Welcome to Dream Interpretation for Dummies, where Dear Abby meets Native Americana. Come to the campfire, peer into the yawning grave, and take a dive into the collective subconscious… or maybe just explore some weird clown imagery. We’ll wait for you here.
Howdy Note: This dream has been very lightly edited. Everything you are about to read has already happened, is happening, will happen…
Another Howdy Note: Thank you all so much for your wonderful and enthusiastic responses to last week’s newsletter! Much to think about…
If you’re interested in my writing outside Dreamland, here’s a link to a satire piece of mine, and a slightly spooky piece.
Alright. Let’s get to dreaming.
Dear Howdy,
This is a dream I've been holding onto for a long time. I had it when I was twenty-three (I'm thirty now) and just out of a long, bad relationship. It's a dream I think about a lot and feel like it still holds a lot of meaning for me. I believe I dreamt this in October or November.
It's dark, and I'm descending worn wooden stairs into what appears to be a cellar. As I reach the bottom of the stairs, I can see an old woman standing in front of me. The Crone, if I were to hazard a guess. She's wearing a brown robe and holding tobacco leaves in one of her hands (her right?) which is outstretched towards me, palm up, as if in offering. The feeling of being in this dark cellar is one of discomfort and even fear. She is almost a caricature of an old wise woman or witch. Her face is worn and craggy, her hair white, and the robe she wears is some sort of homespun wool. As I stand in front of her, she drops the tobacco on the earthen floor, and, dismayed, I drop to my knees. I scramble to pick it up and clean the dirt off of it, trying to offer it back to her, but worried that it's too late. She then points her finger directly at me and says "ROBBER." And the wildest thing is, I woke up saying "ROBBER" or trying to say it. I can still hear it, it was like this low guttural voice that was coming from deep inside me. This sounds really creepy, and it kind of was, but I still feel like it was a dream, not a nightmare.
And, that's a wrap!
Thank you for the work you're doing. I'm such a fan of your writing
Sending you good dreams!
Mia
Dear Mia,
Thank you for the gift of your dream. And thank you for your kind, kind words! I am very susceptible to flattery. Even so, I’ve felt swamped recently. Stuck in quicksand. In the snake pit. I’m out of Indiana Jones flavored descriptions, but you get the point. Despite it being my season, I don’t do well with the sun setting quite so early. I get tired, foggy, groggy. I sit in front of a Seasonal Depression Lamp in the mornings and then lay on my acupressure mat thinking — I am in my body but I am not a captive in my body over and over again. I eat a lot of yogurt and granola. Sip a lot of turmeric ginger tea that makes me acutely aware of my esophagus. It doesn’t help that these last few months have been some of my busiest (which I am ever so thankful for, of course) and most stressful (ugh), but what does help is remembering what I love, and what I love to do.
And I love dreams. I love signs. I love divining them and researching them and feeling them. I love that people trust me with their emotions, their fears, their wants and wishes. I love the twisty and the ineffable. The unconscious and unsaid.
That said (ha!), and filled with appreciation, into your dream we go: It’s dark, to begin. In your heart, maybe, and definitely in your dream. Terrible things have happened, and you are weary. We all would be in your shoes. As you make your way deeper, you stumble upon someone, and oh, is she important.
I am a person of symbols, as you know, and The Crone is a big one. If you’re a Jungian, she is a representative of the collective unconscious — the Wise Old Woman / Wise Old Man. If you’re a variety of other people, she could be a hag, a child eater, a sinister witch. ⅓ of a goddess, the dark of the moon.
Did you know, though, that The Crone also represents freedom? An end of the cycle, as it were. And isn’t that what happened to you? The death of the long, bad relationship. A tether breaking.
The Crone appears to you stereo-typically, I believe so you will recognize her. She’s holding tobacco (!!!) in her hand, which in my culture is a traditional offering, specifically before receiving wisdom from an elder. Though you and I don’t come from the same people, Mia, I still think it applies here. Still, she subverts our expectations, or at least mine, and drops it on the floor. Though it is not holy, not sacred in itself, it could be made that way. Maybe by you. So, you pick it up, you dust it off, you make it important again.
And then she levels you with a word. She doesn’t offer any wisdom, and placation, just a word. One word. Lucky for us, that’s all I need. In the grand scheme of things, robber (the word or the person) could mean plenty of things, given the context. In our schema, though, this word points to what you feel like was stolen from you in the relationship. The dignity, the self-sacredness, the steady ground. Whatever else was wrapped up in what you went through. You wake up saying it because what comes after must be remembered.
The Crone was there, and I am, too, to remind you that you have such a long way to go. There are better years ahead, and perhaps you are experiencing them now. The offering is in your hands, not in the hands of what you imagine to be your older, better self. Stay rooted in the present. Let your life bloom where you find yourself standing. Don’t be afraid that you’ve already spent the good times, for there are always more ahead.
Most importantly, though, remember you contain multitudes. Not just the Maiden. Not just the Mother. Not just The Crone. You are everything.
I hope this helped. I hope your fall is full of harvest. I’m sending you a dream of the future, but it is so delicious it must be kept a secret, at least for now. Let me know if you get it.
See you on the other side,
Howdy
~Ask Howdy~
Q: Howdy, help! What should I do when I have a dream someone I know dies?
A: This is always a hard thing to parse. We’re so afraid of death, of the unknown, but my general advice is — if you know them well, tell them. I’d want to know! But try to keep it to the hours after breakfast (not sure why, this is just what I’ve always been taught). If they’re your boss, or someone on the subway, just look at them meaningfully until they get the point or something like it… Good luck.
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