Through Darkness to Your Soul's Sincere Desire

Last  year, I had to opportunity to travel to the Seychelles off the east coast of Africa to flyfish. While my group was sequestered on the main island of Mahi, we sat together on the evening before the final leg of our journey, sharing dreams, of all things. They had learned that I was a dream analyst, and so the conversation shifted to the "universal language" of dream sharing. As we talked, we discovered that all four of us had experienced the same nighttime phenomenon--awakening around 2-3 am in a state of intense worry. We were astounded that each of us, without exception, had frequently spent a good part of the time weathering the unique bleakness that seems to descend on the human psyche in the middle of the night. One of the men asked, "What is it about 2 am?" That question became a topic of conversation not only that evening, but at various times during our week together.

Oddly enough, when I was a young man, fresh with hope and visions of a glorious future, the same period of the night was a time of deep peace and spiritual centering. It was then that I began to follow the advice of the late, great psychic Edgar Caye when he urged people to meditate during of the middle of the night in order to discover "a peace you've never known." For almost 45 years, the middle of the night meditation has been a wellspring of inspiration and mystical experience. Indeed, it probably accounts for the lucid dreams that gave rise to my book, Lucid Dreaming: Dawning of the Clear Light, as well as my other four books, all of which are filled with experiences that came to me at that darkest hour of the night.

Despite the worry that sometimes afflicts me during that period of the night, the "peace you've never known" is still available if I'm willing to persist in my meditation, and get through the ordeal that often awaits me. Just this last night, in fact, I woke up at 3:30, and decided to meditate, even though I felt the weight of the world, and my own demons hammering at me. I sat up, and commenced praying and meditating for over half an hour before experiencing the relief that comes when my greater self asserts itself once again.

In contrast to the sheer darkness of mood that confronted me upon awakening, the dream that ensued upon my return to sleep was simply glorious. It was a lucid dream that lasted about an hour. During the experience, I found myself in a luminous realm, full of kind people and resplendent scenes. It is too much to recount here, but to give you and example of what transpired there, I encountered an artisan who had created a sculpture made from crystal and stone and precious gems that had the image of the Sphinx on one side of it. I picked it up and held it up to the light, and the colors were iridescent and lit from within. Everywhere around me I could see similar creations, fashioned by master artisans. So much more happened that I cannot adequately describe. But suffice to say that if you want to get through the darkness of your life, consider committing yourself to this kind of practice. I feel confident that if you persist, you will be amply rewarded by your "soul's sincere desire," whatever that may be.

A Two-Hour Lucid Dream/Out of Body Experience

I awoke at 3:45 and instead of meditating as I often do. I took 8 mg. of galantamine, and went back to bed. I laid on my back and meditated for a while, and before falling asleep I felt the energy that comes just before separating from the body. It was mild at first, so I meditated on it, which is very pleasant, and felt it building. I sat up at one point, but felt my physical body still holding on, so I meditated a bit longer, and then rolled over and I was free. I stood at the foot of my bed in the darkness, at first, then turned and flew threw the wall toward the west.

It remained entirely dark, and I could see nothing of color, light, or form. So I meditated, knowing that my visual field would eventually "light up" and I'd find myself in a new place. After a while, I saw slivers of blue sky, then suddenly I was out of the darkness, flying above a wilderness area. It seemed I was over a river valley, heading south. I went down to the ground and walked along the edge a meadow. I heard crashing in the woods off to my left, so I stopped and waited. I wasn't sure if they were bears, or what. Then I saw two large dark shapes appear through the trees. I felt that they knew me from some earlier time--I wasn't afraid--so I approached. As I got closer, I could see that they weren't bears at all, but beings whom I recognized and knew from some past experience. They were avocado green, four-legged animals with a shiny, smooth, but tough and weathered skin. The closest one was a dear old friend, and I went up to him (I knew it be to a male) and greeted him like a long lost friend. I put my arms around his head and held him for a long time. We loved each other deeply. His wife and child came up, as well. The child, which was about the size of a large dog, did not know me, but was curious and playful. I reflected silently on how one would describe these beings.  I thought they were probably live-bearing mammals with no hair, which I knew to be a contradiction.

Either they morphed into humanoids, or there was a segment that I forgot. But the rest of the interpersonally rich and intimate experience took place in a village of humans, with whom I was similarly connected through some kind of past association. I was welcomed into one man's home, where I visited with him, his wife, and several other friends. We hiked onto a nearby mountain at one point, and walked along a high ridge, overlooking another valley. The scenery was exquisitely beautiful, and there did not seem to be much settlement in the area. As we walked along the high ridge, one of my companions cautioned me because were near a cliff. I laughed and told him I could fly. To show him, I sailed down a slope, barely above the ground, and then whirled and spun around just above the ground all around the group. They were delighted.

