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Dream: 6.10.15

June 10, 2015

Staying with Aunt Carol in New Mexico, along with Spouse. We’d been doing particular things on week nights, and I’d been behaving incorrectly, not knowing any better. We (I, really) kept waffling over “what’s expected of us?” “we’re just visiting, right?” “We don’t have very many resources ourselves. If this stuff happens every week, we’ll run out lickety-split. Maybe save up our contributions until later?”

During the session where Aunt Carol explained, she handed me a folded check, which she intended to help round out our contributions. I put it away without looking at it.

Aunt Carol: “You two have now attended several Thursdays’ potluck dinners, without contributing anything of real value. And then you showed up for some Fridays’ festivities. Well, people in the community all pitch in, donating resources on Thursday nights, which make Fridays’ festivities possible.”

I was chagrined.

After she left, I looked at the check, expecting maybe a couple hundred bucks; it was $1000.


While the dream was happening, I felt like dream-Aunt Carol intended some of the money in the check to go to Spouse and me, as an ‘investment’ in us. But now, that seems all wrong.

= = =

Before bed last night, I finished reading Feminist Archetypal Theory: Interdisciplinary Re-Visions of Jungian Thought, edited by Estella Lauter and Carol Schreier Rupprecht.

From Carol Rupprecht’s chapter, something I copied into my daybook for reference:

Follow Hillman’s recommendation to ‘befriend’ your dreams. Live with them, carry them around with you; paint or draw or dance or sing them; get acquainted with your dream population, menagerie, language, and geography. … Dreams become more meaningful when they are seen as part of a series. The series of dreams in one night, in one month, or one year will often show a lateral homology, that is, a continuity across apparently disparate forms and contents, which reflects archetypal patterns in your sleeping and waking life. Use the Jungian processes of active imagination and amplification to involve your waking self in your dream life and to facilitate the flow of energy between conscious and unconscious. (p. 211)

= = =

Carol Rupprecht also wrote about synchronicity, a pet interest of mine. And as it happens, this book was published in 1985, the year my life not only fell apart, but the year I started re-visioning it.

The sweep of my life is only now, 30 years later, starting to make sense to me.

= = =

As I went to bed, I was mulling over going back through my dream journal, or maybe just the dreams I’d written about on the blog, and seeing if I could find motifs that connect and synergize each other.

My Aunt Carol rarely appears in my dreams, but the real person was a key figure in my life in 1985.

In 1985, we were living together in OKC, but… I had previously lived with her/been visiting for a while when I was much younger, when she lived in New Mexico. And that was also a very significant node in my life.

Whenever I dream about New Mexico, it’s significant. Even though I haven’t been able to figure out exactly what NM represents. But it’s definitely something primal. Well, I think I remember a visit there during which I was pre-verbal — it’s my earliest memory.

= = =

‘Community’ is a very tricky concept for me, because I don’t feel like I’ve ever been a full member, wanted, in any community. Most especially not my family of origin.

But the ‘community’ in the dream whom I’d inadvertently transgressed against, didn’t feel like that type of community. The dream people’s community felt like masters of some life practice, integrating the metaphysical with everyday life. Like ancient elders.

Aunt Carol was a liaison between us, vouching for me as a worthy applicant to be an apprentice (even though she hadn’t mentioned any of that to me yet). So it was especially important that I be respectful, even when/especially when I didn’t really know what was going on, or what it meant.

In that context, me holding onto resources that I could have contributed, but didn’t, doesn’t just look like tendencies toward hoarding when I’m unsure of myself, but actively looks like… maybe I don’t yet have the generosity to meet Fate with an open heart and open hands.

And definitely, when dream-Aunt Carol gave me the check, and I was thinking to myself about how much I might be able to, ‘in good conscience’ [hah!] hold back for me/us, because surely she didn’t expect us to give all of it away!


I guess I really truly am not ready to be an apprentice yet.

Here, in waking life, I thought I was well into my apprenticeship. I thought I was doing well at it, too.

= = =

The book had a whole chapter on the Descent of Inanna, and her encounters with Ereshkigal. All about sacrifice, and killing your old life to go deeper. Ereshkigal’s been my patron for about 10 years. I read the chapter, deeply, but I guess I must assumed that I understood it better than I really do.

What am I refusing to let go of?

Gods, what’s left? Hasn’t my heart been ripped in half enough times yet?!?

I have no family. I don’t get along with my in-laws. Spouse is my only friend.

I have no job, no career, no profession. (And I was always a person who over-identified with her job.)

I’m not the Pagan I was. I’m not an environmentalist, a scientist; I’m not even really a feminist anymore.

I’m not a cis woman anymore.

I was never a parent, so I’ll never be a grandparent. I’m no one’s beloved aunt/uncle/zun.

I don’t know what I ‘want to be’. I can’t even imagine the future a few months from now, never mind a few years down the road.

What is left of me to give up?

Oh, wait.

Is that what I’ve been hoarding? What’s left of ‘me’? This sorry collection of ends and odds that don’t seem to fit together?

= = =

From 1.22.15 blog post, I wrote: “I’m just a tiny overlooked scrap of ugly patchwork, cobbled together, poorly made”.

I copied that into my poetry journal because it cried out to be dealt with in more fullness. I thought a poem, but… maybe it’s my whole life that needs reworking.

Except not ‘reworking’ in my usual tinkering way. Maybe I need… gods… another fucking forest fire that burns everything to the ground.

You’d think I’d get used to the process — I’ve been through it a whole bunch of times now.

It always rips me apart, though. It’s supposed to. That’s the whole fucking point.

= = =

And maybe. . . living ‘for me’ . . . isn’t actually sufficient.

Let’s be honest. The garden this year is a disappointment. But even if it were flourishing, that’s not sufficient. I need human beings to talk to. Human beings that actually care about me. Human beings that, oh, write back?

I need there to be a human place that I fit. A human community.

{Gods, I hated saying that.}

I’m not actually a tree. In this life, anyway.


4 Comments leave one →
  1. June 10, 2015 18:05

    Is destruction and sacrifice the only way to do this? It seems, from the outside, like maybe embracing, fully jumping in, and *not holding anything _back_* is actually the thing that’s needed. When I read your dream description, and often the other things you write, I see this as a theme. Happy to discuss more in whatever medium would work for you, if you like.

    • June 10, 2015 18:08

      Also happy to metaphysically read for you, if that’s useful.

      • June 11, 2015 01:42

        I don’t know what’s entailed, but that definitely sounds interesting/useful.

    • June 11, 2015 01:41

      That’s a thought-provoking observation. With Ereshkigal being as important to me as she’s been, I tend to default to thinking of destruction & sacrifice first.

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