Second Sight (31 page)

“Where was your mother? Wasn't she around?”

James let out a deep sigh. “I'm just not sure. When my father got mad, she'd disappear. I guess she was pretty afraid of him, too.”

“Did he ever hurt you physically?”

“You mean did he ever break my bones?” James asked. “No…I don't think so. But he used to make me bend over and strap my buttocks and ankles with a thick leather belt. It would hurt so much. Sometimes I was black and blue for days. But it never got any worse than that. And he was like this for only about two years. When I was ten, he quit drinking for good. I remember that clearly because he and my mom would always argue about his drinking. It was a big deal for him to stop. Afterward, everything changed. He didn't hit me anymore. My father was nice again, back to his old self.”

Placed in this context, much of James's behavior now made better sense. Workaholism was the perfect front for him to hide behind. Frantically busy all the time, rarely taking vacations, staying so numb that he didn't have to feel or delve into the past, he had the typical profile of an abused child. James's dream, however, provided the trigger for his recall. The terrifying waves symbolized the danger and helplessness he felt about his father. Only by articulating the circumstances of his abuse and then dealing with his feelings could James begin to heal.

It took many months to sort this all through. Our initial session was just the first step. The experience of child abuse needs to be approached delicately: Such memories can be devastating, and require time to sink in. But once James was willing to retrace his steps, to face the reality of his father's actions and the impact they'd had on him, his recurring dream eventually stopped. Not surprisingly, he had his first psychic dream soon afterward. James was being led to the psychic even though it didn't come as directly as he had expected.

What fascinates me about psychological dreams is that many of them are common to us all. No matter how different we may appear to be, our inner struggles and needs are fundamentally similar. And so are the symbols our unconscious often uses to express itself—at times the format or themes in our dreams are identical to those of many other people.

For instance, whether you are male or female, you may have dreamed either that you have given birth or watched someone give birth at a point when something in your life has been fulfilled: a project is completed, you start a new job, or come into your own in some way. Whatever the circumstances, a birth dream is an affirmation of your growth and achievements.

Or perhaps in a dream you triumph over impossible odds. There is a flood, landslide, or storm and you survive. You get the courage to leave an unhealthy relationship. You rebuild your home after it has been leveled. You beat your opponent in a strenuous game of sports. These dreams are a reflection of your inner strength, a message of encouragement to believe in yourself, an assurance that no matter how trying the situation you can make it through.

Then there are those classic dreams—almost all of us have had them—in which your fears, anxieties, and insecurities surface. Do you recall the nerve-wracking scenario where you show up for an exam without anything to write with, or you arrive late and are locked out? The test is unbelievably difficult, yet you think you know the answers but can't even get in the door. Or how about the time you are chased by some horrifying pursuer? He's so close you can almost feel him breathing down your neck. But no matter how fast you run you can't seem to get away. Or the panic situation of driving your car down a steep grade and suddenly realizing that your brakes don't work? Frantically pumping them has no effect. The car's careening out of control but there's nothing you can do.

Recently, I had an anxiety dream at a point when I was feeling completely blocked in my writing, unsure about what new direction to take. In the dream, I'm shopping around for a new computer. Browsing in one of those chain stores that sell electronic equipment, I place my old computer down nearby on the floor. It holds all the material I've ever written on its hard drive, and I've foolishly made no backup disks. Absorbed in the new computers, I temporarily forget my old one. In that brief lapse, an unkempt, wild-eyed vagrant grabs it and goes tearing out of the store. Watching him, I'm so shocked that my heart practically stops. Years of hard work down the drain! I rush after him but it's too late. The man is gone.

This dream embodied some of my root anxieties: that I would never be able to write again, let alone in a fresh way, and that all the material I had written thus far would get lost. I strongly identified with the writer who was held hostage by his maniacal tormentor, brilliantly played by Kathy Bates, in the film
Misery.
Page by page, in front of his very eyes, she burns up the only copy of the novel he had been working on for the past several years. A comparable anguish for a writer I could not conceive.

