fence. We were playing on this walkway when Billy's mother, Aunt Alice, came out of the house and presented us with a box of chocolates that had been left over from Christmas. We were delighted. But when we removed the top, we immediately jumped back, because the head of a little worm appeared over the side of the box. We called it a worm, but it looked more like a caterpillar - but not a real one. It was like a cartoon version of a worm, with antennae like Jiminy Cricket's, mischievous eyes, and a big grin, reflecting a kind of happy stupor from having eaten its way through the chocolates. It was one of the funniest things we had ever seen, and we all gathered around to watch it climb out of the box and crawl over the walkway. As it moved along, we could somehow sense the happiness that was not only in the creature but seemed to emanate from it. Then someone leaned over close to it and said, "Listen!" When we all quieted down, we could hear, periodically, a faint sound, like a tiny chime. It was as if his joy would gradually build up, reach a state of euphoria, and then when he was about to burst with happiness, it would be released through the little chime mechanism. Then it would immediately start to build again.

Then tragedy struck. In our effort to get close, someone was jostled and accidentally stepped on the worm. We were afraid that we had destroyed it, but only the rear half was crushed, and it was still alive. Then we worried about the pain that we had inflicted on it; but it reassured us by a kind of mental telepathy, "Don't worry. I'll be all right." In a moment it began to move again, slowly at first, but with increasing confidence. Then we could once more feel the joy building, until finally we heard the little chime - now fainter and weaker than before, but bravely indicating that indeed all would be well.

The interpretation of the dream is more or less obvious, except for the casting of the hero in the form of a worm. That is a point that needs to be discussed further, and so I will bring up this dream again in a separate post.

The messages, or "morals", of dreams like this helped influence my conscious life, but I also discovered that the actual symbols themselves sometimes had an influence. For example, when I had dreams about wanting to climb mountains, this desire carried over into my daily life. Whenever I visited the mountainous part of Virginia, I would have an almost overwhelming urge to set out and climb to a peak where I could look out over the world. And I actually indulged this urge a couple of times on visits to my parents' home, which is near Mill Mountain.

Another influential symbol was the "child prodigy", a fairly common symbol that has been discussed extensively by Jung. I would dream of holding in my arms an infant far too young to talk, yet who spoke, or transmitted thoughts, clearly; and often communicated words of wisdom. In other dreams I was caring for children of various ages. Although these symbols were intended to be interpreted spiritually, they nonetheless created in me a desire to be with children and care for them.

One of the frustrating aspects of studying my dreams was to have a symbol occur repeatedly, with no clue as to its meaning. I crossed bridges of all kinds in my dreams before I discovered the symbol's meaning in a book by Raymond De Becker, one of Jung's students. It is a symbol of psychological transition, as I might have guessed. But there were other symbols that were even more obscure. I have already mentioned "the snake", a common symbol that has been extensively discussed; but none of the usual interpretations quite seemed to fit the context of my dreams; and I am still working on that one.

Another difficult symbol was what I call the "carnival dream". I dreamed of being at a carnival, or at an amusement park, or in a play, or at a movie or play, for years, but my mind could only grasp a fragment of the significance of this symbol. It was only when I studied the Miracles Course that I discovered what these dreams were attempting to convey. It was this experience, more than any other, that taught me that the most difficult symbols are often the most helpful.

It is apparent that most of the dreams that I recall had messages that referred to the state of my mind or of my soul. Therefore, I will defer further discussion of dreams to the two labels, Philosophy and Mysticism.

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