Embodied Dreamwork Practices for Personal Growth and Transformation Part I
In a previous article I described different forms of dreamwork and how they can provide personal insight and keys to transformation. Hitherto my primary method of engaging with the dream was to examine their enigmatic symbols and imagery to inform my clients and myself of their internal and relational dynamics, as well as exercising ritual to show respect and gratitude to the Dream Weaver. In that article also, I briefly mention Bill Plotkin’s perspective, a method he refers to as Soulcentric Dreamwork. At the time of that writing, I found the method perplexing and was unable to adequately describe it. However, early this October, I had the opportunity to participate in a Soulcentric Dreamwork intensive at the Animas Valley Institute in Cortez, CO. Guided in this practice by skilled facilitators, it reinforced much of what I know to be true about dreams, namely that they are a form of consciousness distinct and complementary to the ego that pervades our waking life. Engaging with the various practices that comprise the method, primarily relating to the dream as one would an ‘other,’ I found myself forever transformed in my perceptions and in my approach to working with our nighttime film reel. I will utilize my experience of connecting to split off aspects of myself over the course of the five-day, four-night intensive to illustrate the practice of soulcentric dreamwork.
The Basics of Soulcentric Dreamwork
Whereas traditional dream analysis has relied upon the authority, expertise, and knowledge of a therapist to interpret meaning from a dream in the context of a patient’s analysis, soulcentric dreamwork is a practice that can be initiated by anyone at any stage of dreamwork. The method of permitting the dream to do its work on you is one that is enigmatic at first, but once one is introduced to the practices of working with the dream, its import and power cohere. Instead of looking to the dream and prying out information, one is asked to step back experientially into the dream world. Recall the dream as though it were happening in this moment. Pay attention to any feelings, emotions, or memories that come up in the course of telling the tale. Once the dream is complete, remain in the liminal space; look at the entire dream as though it were a mosaic or painting. What themes or qualities are present there? Is it sad? Disoriented? Wrathful? Frightening? Investigate these feelings further and identify which elements of the dream possess this theme more potently.
Figures of the dream can be enormous help when we bring them into our conscious awareness and dialogue with them in various ways. The figures that come through are personifications of other parts of our psyche, autonomous and whole all on their own. One can dialogue with them and be curious around what they have to say as if we were in conversation with an external other. One can walk with them in a wild or semi-wild place as one would an old friend. One can embody the figure in imagination , i.e. become them, adopt their motions, express their feelings, scream how they screamed, cry how they cried, and observe how this manifests in our body. We can also allow them to lead us on wanders in wild places, visit the places they would like us to see. Their awareness is greater and more tapped into the broad cosmic field than our own ego awareness – you may be surprised by the experiences encountered when following the lead of a dream animal. I will elucidate all of these by example further in the article.
One last tenement is that, while dreams are most vivid at night, it is a process that continues throughout the day beneath the surface of our conscious awareness. The stars that shine brightly at night are still present during the day, but they are drowned out by the vigorous light of the sun. Another part of us dreams even as we move about our day. Just as our hearts do not cease to beat nor our diaphragm fail to expand, our unconscious elements perpetually operate. Dreams can be accessed during the daytime by opening to altered states of consciousness: through dance or intuitive movement, psychedelic drugs, physical exhaustion, or prolonged wanders in wild place.
Setting Out
One of the tenants I hold with dreams is that they are sacred mysteries presented by another side of our being. Our nighttime dreams are so vivid due to the fact that our ego is at rest. In working with clients and my own dreams, I have found that paying attention to them and setting intention has a profound effect on how dreams present and are remembered. My own dream life sprouted violently after I began therapy with a Jungian-oriented therapist. Speaking to friends and clients about their dreams tends to have the same effect – they become richer in imagery, longer, and better recalled. It is as though the Dream Weaver recognizes that the ego is attending, and says “Ah, now that you know I have something to say, allow me to SHOW you.” The days leading up to my journey to Colorado had a similar effect. My dreams became longer, more convoluted, and the recall of rich detail and esoteric images was greater than I had ever experienced. The Dream Weaver responded to my intention – She knew I was listening by the commitment of my action.
I set up camp in Flagstaff, AZ, exhausted from a long day of driving. My dreams had intensified over the course of the last week, and as I approached the site of the intensive, it upped the violence of its emergence.
The Dream: I am in a well-tended and well-attended resort in the middle of a national park, many families coming in and out. I walk away from the business of the resort to the more modest accommodations, where I take out my laptop and begin to write. I don’t get very far, and start to dance in the middle of the grass. A grizzly old man, bearded and heavy-set sits smoking a cigar, watching me. He says “most of these people can’t relax unless they do a fuckin’ weekend warrior pose first.” He turns his full attention towards me. “You gotta do it because you enjoy it. Just because you enjoy it.” I inquire further. He laughs from his gut. “Haha oh, that’s just for me.” I become dizzy and can barely keep my feet. I look down at the ground, where a perfect rectangle extends deep into the earth, prismatic and infinitely faceted.
I am now in the lodge with the group I came in with. It is dark – I’m the only one up. I peer quietly into each room, trying to discern which is mine. As I open one four dogs spill out, and I see their owners asleep. Shit ! I can’t see any of the dogs, but I can touch them. I knock something off one of their heads. He thanks me for knocking it off, that he doesn’t care for it but his master makes him wear it, speaking with me telepathically. I can feel by his hair that he is some sort of doodle mix. One of his owners, the master of which he speaks, comes out into the living room. She asks if we should put his bonnet back on. I inform her he doesn’t like it. I see an art piece up on the wall. It is a flat canvas that dips into a bowl, the material eerily similar to the dog’s fur. I grow intensely angry at this recollection. He’s just another decoration to you, isn’t he? I say that she must enjoy that material, and she responds with “That’s what I don’t like about therapists. What has it done for you?” “Well, for one it’s allowed me to talk to animals.” Several women come in, there to partake of this woman’s yoga class. I step out to the deck. On top of the picnic table is a massive 150-pound French bulldog, its golden fur beset with a pattern of interwoven eyes. I will follow this mystery pup on one of my wanders throughout the land.
Notice how when I describe the dream, I speak in the present tense as if it were happening now. I note my conversations with dream figures, as well as my intense reactions to them. All the while, I am having to check my tendency to want to draw an interpretation from the dream images, which will put me back into my ego. The prismatic rectangle descending into the earth is a most difficult one!
Connecting to an Abandoned Inner Child
The first night of the intensive I was confronted by a young black man on the streets of San Francisco. He had sores on both cheeks and his forehead that looked halfway healed. He came up to me and insisted that I “owed [him] money.” You must have me confused, friend. No, he knew exactly who I was and continued to push and shove me: “You owe me.” What did I owe this man? His eyes seemed dull and soulless. The rapidity of his speech and looseness of his words made me think he may be intoxicated on methamphetamine. He pushed me up against a wall, the people nearby and a tiny police officer uncaring of the predicament I was in. He stuck something to my chest. “Please, don’t hurt me. I can see you’re a reasonable guy.” I look down and recognize that he’s sticking me with a comb. He wanted my full focus and attention; he didn’t want to hurt me.
When I awoke the next morning I brought him back into my awareness and asked him what it was that I owed him. “Love and attention!” he shouted. It was clear that he was a shadow figure of some kind. Beyond that I didn’t know.
This concludes Part I of the article. Click here for Part II.
The Sentient Soul
