Returning to Our Dreams While many cultures (in fact, most!) have viewed dreams as spiritually and communally significant, mainstream culture and conventional healthcare in the United States tends towards a blasé disposition regarding dreams. As avid dreamers may know, this can often be felt interpersonally. If you’ve ever excitedly shared a dream with someone, only to have their eyes glaze over, you’ll know what I mean. It is a blessing and a treasure to have loved ones who will listen intently to our night-time journeys. I recently finished a short novel called The Kin of Ata Are Waiting For You by Dorothy Bryant. In some ways, this was a harrowing book that was difficult for me to read, but never had I read a book that placed dreaming at its center like this one did. I found that it moved me deeply and stirred my heart into longing for a world that shares this intentional, mindful relationship to our dreamtime. In ancient Greece (and in similar temples throughout the ancient world) there are examples of how dreams were a primary part of medicine and were held with real reverence. In Asklepion temples for instance, travelers would come from near and far to engage in “temple sleep.” This often entailed a ceremonial process of purification that required not only the pilgrimage to the temple itself, but included dietary changes, fasting, prayers, and ritual offerings. These acts were all a part of petitioning the gods for a particular dream. After these preparations and dream incubations, dreamers would sleep in the temple space. Any dreams received would then be shared with the temple stewards, who would help to translate the dreams as a means of addressing and remediating the dreamers’ illnesses, anguishes and questions. The Egyptian word for dream is rswt, a word whose root means “to be awake.” As described in The Secret History of Dreaming by Robert Moss, the hieroglyphs used in the word rswt are followed by a symbol that depicts an open eye, suggesting that dreams are not an ignorant or trivial by-product of consciousness, but a space of open-eyed awareness and seeing. The Temiar people of Malaysia also have an intimate spiritual relationship to dreams, seeing them as a landscape in which to communicate with spirits of the earth. In these dreams, natural presences such as mountains, plants and rivers, appear to share their songs of healing and protection with the dreamer. In Arnhem Land of Australia, the Yolngu people consider dreams as a space where the living and dead interact. In Tibetan Buddhism, dreams are seen as an opportune space to exercise the dissolution of the ego, or to receive dharmic teachings and karmic insights. Contrary to these examples, Western psychology and neuroscience have largely viewed dreams as disconnected from any wider intelligence. Freud said of dreams that they have “nothing to communicate to anyone else.” This perspective is a part of our psychological lineage, the idea that dreams may have personal significance but are not relevant to others in our community or collective. Scientifically, the exploration of what dreams are and what their purpose is is ongoing, though it has long been espoused that dreams are a random firing of synapses, a sort of mechanistic decompiling of memories, events, and feelings from daily life. In a recent podcast on dreams from Wisconsin Public Radio called “To the Best of Our Knowledge,” host Anne Strainchamps refers to dreams as an “endogenous therapy.” While I do agree, this too suggests that dreams may be of use to the dreamer but that they serve an individual purpose. Holding these contrasting perspectives, it seems clear that a culture’s understanding of dreams is colored by their pre-existing philosophies. In a culture that prizes individualism and rationality, dreams are a reflection of the same. Where we find paradigms of animacy and interconnectedness, dreams are experienced as an element of a wider conversation, one where we are not at the center, but involved in a set of exchanges with myriad spiritual and earthly presences. Regardless of our unique beliefs regarding the origination or meaning of dream processes, what can be observed time and again, is the relational quality of dreaming. Dreams are very responsive to our attention and responsive to our conscious and unconscious concepts. If one dismisses dreams as irrelevant and random, it is likely that the potency of their aid and insight will be missed, or absent. Similarly, if we open to them with curiosity, with a conversational and enthusiastic demeanor, it is often surprising just how quickly they unfurl and bloom open to share their apparently limitless and strange wisdom with us. So, I invite not a quantification of dreaming (though I bless and thank all the magicians of the mind and microscope out there for your enduring studies of the brain!) and instead call us into a grand turning: a turning towards the dream. A heart-opening towards the dream. Turning towards our dreams, especially as a potential avenue for healing, is a great act of trust and faith. Dreams are a part of the mystery. When we turn towards them, we turn towards something that we don’t understand, something that will surprise us, something that is not algorithmic or predictable or entirely trackable. To turn towards this great oceanic unknown with the faith that you will find support can be very healing in and of itself. It can begin simply. When you wake up, keep your eyes closed. See if your dream is still there. Notice the colors, the sounds, the visions that you were experiencing. Write them down, or sketch what you saw. Experiment with having gratitude for your dreams, and see what changes. Even the littlest nods of attention to your dream world can help them become more active, vibrant, and clear. Blessings to you on your dream journeys. I’ll be back with more in days to come. Ophilia www.planetarybloom.com
