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Birth, Initiation, Individuation

Dreamed summer 2007? by Anonymous #6

I am with two guys who I do not recognize, standing by a river or overflow ditch. Turbulent water rushes away from me. My binder falls in the water and I watch it rush away.

The two men jump in and try to grab my binder, and wave me to follow. I jump in and swim after them through a concrete tunnel, following the brightly-colored billowing clothing/backpack of one of the men. Alligators or crocodiles are cradled against the concrete sides of the tunnel, and for a moment I panic. The fear ebbs as I realize they watch me hungrily but will make no move against me.

I swim on through the tunnel. The tide turns momentarily and the water rushes in my direction, bringing the binder back to me. I grab it and swim on. At the end of the tunnel is a rock wall. I climb the rock and stand firmly on the ground. The guys are there. I'm not tired but I'm anxious; I feel I don't have much time until the crocodiles give chase.

We run down a nearby street. They lead me to an old, many-windowed house, brightly lit at the end of the dark street. They try to get in and I am confused and afraid. Why are we trying to get into this house? There is a rustle at the door. All three of us squeeze up against the flat wall of the house, trying to escape notice. A crowd of Indian ladies dressed in red and purple saris exit the house. They pass us as though acknowledging us without acknowledging us. They leave the door open and watch silently, hidden partially in shadow, as we go in. Once I'm inside, I no longer see the two guys; all women now.

More Indian women lead me to a staircase which winds a quarter turn up. A few more descend as I step onto the first landing. Each smiles and nods at me as she passes. I feel comforted by their gestures; I don't know them, but they know me. I climb up the stairs, carpeted in fine woven wool, beige and brown.

When I hit the second landing, I look to the left, into what looks like a typical living room, brightly lit. From it, an older, thin, Indian man stares at me intently. He seems both angry and resigned, as if he's pissed that I'm climbing past him but he knows I must. He makes me feel unsettled but driven as well. I turn right and go on up the stair.

When I reach the top, the staircase is unfinished; the floor is slightly out of my reach and there is no door, only an opening. I am not meant to enter, I think. I think the place is sacred, not for outsiders. I debate quickly whether or not I am to enter and decide that the behavior of the others indicates I should.

So I look to my left and see the path others must have taken to get beyond this gap. I grab a handle which has been bolted to the wall with my left hand. With my right, I grab a handle which has been bolted on the facing wall, between the ceiling and the top of the entrance frame. I swing myself up and land, on my knees, on a bright red woven rug.

The ceiling is very low, so rather than walk, I crawl down the long hall. There are many rooms on both sides of the hall. I think one room is mine, though I've never seen it before. It's lit only by a single candle, but I can tell the carpet is red and the walls are a neutral beige. I know I am to spend time there--meditating perhaps.

But I pass that room and crawl on to the end of the hall, to another dark room flickering with TV light. My sister is there, lounging and watching television. She and I talk and watch together, arguing over problems we have had in the past. But the scene is generally pleasant... until I wake up, at 1:30 AM.

NOTES IN THE MORNING

--Anon 6

EDITOR'S NOTES

--Chris Wayan



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