I realized that this wasn't a psychic dream because it too perfectly depicted my own inner dynamics (although the next day I did double check to see if I'd backed up all my material—which I had). Rather, it was a message to have faith in my creativity, not to allow it to fall prey to my insecurities (represented by the thief), nor out of neglect (the drifting of my attention) to sacrifice what I had already attained in my writing in the search to try something new. Reflexively, I tend to resist the unfamiliar, though it may be for the better. The known, even if outmoded, just feels more comfortable to me. But this dream suggested the advantages of change (my interest in the new computers), as long as I honored and kept track of all my work.

The beauty of psychological dreams is that they help you recognize certain of your personality traits, some more productive than others, so you can take action and not become seduced by those that no longer serve you. Such dreams provide the ideal arena to uncover your hidden emotions. Fear, rage, and trauma can build up like toxins, often taking precedence over the psychic. Until you get the message and take compassionate stock of yourself, they will endlessly play out in your dreams.

The patterning of our unconscious is perfect. It has infinite patience and knows exactly what we need, even if our rational minds don't agree. It also knows how to prioritize. As you discard the old, as you clean house, your psychic instincts have more space to thrive. Of course it is possible to be psychic and never do this. But for scrupulous development, and to use the psychic for the highest good, you must strive for transparency. An impeccably tuned instrument is so much more precious than a neglected one, but it requires diligence and care. And you deserve the same. Although psychological dreams may not seem as glamorous as those that are psychic, they help you to stay conscious of your motivations so that you have the most to offer. The soulfulness of being psychic, for me, its greatest joy, is the giving of the gift in the most meticulous manner possible.

GUIDANCE DREAMS

Fire is raging behind me. I'm in a fertile field, running as fast as I can. Flames are devouring the land. I must get away before they devour me. Now the fire is about to overtake me; the heat is climbing up my back. The stench of the smoke is nauseating and I can hardly breathe. Suddenly I hear an authoritative but oddly removed, genderless voice whisper, “Stop running. The fire can't hurt you if you face it.” Out of sheer exhaustion, I decide to take this advice. The moment I turn around and look straight into the fire, the flames disappear.

This dream came to me at a time when I was very angry with a colleague of mine. We had once been close, but when we started running a clinic together our ideas clashed; tension was building between us. Instead of addressing the problem, we were each making heroic efforts to get along, but deep down I was seething. Then came this dream.

The message was direct: Unless I confronted my anger—which had grown so fierce that I had to use every ounce of self-control not to explode when I was with him—the fertile field, representing our once-thriving friendship and the success of the clinic, would be ruined. But there was pride on both our parts. We had taken some firm positions about certain policies, and we each felt justified.

The dream, which graphically portrayed the intensity and potential destructiveness of my anger, was telling me that it was both safe and essential to deal with this feeling, that the fire couldn't hurt me once I did. I rarely get this furious with anyone. But at those times, my rage often seems all-encompassing. I either bottle it up or try to smooth it over (even though I know better), afraid that it will consume me. The instructive voice I heard, whose detached but forceful tone was a tip-off that the dream was psychic, reminded me that this was a needless worry. I was being snagged by an old, unhealthy pattern, my tendency to stubbornly hold on to anger for too long when I think I'm right. Pointing out the futility of my position, the dream also depicted the mayhem it could reap.

This was a delicate situation. I knew how important it was to air our differences. But instead of waiting for him to make the first move, I decided to take the initiative. Tempted to resolve this whole mess right away, that morning I almost made an emergency call to his beeper. But something stopped me. Luckily, on an instinct, I first phoned my close friend Berenice, who studied meditation with me.

