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We all have experienced nightmares, but what if they’re not just “bad dreams” but messengers of good news for the soul. . . ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏
Things that Go
Bump in the Night . . .
Nightmares and the Soul
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The English word nightmare is deceptively literal. It is a compound of night + mare from Old English mære, a demon or goblin thought to press on sleepers. This month’s image is by the 18th-century Swiss artist, Henry Fuseli, and is considered one of the most “disturbing” paintings of its time. The horrible vulnerability of the dreamer and the malignant weight of the mare sitting on her chest conveys the subjective distress many of us feel when we’ve had a nightmare, and curiously, the felt sense of something pressing on the heart or clutching at one’s bowels is one of the reported features of nightmares in many cultures, suggesting a psychosomatic resonance across space and time. The older sense of “nightmare” was not “bad dream” but rather a supernatural visitation of the night-mare. Over time the nightmare began to be seen as any ominous or frightening dream. But I want to return to the idea that the nightmare is an autonomous spirit (mare) - but not as singularly malevolent as we may have thought.
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My MonstersI learned about this autonomous aspect of nightmares many years ago when I found myself in a relationship that was proving to be painfully wrong for me, but I was not yet ready or willing to face up to what I must do. Instead, I repressed my negative emotions and presented a sunny and smiling face to the world for years. The following nightmare showed me a more accurate reading:
I fell asleep after reading a book called Only When I Laugh. Without warning monstrous images begin to float up in front of my eyes – vivid, realistic, horrible images of tortured, wretched beings, skeletons, ghouls, monsters. I am shocked and tell them to leave me alone. I push them out of my mind but the minute I relax my guard, back they come. They are frozen in gestures of agony, not moving their limbs, but each one is as detailed as a masterful painting, like a frozen tableau. One by one they float by – each more ghastly than the last. Again I forbid them entrance, but again and again they return. On a sudden hunch I call out to them: "Are you my monsters?" Instantly the tableau breaks apart and one of the images takes center stage: a hideous, decaying female form - "she" starts to rock back-and-forth, slowly at first then gaining momentum. Back-and-forth she rocks faster and faster, her mouth open in a soundless shriek, lurching forward and backward like a crazed lunatic in her agony. Finally, the momentum becomes so frantic that a hole opens up beneath her and the earth swallows her up into a dark hole. Five robed, faceless beings witness this descent and a heavy metal lid clangs down over the opening. The five sentinels stand guard as the scene slowly fades away.
~ ~ ~ This dream happened over 40 years ago, but today as I type the words from my dream journal my heart is racing and the hair stands up on the back of my neck as I re-experience the horror of witnessing my own repressed agony played out like a Greek tragedy on the dream stage. This nightmare literally shook me awake and after gasping for breath I understood that I was that hideous decaying form and that in accepting her presence - in naming her “my monster” - I was now forced to do something to relieve her/my suffering. Reluctantly, I follow her down the hole and, although terrified, I undertook the journey with the help of a wise and brave friend who held the space for me while I did five, hours-long guided meditations which I dubbed “The Celeste Quest.” In these dreamlike journeys I followed a feminine figure - like Dante following Beatrice through the inferno - into strange landscapes where I was confronted, tested, and ultimately transformed. Within six-months I had made the fateful decision to leave my marriage and choose the road less traveled, becoming a non-custodial mother - unheard of in my circle of friends - and strike out to forge a life path along the untrodden ways. It was not a move into happiness, but a move beyond happily ever after, and it was what made my real life possible.
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Confrontation with the ImageThe significant moment of facing the shadow and inviting it into relationship, is catalyzed when you are willing to ask THE question: ‘Are you my monsters?’ When the dreamer turns to face the entity to ask “Who are you? What do you want?” — that is the moment of interior dialogue and potential integration ensues. C.G. Jung, one of the foremost interpreters of dreams, gives many examples of his own in his memoir Memories, Dreams, and Reflections in which he confronts his inner figures to find wisdom. His conclusion about the importance of engaging the nighmarish figures is: “One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious.” Nightmares can be worked with actively, not merely decoded, but dialogued with. The moment when the dreamer turns, or addresses the figure (e.g. “Are you my monsters?”), mirrors the alchemical marriage of ego and shadow. The intent of the process is not to annihilate the monster, but to negotiate, understand, and integrate the worthy and wounded aspects of it in order to repair the split when some part of your Self was banished into the darkness, to take on a life of its own and return to haunt you as a reproachful Shadow in nightmares. Over time, with repeated confrontation and integration, the nightmares often soften, lose their terror, or morph into more benign or revealing motifs. You may note this gradual mellowing as a sign that shadow assimilation is succeeding; the giant shrinks to become a human-size playmate; the murderer becomes a homeless man asking for “change;” the witch turns and reveals herself to be an outcast priestess with magical powers; the terrifying beast shows up one night as a golden retriever gently carrying an egg in its mouth.
