Resurrection and the Fall

                                             

Working consistently with enactment takes us deeper and deeper into the land of dreams. The deeper we go into the land of dreams, the deeper we arrive into the territory of myth. A myth is like a collective dream. It comes from deep within the psyche, so deep that it transcends its author’s distinctive circumstances and expresses something of truly representative import. It expresses the truth of my soul as well as yours and, perhaps, of their soul as well as ours, thus proving our essential unity. Here is my next dream:

I’m going on a journey. Many journeys are happening at the same time: a spiritual group, school trips and various tourist concerns. My view is of a crowded public space, perhaps Middle-Eastern. A beautiful golden-haired boy appears before me in an alley, apparently linked with one of the school trips.

 

I have reached a new point of departure. Various journeys are to unfold from this point on different levels. The place from which the journeys will begin is unfamiliar and exotic. I am cast in the role of spectator, waiting for possibilities to unravel. I feel an affinity with the spiritual travellers and one of the school groups. The beautiful golden-haired boy belongs to this latter company.

Hair turning gold in myth signifies the completion of an alchemical process (or stage thereof). This boy is a symbol of my potential, beckoning but not yet realised. He represents a maturation of the male baby we met in ‘Empire State’. Like me, he is in need of further ‘schooling’ but this will not be delivered by orthodox means. A second part of this dream follows immediately from the first:

Two males, one of whom has borrowed my clothes, sit with a beautiful woman around a fire. Her genitals rest on a poultice. She looks numb and disoriented. I surmise that the men have had intercourse with her repeatedly.

The two parts are linked by the detail of my borrowed clothes. These are modern but adorn a scene that could have been set in any time. The atmosphere is Arabic. The woman is dishevelled but her clothes are of rich design. She wears the robes of a priestess, lilac and magenta. I feel directly implicated in whatever has taken place. I am, of course, since it is my dream.

The male figures are young. Two implies an element of division. The scene is very tense. The men are conflicted but collude to deny this. Entering their characters, I know that they have raped the woman over and over. She is in shock, uncertain whether it is better to be alive in their company or dead. She is too numbed to think. Her genitals are sore and her emotions paralysed. She feels dull, wounded and betrayed; thing-like, a used animal. She tries not to draw their attention.

The men are careful in their speech. They acted as they did on a pretext of the woman’s initial consent. Their play may have stretched beyond her expectation but this is a measure of their stamina and her allure. They negotiate this understanding indirectly, through banter that extends occasionally to include her. They jest uneasily and laugh with undue provocation. It seems impossible for them to admit shame or to feel it.

These men are lost – shepherds, merchants, engineers – creatures of a great forgetting. The woman is a daughter of the Goddess, beautiful and radiant with grace. The men cannot believe that she has fallen to them and would have their fill before her presence is withdrawn. They would consume, possess and empty her in every guise so that when she turns away they will feel no loss. They have no understanding that this is the case and much less why.

It is not easy to animate their roles. I am amazed to feel how little they appreciate, how tight and constrained their awareness is. They look like brothers, even twins: early twenties, handsome with dark skin and black curly hair. One is dressed in colourful ethnic garb, the other in my pressed white shirt and slacks.

The first suggests all possibilities; the second an impossible moral perfectionism (all white), the kind that comes of being told to embrace only ‘good’ and exclude ‘evil’. This is why a sovereign phallus must be constantly erect and in control (like cowboys gunning down Apaches). Such a man thinks he is no good because his wholeness includes ‘evil’. Believing himself unworthy, he expects not to be loved. Thus he takes when opportunities arise.

I have never behaved in this way, nor remotely considered it. Nevertheless, I feel the pattern clearly. The memory is in my soul and therefore in my dream. It represents a part of me asking to come home, just like the youths in the cable car. Denied long enough, they too become vengeful and aggressive when there is no contrary phallic power to restrain them. Their excess is an expression of its rule. Law and crime are one in this regard.

I look back at the men and they become teenagers, thirteen or so, still clothed as before. This reflects their surface emotional age: deeper within lies an unresolved infantile lack. They expect the woman to desert them, to turn away as the Mother (Goddess) has done. This is why they seek to ‘empty’ her, to void her power before they fall enchanted by it. They take from many rather than risk the generosity of one.

But what of the woman? She too is a part of me. She sits traumatised and sullen, knowing she must spend her life among these salivating pigs who think that they can take her as they will. They can never take what she chooses from this moment not to give, nor even know what there could be for the giving. And so the woman draws a veil over her treasure, concealing a gift that she was born to carry in the world. She too becomes a creature of forgetting, numbed in her essence, responsive only to a barter of distractions.