“It's amazing that you called,” she said, cackling with laughter on the other end of the line. “Last night I had the clearest dream about you. We were both sitting in a room with our teacher, but he never spoke a word to you. Instead, he looked over at me and said, ‘Tell Judith not to do anything now. She should let some time pass and allow everything to sink in.' I didn't have the faintest idea what he meant. Now it makes perfect sense.”

The directness of Berenice's dream stunned me: I couldn't have asked for a more definite response to my dilemma. So despite my impatience to set things straight, I took a few days to cool off. This gave me a chance to vent my anger privately, so that when my colleague and I met I wouldn't inadvertently dump everything on him. Once I had strategized, and come up with some new solutions and defined areas where I was willing to be flexible, I invited him out to lunch.

“I realize that I've been stubborn lately,” I admitted, “I want us to make a new beginning.” My colleague's face, tense moments before, now relaxed.

“You know, you're right,” he said. “You've been pretty hard to get along with…but so have I. Let's talk things through.”

The impeccable timing and elegant interaction between my dream of the fire and my friend's dream of my teacher reaffirmed for me the strength and diversity of the guidance available to us all. You can actively seek it out. Whether you appeal to a beneficent force outside yourself or to an inherent inner wisdom, dreams can respond directly or through others to help you.

There is a profound mystery to dreams, a power that can work wonders in your life if you let it. You begin to expand your options by recognizing the refined interplay between the guidance received in dreams and your waking awareness. Just because you've reached a dead end intellectually doesn't mean the answer isn't there. Your mind has limits you need to respect. By looking to your dreams, possibilities can appear that you may not have considered.

You can do this in any situation. When my mother was dying, it was the guidance of dreams that gave me the strength and wisdom to get through. Just know that if you are having a difficult time, your dreams can give you wise advice. This is also true of less severe circumstances. Maybe you have reached a turning point; you want to make a change but aren't sure what to do. Or maybe you are thinking of switching jobs, entering a new relationship, making a geographical move. Dreams can clarify your choices.

Whenever I'm confused about something in my life and need direction, especially when I'm too emotionally involved with a situation to do a clear psychic reading myself, I write a specific request on a piece of paper and then place it on a table beside my bed. This formalizes the process. In the morning, I record my dreams and look to them for the answer. If it doesn't come right away, I repeat my request each night until I'm satisfied. I recommend the same approach to my patients, and you can do it, too.

Ellen felt lost. A successful child psychologist who had recently turned fifty, she'd been in private practice for over twenty years and had grown dissatisfied with her work. After reviewing possible alternatives, she found nothing that appealed to her. Ellen came to me as a patient, following a year of soul searching, afraid that it was too late to make a change, feeling trapped and depressed. Since she had always been an avid dreamer, I suggested that she turn to her dreams for guidance.

Though Ellen was familiar with analyzing her dreams, she had never actually asked them for advice, or thought of herself as psychic. If dreams offered help, she gladly listened. But this happened infrequently; for her they weren't a consistently dependable source. Now, every evening before she went to sleep, she began jotting down one simple request:
Please help me find a meaningful direction in my career.
For a few weeks we went over her dreams. It seemed that she was getting no answers. Nonetheless, a strange pattern started to unfold. Apparently unrelated, tagged onto each dream, would be an unusual phrase, whimsical language such as “the pink brontosaurus,” “an upside-down sky” or “a gleaming strand of purple pearls.”

These phrases had a luminous quality that popped right out at me, made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. My reaction told me that we were on to something. But I still didn't quite know what it meant. “Keep a list of these phrases,” I said. “We'll take a look at it together and see what we come up with.” The result was over five pages of expressions that sounded as if they came out of Dr. Seuss.

“Does this have any significance for you?” I asked.

“Only that I've always been fascinated by unusual words,” Ellen said. “When I was a teenager I used to collect them, pin them up on my refrigerator door, and repeat certain ones aloud just to make myself laugh.” A wave of goose flesh rippled up my arms. I suddenly understood. The dreams were instructing Ellen to write.