Guest Post by David Rivinus
Stacy was ecstatic.
The vacation to Italy she and her husband had been planning for months was finally happening. The two were on an exclusive tour that had taken them to a quaint, picturesque village in the Italian Alps, far from the holiday crowds. It was quiet, beautiful and totally Italian. What’s more, the guides were terrific.
They were knowledgeable, gracious, and their planning was meticulous; everything was arranged from travel to accommodations to meals. Stacy, who was a thorough organizer herself, and as a result, was constantly sought after in her own small community, found that she had nothing to arrange, nothing to supervise, nothing to keep tabs on. And that felt wonderful. If she wasn’t off exploring the exquisite Italian countryside, she was lounging on her balcony in the warm sun, admiring the expansive mountain views. It was bliss!
So, why did she have this weird dream?
One night, during her Italian adventure, she went to sleep and dreamed that, no, she had never left her home in Oregon. No, she hadn’t traveled anywhere. No, she wasn’t in an Italian village. Instead, she was lying in her own bed, and nothing in her exhilarating adventure had ever taken place!
During our dream class when she shared this dream, she told us that the dream seemed so real she had to get up out of her Italian bed, go look out the window, visually take in the gorgeous mountain peaks, and repeat to herself several times that, yes, in fact, she was in Italy, all was well, and that all was as it had been planned. She couldn’t understand what this dream was about; it seemed like such a “downer” in the middle of her joyous adventure.
After Stacy finished describing her experience, we began the gentle, non-directive probing that is so helpful to dreamers as they untangle the images of their peculiar-seeming nocturnal (and daytime) adventures. It’s what I refer to as the “Tell me about it!” part:
Stacy, tell us about “home” and “bed.”
Stacy told us that her home and her own bed were the places she felt the safest and the most comfortable. No other locations helped her center herself and gather her own personal strength as much as these. This, she said, was vital to her work in the community where so many associates and friends relied on her exceptional organizational skills. When it came to successfully shepherding large groups of people through complex schedules and activities, staying on top of the task was critical, and no place outside of her home had ever provided her with the comfort and support she needed to accomplish this to her own satisfaction.
When she had finished her explanation, Stacy sat back in her chair and was pensive for a moment. Then she added, “Except maybe Italy.”
Everyone in the room started chuckling supportively, at which point, I continued the quizzing. “Can you tell us what it is about Italy that makes it feel as if it might be as supportive as home?”
She shook her head gently as new understandings began to emerge. “I don’t have to worry,” she explained. “I don’t have to organize or prepare for the inevitable bumps in the road or calm somebody’s agitated nerves; I can just be myself and relax.” She became thoughtful, and then added, “I’m getting older you know, and during the trip to Italy, I guess I was learning how good it feels to let someone else be in charge for a change.”
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It’s not the purpose of this article to launch into an in-depth analysis of Stacy’s dream—although I think, even with this brief description, the gist of the dream message is becoming clear. Instead, what I’d like to direct the reader’s attention to is the interplay between the sleeping world and the waking world.
Stacy’s poignant dream message about possibly pulling back on her civic responsibilities was presented to her in a nearly equal mix of images from what we western humans consider two separate states of consciousness. From her “awake” state in Italy, Stacy was given a model of an ideal. But she saw it as a kind of fantasy that she could participate in only temporarily on a vacation—like a trip to Disneyland. She’d be there, enjoy it for a while, and then return to “real life.”
Then she was given an equally powerful image in her “sleep” state, one that offered her the opportunity to compare and ultimately blend her “real life” with her “fantasy.” “No,” it seemed to be saying, “you’ve never left home. With the care you are getting in Italy, you ARE at home—maybe more at home than you’ve been for quite some time.”
I reminded Stacy that the only reason her sleeping dream seemed like a “downer” was because it wanted to be remembered. Dreams have their work cut out for them if they want to stay in our conscious awareness. How many of us start to transition from sleep to wakefulness and say to ourselves, “Oh, that was such a great dream. I’m glad I’ve remembered it.”? And then, ten minutes later, while we’re brushing our teeth, the dream is gone.
So, Stacy’s sleeping dream served to jostle her a little bit—like someone grabbing her shoulders and shaking her: “Hey! Wake up! Take an extra careful look at the waking dream you are having in Italy! There’s a message there for you! And I, as your sleeping dream, am here to make sure you pay attention to it.”
What an exquisite interplay between wakefulness and sleep—like a ballet!
The late anthropologist, Hank Wesselman, once remarked, “In my work as an anthropologist, I have heard the singular statement…from the indigenous people I have lived with…that this physical world we all take so much for granted is a manifestation of the dream, not vice versa.”
Yes, so called primitive, native cultures have understood this interplay between wakefulness and sleep for millennia. Now it’s our turn to catch up. Personally, I’m waiting for the moment when, one day, while minding my own business, I look around and realize that I can no longer tell the difference between the two.
The author of the book Always Dreaming, David Rivinus has been teaching and facilitating classes and seminars on metaphysical topics for several decades. His specialty is dream interpretation, and he offers group and individual sessions both online and in his home town on the Oregon coast. He can be reached at [email protected].