At one point, I was taking a nap (of all things), and a group of children came to visit. I was unclothed beneath the covers, so I asked for my clothes so I could get up with exposing myself. I dressed beneath the covers and joined the group.

The experience lasted so long that I was able to accompany the father on a hike to a place where an older man, who fixed boats, could assist him in repairing his motor. The man accompanied us back to the house, and there was a moment where I actually gave the old man a stick of gum I was carrying.

Although the experiences sound rather pedestrian, the experience was filled with interpersonal richness, and deep love between us. Toward the end, the father and a couple of younger men and I were walking to a lake where we intended to take two boats out fishing. But as we approached the water's edge, I worried that I'd been out of my body for so long that it was possible (but not likely) that Julie could be unable to revive me. I was also thinking that it could be late in the morning. So I told them it was time for me to leave. I hugged each of them, and telling them each that I loved them. They responded with such affection! They were sad to see me go. At that point, I just bowed my head and closed my eyes. It was hard at first to leave, but finally I could feel my body lying in the bed facing Julie. I was back, and 2 hours and 15 minutes had passes since I'd closed my eyes (and never gone unconscious).

Freeing the Mockingbird

I got up at 3 am last night, and went into the den with a cup of hot coffee and sat in the dark. No phone, not laptop, nothing but my own presence and my mug of steaming coffee. I planned to meditate and go back to sleep, hoping for a deep dream. But for a while, I just sat there, feeling the comforting darkness. I thought of how invisible I was to everyone, even to those who love me. They were asleep, unaware of my middle-of-the-night vigil. I thought of all of the people with whom I had some sort of relationship--old friends, students, counseling and flyfishing clients, and Facebook friends. And my thoughts settled on the people who had friended me on Facebook, most of whom I really do not know. I thought of how we share slivers of ourselves with virtual strangers, hoping to connect in some meaningful way, and I marveled at the energy behind this immense effort, which from one standpoint is a rather feeble and pointless effort at relating. What do we really know of each other, anyway? But then I reflected on the dreams that I'd shared recently, and how people came out of the silence to make comment on one or more of them. The dreams provoked a conversation that the mere posting of a quote or a photo had not done.

Mark Blagrove, one of the presenters at the upcoming first Online Dream Research Conference (www.iasdreamresearch.org) will be reporting on an empirical study that supports the idea that sharing dreams differs from ordinary sharing--that something is activated in dream sharing that produces an altogether different level of connection with oneself and others. Similarly, Montague Ullman used to say that he believed that dream sharing had evolved to forge interpersonal connections, to build community in a way that bypassed the barriers and pretense of ego-to-ego exchanges.

As I sat in the darkness, I realized that dream sharing is one road to our salvation; that is, a way to heal the deep divisions between us. I then meditated for half an hour, then went back to sleep and had two dreams, both of which provide additional perspective that dreams may save us from ourselves.

In one, I am with several members of the International Association for the Study of Dreams. We are at a conference, and it seems that we are all shedding our clothing in some kind of ritual. As we strip down to our nakedness, I feel exhilarated. I say, "Now I know what people become nudists!" It was as if we have reached a level of sharing heretofore unachieved. It was deeply fulfilling to be there at home and revealed to my friends. 

In another, I see a paper plane, with a rectangular fuselage. It has a mocking bird imprisoned within it. The plane can fly, but the bird within it has been imprisoned, and is near death. Its wings are pinned to its body. I begin to carefully dismantle the fuselage, removing a harness from the bird's head and beak, and then lifting its body from a pool of feces and water. I hold up a container of clear water for it to drink from, and it plunges its beak into the clear water and drinks deeply. I know that the bird will survive with some additional care.

Of course, these dreams are about me. But they also provide a metaphorical perspective on what we do to ourselves. We remain closed off, parcelling out slivers of ourselves to virtual strangers without taking the leap of sharing our souls. And we imprison our natural soulfulness inside artificial structures that are supposed to take its place. If we're going to connect deeply, we need a way to reveal natural selves. And if we are going to soar to our destined heights, we must release ourselves from the artificial prisons that have become substitutes for true flight.

But will we be safe in doing so? Certainly there are always risks in sharing who we really are. And who can define what that looks like? I suggest to you that our dreams can be our emissaries of truth, capable of bringing soulfulness into relationship without artifice and pretense. They are shrouded sufficiently in metaphorical language to protect our lives from direct exposure, but they are rooted in our depths sufficiently to circumvent the ego's constant cleverness and aim to impress.