In her heart, she remembers that there was once another song. Remembering in this moment, she looks across the campfire and swears that she will kill them in their sleep. She knows as she thinks this that she won’t. She will choose her own way, doing as she must to stay alive and wrest whatever comforts life may yield. She will owe her Truth to no man. Men will tell her that she has no Truth and she will argue in their tongues, seeking to recall why they are wrong.

Later the woman cries, acknowledging her fury and her hurt. I sit with her, holding her, and take her into my heart. A shrill, piercing scream is emitted, expressing despair beyond all prospect of revenge. She slumps to one side when her sounding is complete. I feel in this moment like the day after the Fall, when Eve and Adam wake outside the Garden, bereft of Love, Truth, Innocence and Trust. ‘God’ has put enmity between them, a gaping wound.

Who will hold me while I am holding you, now that we no longer trust?

[No-one who has not been perfectly held can hold another perfectly. This applies to women and to men. We are all equally exiles from the experience of being truly held, of belonging. The only way to break this cycle is by learning how to hold ourselves truly, clearing the imprints of our unheld parents to experience the direct embrace of archetypal Father-Mother energies which we all carry. This is what the mythic symbolism of sacred marriage is about, right down to rebirth of a Wonder Child in our own Hearts.]

I kneel by water and let the woman’s anguish fill me. Her heart is heavy and her eyes blank. She is numbed to her core. Very slowly, feeling returns. It rises from her first and second chakras, building and building until it flows like a river in my Heart. I am filled with the Sorrow of the World. Two parts of one divided man are pulled into this ocean. Others follow. All have been damaged by the phallus, as my Father and Mother have been. It feels as if the flow will never end and that my Heart must surely burst with grief. There is much weeping.

Emerging from this, I understand better why a sacred sexuality healing was given in my earlier dream. We will return to this after considering the next one:

 

JT comes to me and says he wants to offer me a job. We sit on a plush velvet couch that hovers in metaphysical space. I am sceptical because of his associations with duplicity and illusion. He wants me to co-ordinate a new project and produces an album filled with photographs of different people, male and female Polynesians, in what seems to be Hawaii. The last photograph is of a male kahuna. It suddenly comes to life and the man starts to transform before my eyes, as if in a film. He becomes a warrior, then an elder/priest, a healer, shaman, karate master and exponent of sacred dance. He then returns to himself, static in the photo, dressed in shirt and slacks. I ask JT where the job is. He answers ‘Easterland’ in a very deliberate tone.

 

This is another JT: somebody I used to know, mercurial and charming, halfway between a con-man and an angel. By non-coincidence his initials are the same as those of the ‘other kind of teacher’ we met in my university dream (page 55). This establishes a connection between it and the present one. The first reflected my need to ‘step out’. The current JT forces the issue by offering me a job.

We hover in metaphysical space, which suggests that this will be no ordinary 3D posting. I am sceptical (my subconscious escape clause) because I associate JT with shady dealings. What he prophesies doesn’t necessarily come to pass.  But this is my soul’s dreaming, and he my reflection. I am more con-man than angel in terms of negative associations I project upon this combination. There is a more creative prospect here which it is my responsibility to fulfil.

JT asks me to co-ordinate a new project. I have no idea what this means. He shows me an album featuring Polynesian people. These are descendents of Lemuria, which was located in the Pacific prior to its submersion. Each photograph reflects a quality, potential and memory of my Self. Half of them are of women, reflecting half my karmic lives. I retain fragments of a woman’s imagining. Recollecting these helps me to remember the Goddess and live again in awareness of her love. I am also urged to co-ordinate the process of this soul-remembering and gather whatever gifts it might entail for expression in my present life.

A kahuna is a traditional Hawaiian (Lemurian) healer. This one indicates that I can be a healer too. He undergoes a series of transformations, moving through a variety of male roles which evoke almost all the spiritual forms I’ve been drawn to in this lifetime.  It is the fluidity of his shape-shifting that impresses me most, and the promise of being accurately mirrored by such a beautiful display. When he is finished, the master returns to centre, statuesque and still, all possibilities at rest inside him.

I feel deeply challenged by the implications of this dream. It tells me that I need to integrate positive potentials of these male roles which I have played in the past and bring them to a clear, creative resolution in the present for some purpose which is yet to be declared. I stress that there is no place for vanity in this. The work has yet to be done. Dreams don’t offer congratulations on past deeds.