Each of these transformations marks a shift in psychic relationship: from fear to curiosity, from opposition to dialogue. In Jungian terms, the dreamer moves from identification with the ego to participation with the Self—a more encompassing center of consciousness that can hold paradox and contradiction. The monsters do not vanish because they were never truly “other”; they dissolve as their energy is reabsorbed into a deeper wholeness. When we cease to fight the figures of the night and begin to listen they often reveal their true vocation: guardians of the threshold, emissaries of the deep psyche, guiding us toward the very vitality we had exiled. Thus the dialectic of confrontation is really a dance—an invitation to discover that what we took to be the shadow’s claw may be, in fact, the hand of a forgotten god.
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Working with Nightmares
For the reflective or intellectually inclined dreamer, the simplest and most enduring method is dream journaling and symbolic dialogue. Keep a notebook by your bed and, upon waking, record every fragment you recall—the imagery, emotion, color, and even the bodily sensations that linger. Then return to the nightmare as if it were a story whose author you might question. Choose one image—the pursuing figure, the collapsing bridge, the burning room—and ask it on paper: Who are you? What do you want from me? Let the responses come freely, without censoring or analyzing.
One dreamer might discover that the “stranger at the door” represents an ignored intuition or a long-buried grief. Another might realize that the recurring tidal wave mirrors the swell of unacknowledged emotion in waking life. Writing transforms the dream from a private haunting into a conversation, and language itself becomes a bridge between conscious and unconscious worlds. For the emotionally sensitive or intuitive type, a more imaginal approach—active imagination—can open dialogue with the figures of the nightmare in a vivid, healing way. In a quiet, meditative state, picture yourself re-entering the dream, not as a victim, but as a conscious participant. Find the place where the fear began—the dark hallway, the edge of the cliff—and allow the scene to resume. When the monster or shadowy presence appears, resist the urge to flee. Instead, imagine yourself saying, “I see you. What message do you bring?” Perhaps the monster lays down its weapon, or begins to weep; perhaps it offers you an object, a key, a light. A man who dreamt of being chased by wolves might, upon facing them, find they encircle him protectively. A woman tormented by a faceless witch might see the veil lift to reveal her own younger self, still angry, still waiting to be acknowledged. These imaginal encounters, handled with gentleness, can release tremendous psychic energy and transform terror into insight.
For the pragmatic or action-oriented dreamer, a technique known as lucid-dream rehearsal or imagery rehearsal therapy may appeal. Before sleep, set a clear intention: If I find myself in that nightmare again, I will recognize it and turn to face what pursues me. Picture yourself doing so—standing your ground, speaking calmly, even altering the dream’s outcome.
A firefighter who dreamed repeatedly of being trapped in burning buildings might imagine himself finding a door and walking through the flames unharmed. A child plagued by a recurring monster might visualize befriending it, offering it a name, a cookie, or a leash. Such conscious rehearsal helps train the psyche to respond differently when the dream returns, often lessening the frequency or emotional charge of the nightmares. Rather than being ambushed by the unconscious, the dreamer learns to meet it halfway, cultivating courage and creative agency in the most intimate theater of the soul.
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Have a dream that you want to explore?I am extending my free 30-minute Dream Dialogue to anyone who wants one. It was so satisfying to engage with dreams over the summer that I’m continuing the offer through the autumn! FREE DREAM DIALOGUEclick here AN IDEA ~ Forward this email to a friend who might like a free Dream Dialogue. Perhaps they’ll see it as the sign they’ve been waiting for!
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Next month - in honor of Thanksgiving - the role of
FOOD and KITCHENS
in dreams!
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