So let's share dreams with strangers and with our friends alike. Doing so could save us from shallow conversations about our differences, and introduce a surprising sense of what unites us.

Confrontation with the Shadow

In an hour-long lucid dream after meditating at 4:30 am, I was exploring a beautiful realm and had met and said goodbye to some interesting people before flying to the next place. I then came upon a group of men who were doing something terrible. It was not clear to me exactly what, but they didn't like the fact that I knew they were up to no good, and so they got their weapons out to kill me. I wasn't afraid, of course, knowing I could return to my own world at will. As they circled me, I looked at one of them in the eye, and said "I know the one who rules this place. I know the one who has dominion here. And I can see the fear in your eyes." I turned to the next one, and said again, "I can see the fear in your eyes." One of them retorted, "What do you mean? What can you see?" Then I realized that the best thing I could do to "wake them up" would be for me to leave. So I forced myself out of the dream. It was hard, because I was in so deep. But finally I was back in bed. A few minutes, later, however, I returned to where I'd been, and I saw the men walking down the street as a group, sober, clean shaven, and making efforts to help others. I could see worry in their faces, as if they were intent on doing good now. Maybe they were just unruly parts of myself that I was waking up, which is a sobering reminder of the power of unconscious forces, if not also the divisions between us.

Flying with the Shadow

Like everyone I know, I am deeply concerned about what is happening in the world, in Nice, Orlando, Paris, and wherever there is violence. It is hard to know what one person can do about it, other than work on myself to understand my own shadow side, wherein lies my own capacity for destructiveness and anger over real or perceived wrongs. Sometimes I think my focus on dream work may seem a bit indulgent in such a world. But then again, I know how important it is for us to tame our own inner demons. Just yesterday morning, I was in a long lucid dream when a group of young men approached me and threatened me. I knew I could leave the dream, or defeat them, but instead I approached the nearest one, and asked him, "Would you like to go flying?" I took him by the arm, and began to lift him in the air. His buddies grabbed hold, one by one, until there was a line of guys rising into the sky. Their faces were rapt with surprise and delight lit up by the morning sun. I took them back to the ground, and our relationship was transformed. They laughed and ran to tell others. Were they actual people or parts of myself, or some combination thereof? Who can ever know? But it's something we can do and feel good about.

Sojourns Beyond the Body

I stopped writing about my lucid dreams/OOBE's last fall, mainly because real life became so demanding that my nighttime practice fell off somewhat. But recently, I have returned to a fairly regular practice of middle-of-the-night meditation as a supplement to my early morning meditation. As a part of this middle-of-the-night regimen, I usually take 8 mg. of galantamine (an over-the-counter supplement derived from various lilies, including the snow drop lily) immediately upon awakening so that by the time I return to sleep, it's doing its job of increasing the amount of the neurotransmitter acetylcholine in my brain. I still marvel that a slight increase in a neurotransmitter involved in cognitive processing can have such dramatic effects on my dreams--as well as my performance at the bridge table! But then again, it rarely induces lucid dream without the meditation beforehand. Not for me, at least.

This morning was pretty typical. I got up at 5:30, meditated for about half an hour til I got sleepy, and then laid back down. Within a few minutes, I was suddenly flying up through blackness. I meditated as I flew upward, and waited for imagery to appear. The last time I did this, a few days ago, the same thing happened, and I expected to see the earth below me at some point. But I suddenly found myself swimming in an expanse of luminous water before I emerged into a terrestrial setting.

This morning, however, I did not find myself in water, but rather in a beautiful woodland scene with people all around. I went from place to place--usually flying as I went--and speaking with people I encountered. One woman even prepared food for me even though she knew I was "from another place" and would soon be leaving and obviously could not eat with her. At another point, I took off and a little girl grabbed my foot; so I flew up in the air with her before taking her gently back to the ground. So much happened over the course of almost an hour (I intentionally brought myself back at about 7 am) that I don't have enough time to share all of it.

Throughout the experience, however, I would look for the Light in all of its various forms--bright light fixtures, the sun, the moon, and other sources of radiance. As I have found for the past 40 years, the Light tends to become dim, or retreat, once I gaze upon it. It's not always been true, but it's been a recurrent theme throughout countless lucid dreams--that when I stare at the Light, it will usually fade.

(Interestingly, the times when the Light has intensified and taken me into a state of ecstasy has been those occasions when the Light appeared and overwhelmed me before I could have any agenda--I was its object, not the other way around!)

