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At 6:15 A. M., I awoke with this encouraging dream:
It is winter, dark outside. After long decades, I return to college, brightly lit, with my belongings and discover my old small room has been completely renovated in engaging pastels of creams, greens, and strawberries—a suitable milieu to continue my studies. As I begin settling in, a former classmate says excitedly, “I didn’t know you were here!” then sits on my new desk chair. Others who I’d studied with also fill my room that overlooks the street below. Occasional noises, the only drawback.
This encouraging dream reveals fresh beginnings in my psyche. Again, the winter, dark outside suggests the shortening span of my life—a critical reminder to live in the now and to let go of yesterdays and tomorrows. I’ve still much to learn.
The college, brightly lit, suggests advanced learning, the opportunity to deepen my knowledge of human history, free from idealism or romanticism or muddled thinking. I’m clearly ready.
And my old small room felt like the one at the Junior College I attended, the first time away from home. In the dream, though, its colors gladdened me. The Interior Decorator, aware of my preferences, had created this environment for new learning, despite its hardness, knowing that I would feel at home.
And a former classmate, as well as those who later fill my room with feminine energy, suggests a plethora of positive support and encouragement. Joy abounds.
Lastly, the occasional noises speak of irritations woven into life’s fabric, also sources for new learning.
This encouraging dream still lives on, its beeswax fragrance, a source of contentment …
At midnight I awoke with this dream:
The Eyes of Isis has just been published and drawn rave reviews. I’m eager to buy my own copy.
For the remainder of the night, sleep came in fits and starts, given my body’s memory of touring the Egyptian Temple of Isis with a Jungian study group in 1996. It was the last temple built in the classical Egyptian style, with construction beginning around 690 BCE.
Overwhelmed then and now by the Sacred Feminine, my psyche thrummed with energies opening onto vast realms beyond imagining. Who would have thought I would revisit this sacred site of Isis in my dream? Would find such nurturing as I await my transition? Would again feel at home within Isis’s protective arms?—No matter the centuries that separate us, Isis first mentioned in the Pyramid Texts, c. 2350–c. 2100 BCE. The priests of Heliopolis developed her myth that spread throughout the Greco-Roman world, its mysteries practiced in her Temples.
Isis’s devotees yearned for spiritual growth in this life and a high place in the afterlife. In this striving, they leaned into her motherly wisdom and compassion, sought the succor of her healing, and welcomed her presence at the weighing of heart ceremony in the underground Hall of Osiris. I share their yearning.
The dream seems to invite deeper penetration within the eyes of Isis opening out upon bliss, and not lose heart with the rigors of my transition. This is working out.
Heart Whisperings 