I had a dream the other night that I lived in a fortress of a house. No one could get in, though twice in the dream, my enemies tried. Through the entire dream, I stayed safe, but also a kind of a prisoner. The house had a magical dream quality in that it had hidden passageways to safe houses all over, including one at the bottom of the sea. But, not one of them led to the out-of-doors, to the natural world.
The question I need to ask of myself is what do I feel I need to protect or be protected from? In one of the two attacks, poisonous gas is thrown down the chimney, but a specially trained dog steps on a switch that closes off the fireplace and I remain safe and unaffected. The fireplace—fire as a symbol of passion and creativity. The hearth—the warmth of home and family life. The dog is unconditional love and childlike loyalty.
Both of my children are young adults—officially as my son, Sam, recently pointed out. The night of his graduation he said to me that three things make him adult: being 18, out of high school and renting his own place. There is a creative part of myself—the mother part of myself, that needs to retreat now and I believe she is the one in the dream.
What I need to work through is how to allow the rampaging young adults who also showed up in the dream safely into my house. How do I open up the fortress? In the dream, I could not do it. In the dream I headed for the tunnel that led to the undersea house—the place deep in my emotions and my subconscious. I headed for the mystery of my own heart.
And there I rest, seeking truth in that watery place. I do not think the answer will be as simple as coming up to the surface. I am not even sure there is an answer for me at this moment. Rather, this dream serves as an acknowledgment of how I feel to have lost my babies, my toddlers, my grade-schoolers, my teenagers. Each night putting them to bed was an act of letting them go, knowing in the morning a new child would awaken in their place.
Last weekend both of the kids were home. For one blissful night, I lay in bed and scanned my house seeking the energy of the complete family—Hannah? Yes, home safe. Samuel? Yes, home safe. The dogs asleep nearby. Husband Keith beside me. This used to be a nightly ritual. I felt a great relief at least for the night to have everyone within the fortress of my home.
I look to my dreams to help me face how I truly feel, to tell me it is all right to protect myself and that I am given help. I look to my dreams to tell me how to stay open and loving. I look for the truth within the mystery of my sleeping soul. Though I must puzzle through the messages I’m sent, in the end, it is worth the effort.
Contact Cindie