In one frustrating dream 30 years ago, I was growing frustrated by the way that the light seemed to "collapse" into an object without any luster. A woman walked up and told me one of the most significant things that anyone has ever said to me: "You must first learn to love the form before you can see the Light within it." So, ever since then, I've been "coming down from the mountain," endeavoring to embrace a more embodied experience, and learning to value everyday life. But throughout, my mystical yearning has persisted alongside this commitment. And lately, the opportunities to gaze upon the Light has occurred with regularity in the often-hour-long lucid dreams that I've been experiencing almost every time I use the meditation/galantamine combination.

This morning, in fact, was something of a new phase. For the first several encounters with the Light, I noticed the dimming effect, and thus started to work with my subjective state as I gazed upon the radiance. Finally, in the last scene, a brilliant white sun appeared overhead, and I looked upon it. At first, it started to fade a bit, so I looked away and smiled inwardly, feeling gratitude to be in the presence of it. I looked back, and it became more intense again. I continued to contemplate with gratitude, rather than with desire, and it maintained its immense white corona.

The issue of yearning or desire is at the center of the spiritual life, especially in Buddhism where desire is at the root of all suffering. And in Christianity, it was Peter's material desire to capitalize on Jesus's transfiguration that made Jesus say, "Get thee behind me, Satan." However, desire is also what takes us beyond the status quo. While it can never grasp the object of its dreams, it can take us to the threshold of attainment where in the end we are called upon to surrender it. This thought came to me when thinking of the role of desire: Desire leads to practice, and practice leads to mastery, and mastery allows us to let go of desire. So to fault someone for desiring this or that may be to commit one of two errors: the error of someone who either has suppressed desire out of fear or judgment, or someone who has grown beyond it and forgotten the necessary and imperfect role that it once served. There is a saying in the East, "To the one who has arrived, the way is foreign." I think this addresses the problem of judging a lower stage of development from a higher perspective.

When I was four, my best friend and I nailed a piece of bamboo to the end of a 2x4 to make a propeller for an airplane. I said to him with absolute conviction that we would fly together on that plane. I was fortunate that no one was there to tell me that I was deluded, because I still desire impossible things.

Interview with Dr. Clare Johnson

Dr. Clare Johnson, who writes a column in DreamTime Magazine (published by IASD for its members), has recently interviewed me for an upcoming issue. It was an opportunity for me to share a dream was truly life changing, which inspired me to move back to Texas and to pursue a more natural lifestyle. Here's the dream, which appears in my book, Healing the Fisher King: A Flyfisher's Grail Quest. I will save the comments for the interview, so look for it if you're an IASD member. Or consider joining by going to www.iasdreams.org for information about the benefits of membership. 

I become aware that a group of hunters, of which my stepfather and father are members, have come upon a Native American man in the woods. Thinking of him as no more than an animal, they have killed him and beheaded him, keeping his head as a trophy. I am horrified and convinced that the crime has to be reported. While most of the hunters express no remorse whatsoever, my father wears a pained, confused look about what they have done. As I talk to him about our need to take action, it is as if he slowly awakens from a deep sleep and finally acknowledges the truth. Then I call the authorities and tell them what has happened. 

As I hang up, I become aware that a cougar is making its way into deep South Texas — passing through the King Ranch, skirting the U.S. Border Patrol check point at the little town of Sarita, and moving into the area near the Mexican border where I grew up. I am hopeful that it will thrive there.

Then, I look up to see a red plane doing aerobatics. I know that the young pilot is saluting me for my courage. His aerial display is so prodigious that I find the display physically impossible. Suddenly, I am aware that I am dreaming. I walk south through a meadow and look up to see a beautiful, dew-covered red hibiscus hanging over my head. I take a few more steps and affirm that when I look up the next time, I will see the Holy Light. I lift my eyes and behold a huge orb of white light surrounded by a delicate, lattice-like corona that takes up the entire southern sky. I know that it is the Light of Christ. 

Then an elderly woman approaches from behind me. Her eyes tell me that she loves me. I reach out, put my arm around her, and kiss her forehead, knowing that she is Mary, the mother of Jesus. We turn back toward the Light and see that a second light had appeared to the left, slightly below the white orb. The new light is bluish-violet and—with delicate, hairlike filaments of light—resembling the blossom of a passionflower vine. I turn to Mary and ask, “Is that your light?” She nods.

I turn back and look again, only to see that a third light has joined the other two. It appears to the right, slightly below the white orb. It shines from the window of a tower whose base now stands only a few feet away from us. 