My soul prompts me to ask one question only: where the ‘job’ is to be based. JT’s tone in responding makes it clear that his answer should have special meaning for me. It does: ‘Easterland’ refers to the promise of a ‘risen Earth’, beheld in the wonder of her spiritual being, yet renowned for her physical beauty and abundance. It also entails the resurrection of healed Lemurian Goddess energies, together with a re-integration of male warrior energies that got seriously lost in late Atlantis. This is what the master’s kinetic display was pointing towards. Retrieving balance across earlier fe/male lives will help me achieve such balance in the present.

This dream challenges me, after ‘dying’, to resurrect as all that I am qualified to be by virtue of my soul history and soul promise. Having arrived at this awareness, I crave further inspiration. This is what came:

 

I’m in the hallway of 35 New Bride Street, with C. I hold her from behind, my finger inside her. The hall is dark, dingy and run-down. Two women open the door, looking for number 9. I say I don’t know where it is and close the door but it keeps swinging open, so passers-by are able to see in.

Then we’re walking through a vastly bigger building, like a huge luxury hotel with many corridors and levels. The fittings are opulent and tasteful; the atmosphere airy and bright. Writing in sacred alphabets adorns the walls. I know that I have built this house.  It is my place. We stop at an elevator and go up to room 206, there to make love again. The room is vast and elegantly furnished, with a king-size bed at centre. C sits on it and starts to undress.

I go to the end of the room and find myself carrying a beautiful baby boy. His face is radiant. Catching my eye he says ‘Don’t want you’ cheekily. I carry him to C.

 

The first part of this dream takes place in the hallway of a house my grandmother lived in when I was a child. This was always a magical place for me, such was her fairy spirit and generous heart. The hall was not under her care and was often as described in my dream. A hallway is a transitional space. This one combines the possibilities of magic with an atmosphere of poverty and deprivation.

The theme of sexual healing is reintroduced but this would be less clear were it not for the impact of my earlier ‘temple’ dream. The hall’s cramped, dark atmosphere suggests something less edifying, which is why illumination is required. It is a core message of the present dream that our explorations as given are innocent. They unfold in a context of sacred marriage with my ‘new bride’ and are no less sacred by virtue of relocation, but note what happens next.

Two women interrupt our privacy, in search of number nine. By opening the door they let in floods of light and expose our love-making to public scrutiny. Nine is the number of spiritual ascension and, more immediately, of completing a cycle (leading to the ‘10’ of a new, higher beginning). Something is coming to an end, at least with respect to its current phase of realisation.

I close the door again to avoid further exposure/illumination but it keeps opening magically, as if of its own accord. Such persistence indicates that there is something which needs to be noticed here, something new to which I must attend.

At first I have no idea what this is, even after the abrupt transformation that follows. In the dream we are concerned only with breaches of privacy. I put awareness back in this scenario through re-enactment. The C figure is content. She feels trusting and safely held. My attitude as the male changes, however. Following the women’s intrusion I become self-conscious. The dingy hall becomes ‘dirty’ in a moral sense. Our activity becomes furtive, illicit and suspect.

A retrospectively determined sense of context comes to dominate my experience of our present. The judgmental ethos of my childhood falls with all its weight around us. Innocence is lost. I feel shamed in consequence of being ‘caught’. This is a far cry from our empowering temple ritual and adds another level of complication to already dysfunctional patterns of sexual conduct noted in my ‘Campfire’ dream (page 68).

Our delivery is spectacular and prompt.

The new building has the inner character of a temple, as well as the trimmings of a luxury hotel. This transformation evokes rebirth on a grander scale: stepping out from the dark confines of my past into a spacious area which needs no lighting from outside. This is something that is waiting to happen and in need of happening. My attention to this dream seeks to assist the transformation.

We are taken out of a cramped, dark, impoverished space into one which is expansive, opulent and bright: a total reversal. And, the dream teaches, this difference is created by consciousness. The opening scenario reflects limiting influences of my childhood formation and shows how these constrain my soul’s aspiration to greater life. The second scenario evokes the seemingly limitless potentials of adult transformation and stresses that awareness is key to their fulfilment.

The writing is in Arabic script, recalling the atmosphere of ‘Campfire’.   ‘Arabic’ evokes for me a world that is mysterious, generous, refined and inexplicably cruel. I associate it with smouldering eroticism but also the oppression of women. This may be simplistic but it is the associative base from which my dream is raised. A flowering of my ‘Arabic’ culture would eliminate oppression and promote free expression of its (my) currently latent potentials. As always, healing is prerequisite for this.

