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My Art Therapy Journey

Posts tagged Dream

 

I wrote about this sad egg last night.  Otherwise known as the bad egg (more images in my last post.)

I’m back to look at it again.  I slept on it.

It needed some incubation.

 

I dreamt about ceramics class.

I dreamt that I was in class with my current teacher’s wife, which while it sounds strange (yet, perhaps fitting for me if you’re familiar with my life) it’s not really too weird because my teacher’s wife is also a ceramics teacher at the school I attend.  In fact, I had attempted taking her class the semester I got pregnant with my  (now) toddler and quit (without officially withdrawing) because of pregnancy issues and I got an “F.”

An F.

That was an “F” to replace my “C” I had earned the semester 5 years earlier with her husband because I up and quit before final critique and the final written test in class after I was affected by one of my classmates committing suicide in the same class.

He was there one day, a nice, quiet guy…and then gone.  And I only knew he was gone because his dad came to class to pick up his stuff one day and then my teacher made a vague announcement about him not returning.  Ever.

You can take a class 3 times before the school cuts you off and won’t allow any more re-do’s.

So this is it.

My last chance at Ceramics 1.

 

I don’t remember all of my dream last night.

I basically remember being in trouble for something I did.  I think I might have missed a class and my teacher was irritated at me.  And I am really sensitive about irritating people.  I don’t like to do it, which is ironic since I probably do it a lot.  I’m probably irritating you now!

I remember a charcoal drawing of a pot, and I remember asking questions about it.  There were things I didn’t understand.  Stuff about orthogonal lines that confused me.  And I love basically everything about art, but when it comes to orthogonals I definitely tune out.

 

So I woke up thinking about what I labeled my bad egg.

I never give up on things.  It’s both what has kept me going and kept me from going, at times.

It’s my love/hate relationship with tenacity.

It’s my war.

It’s my life.

In some way, it’s me.

 

At one time I used the word as an online moniker.

 

I want this egg to succeed.  When it started out I didn’t really care that much about it.  I just wanted to complete this assignment and move on to one I was interested in.  But then, it evolved.

And I had feelings.

And people saw.

And I had questions.

It developed a purpose.

 

If you really want the truth, it’s not really my project at all.  It’s a kid inside me’s project.  I didn’t care much about this one, so I handed it over, I guess.

And so…

And so what?

 

And so, I don’t know.

 

So I’m going to ask more questions for this one, inside.

I’m not going to give up on helping things along.  It needs a little help.

She needs a little help.

Maybe a lot.

 

The long, hard night is over.

Today is another day.

I’ll sit on it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The Selflessness of Dreams

(the unedited and unproofread version…proceed with caution and coffee if you’re the slightest bit tired and still interested)

It’s not that nothing has been going on.  In fact, most people could probably attest that when they are most quiet is when quite a lot is actually “going in.”

…But how to define “going on?”

 

What is it I have been so busy with?

I could probably come up with a physical list only a few items deep:  Being a family woman, a mother, a student….but then there’s something missing.

Something actually just a bit bigger than all of those labels, actually.

I have to admit I have mostly been busy being me.  That’s right.  Just me.

I know I fill those roles and they matter a ton to me, though I couldn’t individually weigh them.

But really, I feel like the biggest, most expansive, consuming thing that’s been going on lately is just me…living.  Me living includes being married and those responsibilities, as well as being a mother and all those personal investments, but there’s been even more.

Life right now is filled with being created.  I create along the way, I step back, I let things happen to me.  I let this other force I feel in my life actually touch me.  What I feel touching me is somewhat undefined, but there is no question of its presence.  I’m being made into something/someone new…at least different.  At the same time I feel myself returning to who I always was…who I was before my time ever even began.

This sounds mystical.  A little off?

It sounds, even to me, like I could be having some kind of psychosis or delusions…..

But I’m pretty sure that if that is what I am experiencing then life exists squarely in the mix of it and that I am not alone in it either.  The fact that you, too, are here verifies that you are in this with me also, does it not?  Sorry, no exemptions.  You’re here or you’re not.  Are you here?  That can be a challenging question at time…I know for myself.

But then, life is not always so clear-cut.  Sometimes it is possible to be two places at once.  I know this, also as fact, for myself.

 

Everything has been in a wild sort of shift.  Motherhood, my student body, and wifedom.  My three most prominent schedulers right now.

But then, there’s that other player…Me.  And while “Me” is made up of those other things,  ”Me” is defined as one with spirit….

And so I have grappled with my spirituality.

Spirituality, which for me, is so closely tied to every cell within me.  And every cell, which is so closely tied to memory.  And memory to history…and history to, well….everything that has ever existed, seen or unseen.

 

Wow, I’m not proofreading and editing as I go so this could be a long, wandering ramble.

Probably the more people get to know me, the more strange I seem.  Or maybe I’m just flattering myself with that thought.  Suppressed egotism.  It’s got to be in there somewhere.