“Whose light is that?” I ask.

Mary replies, “It is Mary Magdalene’s light.”

Then I ask, “Do you want to go there?” Again she nods, so we walk forward together and begin to climb the tower’s circular stairs.

If you have a big dream, consider sharing it here. If you have trouble posting it as a comment, please send it to me at gscotspar@gmail.com, and I will post it with any comments you might want to add.

Galantamine Study to be Launched Soon

Good news! I have been given the green light from the UTRGV Institutional Review Board to conduct a study that will test the impact of galantamine paired with meditation and dream reliving on dreaming. Ryan Hurd, with Dreamstudies.org and Dr. Ralph Carlson with UTRGV will join forces to conduct this first-of-its kind study. Our plan is to work with "normal" participants in the first phase in order to ascertain if the combination of treatments creates a more effective intervention than any of the components alone. And then, if so, we hope to apply the treatment protocol in a clinical setting with patients who suffer from PTSD, with the assistance of Dr. Fructuoso Irigoyen, a psychiatrist whom I work with in my private practice.

We will be posting the formal announcement soon on this site, Ryan's dreamstudies.org site, and the IASD Facebook pages. The announcement will include a link to a preliminary questionnaire and consent form, and then we will be providing instructions along with galantamine and placebo capsules.

I am also working on a paper that, I believe, provide the best explanation to date of why the dreaming process uses metaphorical imagery, in particular. It's a heavy lift, and I have been struggling with it for several months. But it will be done soon, and I will be posting the preliminary draft here in hopes that it will stimulate your own thinking about the construction and purpose of dreaming.

Recent Presentation

Last week, I spoke to 200 counselors at the Rio Grande Valley Counseling Association's annual Counselors Institute on Padre Island, titled "Using Dreamwork to Accelerate Healing and Support Emerging Competencies in Your Counseling Practice."   The audio can be listened to here. Please forgive the repetition of my favorite joke that illustrates the problem of our preconceived views about dreams.

Counselor Institute Address

The Importance of Situated Awareness

I had a non-lucid dream last week, sandwiched between two nights of lucid dreaming, which impacted me more deeply that any other dream in the past few months.

In the dream, it was raining and the streets were flooded. A line of cars were parked ahead of me, and people were outside in the rain, praying the Hail Mary. I walked up and joined them in prayer. Turning around, I looked up toward the south, and saw hundreds of tiny clouds creating the shape of a man with his arms outstretched. I was awed and puzzled, not sure if it was natural or supernatural. Then, to the west, a disc the size of several suns appeared and began to spin slowly, drawing into itself the cloud shape that was moving toward it. The disc became more visually sharp, and looked more spherical than flat. Suddenly, the disc broke open like an egg, and a bright white flower emerged and descended slowly toward the world.

I love this dream. And the fact that I wasn't lucid was actually a blessing. Why? Because there was no thought that this "wasn't real." In other words, it had maximum emotional impact precisely because I believed it was real.

I have spoken on the importance of situated vs. non-situated awareness. I argue in a presentation that I gave not long ago that true integration of "the other" within us requires an encounter between autonomous entities, of which we (the dream ego) is one. If we do not believe that an encounter is real or actual, then how can we experience the encounter as a relationship? Tarnas says in The Passion of the Western Mind that a true relationship depends on for an autonomous, reciprocal exchange between freely responding persons. And how is that possible if we experience the "other" in the dream as illusory or self-created. 

I have posted that presentation audio somewhere on my server, and I will link it here shortly, in case this topic interests you.

I'm Back

I think they must call it "blog guilt"--when you haven't written an entry for so long that you wonder if people think you're dead.  Ken Wilber invented a related term,  which he termed "neogenic guilt," or New Age guilt--which is the not-so-exquisite experience of believing that you create your own reality, and thus must assume the blame for whenever you get sick, or run into s--- happening.

I started a new online training/personal dream group last night with five dreamers spread across the US.  I've been using Zoom videoconferencing for all kinds of meetings, and it's just perfect for online group dream work. The purpose of the 10-week group is to learn co-creative dream analysis, and to practice with each other's dreams. 

I just received the cover image for a new book that will be published this spring, for which I wrote a chapter. Edited by my colleagues and friends Stan Krippner and Jacquie Lewis (both of Saybrook Institute), I am honored to be the fine company of 13 other chapter authors, who present a particular traditional or contemporary approach to dream theory/practice.  The title of my chapter is, "The FiveStar Method: Using Co-creative Dream Analysis in Psychotherapy."

---