“The dream is a little hidden door in the most innermost and most secret recesses of the soul, opening into that cosmic night which was psyche long before there was any ego-consciousness, and which will remain psyche no matter how far our ego-consciousness extends.” ~ Carl Jung
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When I was eight, I was adopted by my mother’s first cousin.

Let me back up. When I was five, my mama passed away from cancer. My rising sign is Cancer, and I don’t find that to be a coincidence, but that’s another story.

I lived with my maternal grandmother for three loving years after my mother’s passing, then came to Canada to live with my new family.

The situation with my adoptive parents was bleak, cold, highly unhealthy and confusing from the start. I felt scared and alone, like a tiny pebble floating in a great big sea, with no shore in sight. The only respite was a summer house on a slowly meandering river, where we spent every weekend and most of each summer.

Our two-acre wooded lot and the miles of forest surrounding it became the mother I had lost. I didn’t have the words for it as a child, but I self-mothered by immersing myself in nature. Every leaf, every cloud, every mushroom and decomposing autumn leaf, every element of the Great Mother nurtured my aching soul. Little did I know then that water was the most present element in my natal chart. The river was home, a sanctuary in a bewildering world. My daughters also grew up on that river, with many fond memories.

In my fortieth year, my mom and I sold the cottage; our family moved on, precious memories tucked firmly into our hearts. Except for me. I didn’t move on. The land and the river were so imprinted on me that for many, many years I had a recurring dream signaling my refusal to let go.

In this dream, I kept going for weekends at the cottage as usual, knowing that it was no longer ours, a little bit anxious that we’d get caught, but by some luck, the new owners never came or caught us in the act. Although I wasn’t able to go back physically, my soul kept making the pilgrimage to where I felt most safe as a child. These dreams stopped about five years ago, but a new dream has taken its place.

In my new dream, I am with my first-born daughter floating in a canoe noticing that the forest around the cottage is being cut down to make room for a neighborhood. But as the dream evolves, the forest is gone and a whole city has grown up around the river. The area is unrecognizable. Everything that had given me solace in my childhood had been paved over.

There is Truth in Symbolism

In the river, I witness the flow of my experiences, of time, of grief and emotions. The river of my dreams is tied to my family, my inner child, and a place that held deep meaning for me.

In my dream, I process my connection to the past, the grief of letting go, and the transitions I am going through now as an elder/wise woman, for whom nostalgia serves a certain purpose. That purpose is weaving wisdom from my childhood. What had cradled me in safety for so many years, and offered my children their own wilderness, continued to serve me in my dreams.

Canoeing with my daughter as a reflection has a lot to do with wanting to nurture my grown child, while witnessing her journey through life. The river may be a metaphor for the challenges we have faced and the flow of our emotions toward each other. In my dream I felt honored to witness the changes with my firstborn. She too has special memories of becoming a strong swimmer submerged in that early watery muse.

The cottage and the forest—interestingly, our cottage was built as an octagon (in sacred geometry it represents balance and harmony and the union of heaven and earth), and stood on funny pillars of stone and mortar—in my dream often transform into Baba Yaga’s hut on chicken feet. This Slavic archetype is one of my main teachers since entering my Wise Woman years post-menopause. The fact is, the sale of the cottage initiated big changes in my life. It was the seeming end of something I was deeply connected to, and the de-forestation whispers that my sense of security had been stripped away.

As an adult, I’ve had to find ways of building inner security that didn’t depend on others or a place.

The city growing up around the river shows me how little control I have in life (I have thrived on controlling my environment, or have I?), and that I can’t undo certain things that have happened. I am searching for deeper roots lately, searching for the place of my father’s burial and putting together the pieces of my birth family.

I have been dealing with feelings of regret as well for how certain things have turned out in my life, retracing my steps, wishing I had made different decisions. Nostalgia and reality don’t always coincide. My inner conflict between cherishing something in my past and knowing that the world and my life has moved on feeds my soul travels at night.

As I witness changes around me, I think about the legacy I’m leaving my children, and hoping that it’s what they and the world need.

I wake up to a sense of loss and sadness: the before…the river and forest, a seemingly simpler time, and the city, the after…the loss of something familiar and healing.

There have been many encounters with grief in my life. I do believe that grief is an ally, a faithful teacher, and I don’t shrink from it:

>> Grief teaches me that some things can’t be reclaimed, but the sweetness of whatever I’m missing remains.

>> Dreams often address more than one aspect of one’s emotions or psyche. In dream travel, we can bundle our hurts and what feels unforgivable. Paying attention to the symbolism and themes helps us to unravel the mystery. What surfaces in those jumbled or clear recollections points to what the heart wishes to move through. Dreams belong to the domain of the moon. There are times of illumination and times when all feels hidden. I attempt not to overthink this, or try to push through something when it is content to lie in my periphery. Usually, an acuteness will trigger a deeper dive, otherwise, we co-exist.

A Ritual

Our dreams are a road to inner wisdom. Dreams sort the seeds of our experiences and can make the unconscious conscious. They are a source of guidance, even if we don’t remember all the details in our waking hours.

I like to use herbs within the spiritual practice of dreamwork. It is said that when we sleep, the soul travels. I believe that that travel is both outward and inner bound. One of my favorite allies in dreamwork is Mugwort, sometimes on its own, other times mixed with Motherwort. Connected thus to Earth Mother through plant medicine, we are at once grounded and expansive. Chamomile is another way to receive visions during dream time. I tuck dried or fresh herb under my pillow, drink the tisane, or make an incense.

A journal dedicated to dreamwork and recollection should sit by the bedside, with a ready pencil or pen, to take down your first impressions. If you can’t remember details, record how you felt in your dream. You can also write an incantation calling in whatever the soul wants to explore. After one year, perhaps at a certain point such as an Equinox or Solstice, read back whatever you surrendered to the pages. You’ll be surprised at the wealth of what has been revealed.

I hope you can find sparks of inspiration from your own dreams, digging up nuggets of inner gold.

“No dream symbol can be separated from the individual who dreams it, and there is no definite or straightforward interpretation of any dream.” ~ Carl Jung

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