“There is no coming to consciousness without pain. People will do anything, no matter how absurd, in order to avoid facing their own soul. One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious.” — C. G. Jung from CW 12, par. 126 and “The Philosophical Tree” (1945). In CW 13: Alchemical Studies
The dream began in a nearly total darkness, with only a sliver of light highlighting the edges of the highway. I seemed to be floating along the road, as I was not inside my car or able to discern any structure around me. It took a few minutes, but I suddenly recognized the location as the road I traveled in the “deep forest vision,” mentioned in the previous post. It felt oddly serene to be traveling in this way, although I wondered briefly why I would even entertain the notion of returning there, and as I approached what seemed to be the edge of the forest, I began to feel a creeping, gradually increasing sensation of dread. This night had already been stressful, and it felt as though the split between my inner and outer self was widening as the dream progressed.
Before I was able to set my feet on the ground, I had to slow my self by dragging them along the surface of the area approaching the clearing where I had previously observed the tree without any leaves. Once I was able to walk on my own, I deliberately began running away from that place, as I had no interest in revisiting it after what had happened there. Before I knew it, I had stumbled upon an open field. I felt my hands lightly touching the tips of tall grass as I walked toward a small, somewhat battered house, which initially felt disconcerting. I heard the distant sound of ocean waves breaking on the shoreline, and wondered why I had not heard them during my last visit. As I approached the house, it seemed much less inviting, and my pace slowed as an ominously darkened interior beyond my viewpoint loomed within. I hesitated to get too close. This was not my destination. There was no one there.
I turned slowly toward the horizon which now seemed to be brightening, and I once again began running, wanting mostly to go toward the light. Before long, the stark forest landscape opened into a lush, green meadow, with all the leaves lit from behind by the sun. In the distance I could see a small cottage that gave me a much more comforting feeling, almost like coming home. As my steps once again slowed, I saw her standing by the fence surrounding the simple cottage. I wasn’t sure if what I saw was real. I hesitated again. My heart was pounding in my chest.
I walked gladly toward her, gently eased open the gate, and we embraced willingly and joyfully. It was, for the moment, a wonderful moment in the dream that comforted me. She seemed, as usual, uncertain about her course, and even though she pretended to be alright, I knew she wasn’t. She tried to tell me she wasn’t concerned about the darkness nearby, but it was so obviously untrue, that I looked at her squarely and said, “I know what you said is untrue.” She appeared to be stunned for a moment or two, but then asked me to follow her. I took her hand and we walked around to the back of the house. There was a bit of a steep slope leading to a plateau where there was a large outcrop of rock. She led me around to one side and pointed to a painted image of a sunrise over water. As we began walking back toward the house, it was getting darker. I stopped in my tracks, as she turned her face toward me, and let go of my hand. I could feel the dream fading. I didn’t want it to end.
Upon first waking, I sat up in my bed, as if I might see her outside my window. The dream had vanished, completely against my will, and I immediately went to my desk to write it down. My hands were trembling, and I was breathing heavily while I wrote. I sensed increasingly powerful vibrations from far away, somehow shaking me as I wrote. Why hadn’t she sent word? What circumstances could make me feel these intuitions so strongly?
While having only limited knowledge and experience regarding what might possibly explain such feelings and ideas, such unavoidable sensations and thoughts compelled me to acknowledge her presence within me, and my concerns for her well being drove with me to meet her that afternoon at a local park at the time we had agreed.
We embraced upon meeting, and I immediately felt the same willingness and joy of the embrace of the dream. She excitedly began to relate the tale of her trip to visit a friend, which included getting lost in an unfamiliar area, and being caught in a violent rainstorm. She and her friend had taken refuge in an abandoned farmhouse to wait out the storm. It had been approaching darkness before the storm let up, and it had frightened them both. I said nothing about my dream, and we walked down the path leading to the area she had told me about and which we were about to visit. We spent several hours walking along the paths in the sunlit woods and in open fields. Without any mention to her of the dream, she took my hand, and led me to an overhang with a fabulous scenic view of the mountains in the distance. It was lovely and it felt as though we were closer than before. Stepping down to the return path out of the park, I nearly fell down as I turned to see an image of a sun over water painted on the lower portion of the rock we had just been standing on.
As we sat together on the screen porch back at her house, I told her of the dream and of my certainty that she had been in distress. She listened patiently and seemed to understand that it was unusual, but not impossible that such things could happen. Somehow, we had found each other and were connected in ways we were only beginning to appreciate. She seemed only vaguely aware of a connection between us, and now appeared mildly uncomfortable talking about it. I promised not to bring it up again, and we embraced on parting. We agreed to meet again the next day to attend a family dinner at her parents home. I held her close and kissed her deeply. She smiled and giggled for a moment. The wheels were in motion. It had begun.