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I had a dream last night
about searching for the water of life
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| Water of Life CC Jean Stimmell |
In my dream, I am living
in a large rambling house of many stories but have no water. For a long time, I
have been digging a well deeper and deeper under the foundation through rock
and clay; finally I reach soft sand and, then soon thereafter, water begins to
bubble up, pure and sparkling, gushing from the golden earth.
An old mechanical pump is lying
nearby to pump the water up to the house but I am aware that it is broken and
needs to be repaired. I have to act quickly before the soft sand collapses,
filling in all my hard work.
As I climb back up into my
house, my plumber happens by and I ask him for help. He is amazed at how deep the
pump is in the ground. (From the top, looking down into the pit I dug is like
looking down an elevator shaft of a skyscraper.)
My plumber says he will try
to fix the pump but doesn’t know how to haul it up to the surface. I tell him I
have a long coil of strong, old-fashioned manila rope and will gladly haul it
up for him.
However, I can’t find the
rope!
I do a frantic search through the many rooms
and layers of my house. I encounter other craftspeople working in the house but
they are dismissive of me, suggesting without saying it: “What is wrong with
you, any idiot could find that rope.”
At last, after I have
searched my whole house, the workmen take an interest and help me search the
garage which is cavernous and cluttered. Still, no rope is to be found, Finally,
in desperation, I search a special room on the main floor adjacent to the pump
shaft.
A female poet lives there
who we try hard not to disturb. Her room is decorated beautifully in soothing
shades of blue. As I feverishly pass through her room looking for the rope, I
leave behind messy trail of muddy footprints.
As I leave the poet’s room,
I run into a male patient from long ago who had suffered terrible trauma but
had been able to turn his life around while in treatment with me. He is all
dressed up, successful, self-actualized and overjoyed to see me again.
At that moment, I realize
there is no rope to be found. Some one took it to go rock climbing and forgot
to bring it back.
That’s the end of the dream.
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Unmanipulated photo of river current in the Merrimack 6/30/14
CC Jean Stimmell
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In terms of Jungian dream
work, my house is a symbol of my entire psyche, the space I occupy, while, in
the words of Brian Collinson, a Jungian Analyst, “The water of life for which we
yearn relates directly to the waters of the unconscious. Often, only by
coming to terms with the meaning of dreams embodied in the unconscious can we
find the vitality for which we yearn.*
Thinking back to my dream,
I see it was a wild goose chase.
Both my feminine poet and
trauma survivor found peace and vitality through direct access to the water of
life by coming to terms, emotionally and spiritually, with the meaning of their
dreams embodied in the unconscious while I still sweat and strain too much,
attempting to haul up the water of life from the depths mechanically through
sheer will, books, and my intellect.
XXX
*
http://www.briancollinson.ca/index.php/2012/11/jungian-therapy-the-meaning-of-dreams-5-water.html
