In a post last year, I described an encounter with a figure I refer to as my ‘Guide,’ but might as well call my Animus. I borrow the word from Jung in order to refer to a (from what I’ve encountered) male aspect of my subconscious, but not in the complete sense of what Jung described. Generally, this figure shows up to let me know that the dream has some sort of significance and should be examined for symbols. The last time I encountered him, it was August of 2010 - and he said it was going to be a long time before I encountered him again. Nearly a year later, in a recent dream, I came face to face with him just before waking.
There were two parts of this dream that stood out to me.
The first involved being on some sort of school related trip at a largely Christian museum/library. I was with a group of girls who were dressed in Catholic school uniforms, though I wore casual clothes. We approached a set of stairs leading to the second floor, where there were bedrooms furnished and decorated in various classical styles, which one could view from the roped off doorways. I had the sense that I had been to this place many times as a child, and even commented on it - saying that I had come to this place many times before when I was younger.
Halfway up the stairs, I could see that the rooms were completely covered in dust, and unlit, and started shooing my fellows back down the stairs. I said that we had to go back - this area was closed off now. Walking back down now, I could see that there were some books and papers wedged onto a small ledge above us, and as we passed under, several slips of paper shifted and fluttered down. There were various notes and clippings, but the one that jumped out to me was a bit of yellowed paper with a single word in flowing cursive script: Witch.
In the second part of the dream, I was wandering back streets under a hot sun in a cloudless sky. I passed between old garages and shops and ramshackle houses - I could hear music and crowds somewhere in the distance, festive music and the smell of vendor foods. I knew I was somewhere south - possibly Mexico, but maybe even further. It was a Day of the Dead celebration, and though I wore a t-shirt and jeans, I also wore a floppy witch’s hat and held in my hands a paper-maché skull mask. Here and there I would see young men dart between buildings, wearing cheap dime-store superhero masks and clutching blunt weapons - bats, crowbars and lengths of wood. I began to think that it was dangerous, and that I needed to find my way back to the main street ASAP: but I couldn’t find my way. Now and then one of the young men would stop and stare at me through his mask, but I would just smile and wave, and they’d wave back and continue running.
Finally, I found myself facing some sort of highway - but I was blocked by several rows of high, reinforced chain-link fence. Looking around, I noticed a complicated looking mechanical gate through what seemed to be a checkpoint. I had to go around a building to get to it, but when I turned the corner to get to the gate, I was stopped by a soldier.
Frozen with fear and anxiety, I said nothing as he bore down on me: an older man, lean, muscular, with white hair and piercing blue eyes.
“What are you doing here?” He asked. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you could get in for trespassing on private, Government property?”
“I got lost,” I replied, trying to keep calm. “I’m just trying to find my way back to the road.”
He led me over to the gate, and showed me how to open it - then locked it back down and told me to open it myself.
I struggled with it, realizing that it was much harder than it looked, and the more I tried, the more soldiers gathered to watch. He repeatedly showed me how to do it, but refused to do it for me. I had to open it myself.
Finally I got the gate to unlock, and as I started to push it open, he grabbed me by the shoulders and brought me very close to him. He had gone from a terrifying figure of authority to someone who wanted to see me succeed, and I realized that when he had been watching me he seemed very familiar.
“The Forest needs more soldiers,” he told me. “Tell your momma we want to see you back down here tomorrow.”
I nodded, confused, and passed through the door realizing who he really was (those eyes!) just as I got to the other side - somehow in the back seats of a family minivan as it drove down a wooded road.
“Dad!” Cried the little boy I was suddenly seated besides. “There’s a girl back here!”
His parents turned back to look, and just started laughing.
“It’s okay son - everyone has a place they need to be and a way to get there.”
At that point, I woke up.
Excitedly writing down the newest entry to my dream journal, I tried to figure out what the appearance of my Dream Guide was supposed to mean.
The first part of the dream I take to be a representation of the ‘other-ness’ I now feel regarding Christianity - I don’t feel as though I’d be at home in the church I grew up in, or at Christian events. It’s become something from the past for me - it’s grown dusty and roped off. Childhood memories of old-fashioned rooms that won’t lead me anywhere new. In books and snippets of information from various sources, I find the word that defines the beliefs and traditions I’m slowly embracing, but would have been burned for only so many hundreds of years ago: Witch.
In the second dream, with my goal in mind, I wandered wearing the clichés of my intention but unsure of what path to take. Lost, I passed through strange places in a strange land, where danger lurked around corners and darted in the shadows. Safety came in the form of regimentation, authority and strength. I was taught how to operate a mechanism which opened a door - somewhat blunt symbolism for initiation and transition.
I’ll admit that I’ve been considering looking for a coven. From what I’ve seen so far, there really aren’t any groups within what I’d consider a reasonable distance, at least not groups that are active. And even if there were, I would have to make sure before deciding to join whether or not their ideals and beliefs were the same as mine or if I’d be spending time and effort trying to learn a system that doesn’t fit with mine.
So what do I do? Just how important is it that I be initiated into a tradition so that I can try a set and explored path, rather than find one myself? I have seen again and again the idea of self-dedication - like initiating oneself in recognition of the goals one has. Initiation is like a door - passing through it leads to learning new traditions and ritual. Without somewhere to go, a door, or dedication, is pointless. It’s just a passage into an empty room.
In just a couple of months, it will have been a year and a day since I began this blog and started searching for my path. I have found that there are countless doors in the world, but which one do I step through - if it will open for me?
Right now I might as well just be a passenger - I have an idea of where I want to be, but I still have no definitive goal in sight. While self-dedication may be the route I choose in the end, what will I dedicate myself to?
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