Dreamwork is the act of engaging and exploring our dreams, for our dreams are a glimpse of our secret Self. Our dreams come to us for healing and wholeness (Jeremy Taylor). Exploration of our dreams can both challenge and empower, criticize and praise, humble and exalt--our dreams call our attention to our deepest Self, and contain endless possibilities for growth and healing. Dreamwork can be incorporated into individual spiritual direction, as well as the central focus of group spiritual direction with the formation of a "Dream Group." Whether individually or within a group setting, dreamwork is less about interpreting the dream and more about engaging with the dream images, emotions, and energy. Engaging with our dreams can bring unexpected gifts, calling us to a life of deeper authenticity and wholeness.
There is no set fee for dreamwork, as with all other services, individuals and groups determine the amount paid based on ability to pay and perceived value. 10% of all monies received is donated to efforts which honor the vital importance of tending the soul--especially providing holistic healing opportunities to those who do not have access. This donation celebrates the interconnectedness of one soul to the world as a whole.
There is no set fee for dreamwork, as with all other services, individuals and groups determine the amount paid based on ability to pay and perceived value. 10% of all monies received is donated to efforts which honor the vital importance of tending the soul--especially providing holistic healing opportunities to those who do not have access. This donation celebrates the interconnectedness of one soul to the world as a whole.
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DREAMS
All night the dark buds of dreams open richly. In the center of every petal is a letter, and you imagine if you could only remember and string them all together they would spell the answer. It is a long night, and not an easy one-- you have so many branches, and there are diversions-- birds that come and go, the black fox that lies down to sleep beneath you, the moon staring with her bone-white eye. |
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Finally you have spent all the energy you can and you drag from the ground the muddy skirt of your roots and leap awake with two or three syllables like water in your mouth and a sense of loss—a memory not yet of a word, certainly not yet the answer-- only how it feels when deep in the tree all the locks click open, and the fire surges through the wood, and the blossoms blossom. Mary Oliver |