I pause before the writing. It ‘tells’ me I have built this house from memory to serve the promise of my soul. It is ‘a temple of my soul,’ including the currently returning parts revealed by JT’s photo album. This ‘temple’ is a house for my spirit and a projection of Spirit as pure consciousness. There is also a call to create material abundance in the dream, but this requires prior liberation from limiting imprints of my childhood conditioning.

We go up to room 206 to make love. Again there is an element of graduation with regard to the first scene and an agenda for healing with regard to ‘Campfire’. Several associations with the number 206 spring to mind. The first is 2006, the year of writing and of a mooted major transformation in my life. The second is the number 8, obtained by adding 2 and 6, or the 3 and 5 of ‘New Bride’ Street. 8 is the number of infinity. It also evokes a severing of old ties which impede consciousness growth. In the Aura-Soma colour healing system, 26 is the number of the ‘shock’ bottle, orange over orange. This helps people overcome deep trauma, frequently to do with sexual abuse (orange being the colour of the second chakra). None of this is coincidental. My soul knows that I will ‘get’ the associations.

For now, it seems, we have come through the difficult part. The room is very conducive. Easy communion has been restored. Male and female wills have entered into a newly gracious accord. A fresh level of sacred marriage will be celebrated. So fast is its energy that I conceive and deliver an already-speaking baby boy while C undresses. Despite this, he wants to be taken to his soul-mother, my other (feminine) half.

We have met the underlying symbolism before: once a new level of sacred marriage between the God/dess potentials in man and woman has been achieved, a new level of developmental consciousness is born of their enhanced union; an expansive, masculine power that knows instinctively it must attune to Centre, to Mother and knowledge of the Goddess.

This is classic myth, right down to the detail where C sits on the bed (centre) and I go to the end (edge) of the room. In traditional archetypal lore, the woman (feminine) holds centre while the male (masculine) goes to the edge, expanding horizons and discovering treasures which must then be returned to Centre for valuing and integration. These archetypal masculine-feminine traits are currently pressing for dynamic synthesis in the lives of many biological men and women.

It is a great blessing to achieve such balance in one’s life. Inner marriage generally precedes the outer in this respect, since external circumstances reflect the conditions of a reality that our inner dispositions draw upon us. It strikes me how often I now appear with C in dreams, after the isolation of my early Apache/soccer phase.

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I have never before had dreams like those reported here. The first brings me to a new level of departure from which many journeys will be undertaken by different aspects of my Self. This is a direct consequence of moving into the greater life made possible by my ‘death’ in the previous chapter. Such symbolic death represents the dissolution of a particular ego-stance. It enables a reconfiguring of soul-life, such that affected parts can enter new patterns of relationship. This is the substance of transformation, a continuing process whereby we come ever closer to embodying the truth of our existence.

For it to happen, wounds buried deep in our soul histories must rise into consciousness and find acceptance there. This leads to healing and release. ‘Campfire’ presents a graver challenge than I have ever encountered before in this respect. Despite its slight surface form, it carries archetypal resonances which I found utterly compelling. The desolation I experienced during its enactment is impossible to overstate. Also, its vision of the sundering of right relationship between male and female helped me to appreciate better why sacred marriage is emerging as a vital theme in our time.

Such marrying is needed to heal a fundamental split in contemporary human experience. I identify with the woman in my dream but am also responsible for clarifying the disposition of the male offenders. Healing this, I later found, would be a central theme through the entire sequence of my dreaming.

Thus it is not a coincidence that my next (kahuna) dream returns me to awareness of earlier female lives and Goddess culture, as well as presenting images of male integrity that accord with this evocation. This re-establishes a prospect of healing and joyous transformation. It reflects an energetic shift that began in me as a result of my ‘Campfire’ processing and brings a new promise to awareness, one that had been buried under levels of sundering I have only just begun to register.

 I wasn’t sure how to proceed beyond this point, despite being reminded of a male-female balance across the sequence of my former lives. The next dream helped by putting me in a situation where I have to explore further possibilities of sacred marriage and sexual healing. This happens initially in a cramped space that’s bound by imprints of my early formation but opens into a wonderfully expanded scenario where a new level of sacred marriage becomes available. Pursuing it leads to the birth of a new consciousness represented as a new male energy (baby) that wants to return to the Mother.  This is what the offenders in ‘Campfire’ most need. It is crucial for everybody, and especially men, in ways that Freud never allowed.

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