Besides, I’m just talking about all of this nonsense because I’m deathly afraid of sharing my real feelings.

 

Like the pains and the loneliness.  The everyday defeats and how even triumphs sometimes pang me.

This is part of “Me” and all the busyness, I know…but I’d rather come off as completely crazy than talk about these potentially understandable feelings.

 

Lately, I’ve been more present in my life, though it wouldn’t seem like it probably in this “letter.”

Some days I handle it better than others.

Today is kind of a rough one.

But I’m here, so this could, perhaps, be counted as a panged triumph, for an example of that pang I just spoke of.

 

Last night, which I suspect was actually very early this morning, I had a most odd of oddly dreams.  (But then, everything has been a bit odd seeming lately.)

It’s definitely one of those dreams to write to your therapist about (which I may well do, for good measure.)

I was in this house, and it was supposedly a house I knew somehow, but I’m not actually sure of the details.  But anyway, I was in this house of sorts and it was like at some point I was in this house with other people and we were all being led on a house tour.  And we got to this part of the tour and there was this passageway and it was so very, very, extremely narrow and all that could be seen was dark inside of it.  There was no way of telling what was in this passageway.  But to get through the tour and to eventually exit the house you had to go through this tunnel.   I saw someone else go up the tunnel.  They just walked up the steps and continued up through the covered passage (step were going up like a ladder) and disappeared.  No sounds or noise.  No commotion or cries for help.  They simply disappeared as if they had never been there.  And the guide for this tour was leading me to this spot and I neared it and felt my hands around the opening and I stopped there, not going further.  People were behind me talking amongst themselves, seemingly unconcerned about this passage.  (It had a very Johnny Depp, Alice in Wonderland /Charlie and the Chocolate Factory feel to the atmosphere…dark, strange, otherworldly) And the leader finally addressed me and said for me to go through this passage and I voiced my concern that the passageway was too small and tight for me and that I would get stuck (um….yeah, I am an artist, but NOT a fiction writer…I swear I am not making this up!)   He said it would be fine and to just go.

***This ends my account of my dream***

Except, I think I went into the passageway and I don’t really remember the rest.

Cliffhanger?

I’m not sure, but I’m a bit uneasy about sleep tonight, as if I am ever really easy about it!

 

I want comfort.  I want something or someone to come hold me and assure me that it really isok and that it really IS going to be alright, and I really am not too fat.  Because I’ve been dealing with extreme body feelings along with everything else too.

But right now it seems there is no comfort.  There’s just this narrow passageway I have to go into alone.  It seems like a place to experience every fear I have ever had.  Alone.

And maybe that is the biggest fear of all…Abandonment? Death?

For sure the feeling of Loneliness has been consciously tantamount.  So why would I need a dream about it??!

Maybe this is about something else entirely different, after-all.

I just wish I could figure it out so I could move on to a different dream….

Better dreams….

And on the subject of dreams….Being a dreamer can be lonely…and now maybe I understand that just a little bit better/deeper/differently.

 

One of the first papers I ever wrote in college for Composition I nearly 12 years ago (I was something like 21 years old) was titled “Dream’s Reality” covering Freud’s Interpretation of Dreams.  What can I say, Ambition is not just a fad for me.

 

All these years later and I’m still not a professional therapist.  I went the professional client route, I’m selfless.

Today during Shavasana at the end of my yoga class we  (the class) were guided into a place we dream of, any place we’d like.

I have my place.  I know right where it is.  It’s actually somewhere I’ve had the grace to really sit, even though I had seen it inside me before I was ever there in person.

When I found my place…that special place in the world that is just mine…I knew it.  It was the place I had escaped to for  years.  It was like a working of faith.

But  my place in the world is a really small space in the grand scheme of things.  And when I place myself back in that special place in the world that’s mine, the scope is usually just enough for me to cram myself into it, barely.   I can rarely see anything around me or even see myself.  The surrounding areas are dark and I don’t have access to the full picture.  I get a very limited view, but I’m always excited this place is open to me at all (in my mind.)

Today something was different.  My place, the workings of my faith changed and opened up.  The story grew.

I was on my rock in the meadow, woods all around.  And then I got up and started to move.  And bears (my most feared animal and creature of nightmares) started coming to the edge of the woods where my place in the meadow begins.  They came and they would not cross over into my meadow.  They stood and watched me.  The bears couldn’t get me…Why?  Because I was dancing.  I danced in the fear and the joy was enough to stun them into awe.  They could only watch me…and never eat me.  I was stronger than the fear.  I knew they were there and I still danced.  I danced and leapt  and swung myself around and I ran and jumped like a giddy little girl.  My body knew no pain.

At the end of this sort of meditation, one more piece of the picture appeared in the frame: People who have hurt me.

Those people, like the bears at the edge of the woods, could not get me.  They could only watch in utter amazement at the life of me.

And I….could only be free.

(Image Source)