Okay, so I had this dream

Okay, so I had this dream.

I was leaving a place I had worked for a long long time. It was my last day; time to go. Everyone was cordial, friendly, respectful. They wished me well, we promised to keep in touch.

It was late, dark outside, I was on foot - into the forest I walked - the roadway was wide though unpaved.

I had gone a distance when I became certain that I was being watched, stalked.

I began to see wild animals, a grizzly bear slid between a pair of tall trees, a leopard hunkered in the scrub grass; the mane of a huge lion moved stealthily into the road. All of their eyes were upon me. I knew they were preparing to attack, to tear me stem from stern.

I was very afraid - not a little afraid - terrified. I can vividly recall these feelings as I write this, I felt every fiber of myself stiffen, my guts knotted. I could not breathe. I could not move.

Then wafting into my mind came the though,

“Oh, I remember, I love you.”.

Oh my, what a lovely sound. I wrapped my attention around this thought, enjoying the sensation of it. Ohhhh, I remember, Ohhhh, I love you, ahhh. That’s great, I liked it. I was so enjoying the thought that I forgot I was about to be pounced upon by wild animals. When I looked up the animals were nonchalantly walking away - a ‘never mind’ glance over their shoulders.

I recall thinking ‘Maybe I was mistaken; they weren’t after me at all. I’’d unnecessarily frightened myself.’ I resumed my journey into the dark night certain that I would be more observant and discerning.

I had not gone far when I saw rising from the earth - creatures. I’d never seen creatures like these before - never. Taller than the trees, sprouting out of the ground like mushrooms, gargantuan glaring venomous eyes, piercing me, making my skin hot. I changed direction to avoid them.

No, they were everywhere. They began hurling objects at me.

I pressed both hands out to protect myself, and several spine covered orbs imbedded themselves in my palms. I tried to wipe them away, the more I tried the worse it got, hotter, deeper, angrier.

I felt ill, I feared the orbs were poisonous. There was no doubt these creatures intended to hurt me, they were hurting me. I couldn’t run; I couldn’t remove the orbs. The hellacious creatures were advancing toward me lobbing certain pain.

Then from nowhere that sweet thought whispered into my mind. “Oh, I remember, I love you.” Again, the thought pulled my attention, but this time as I granted the thought audience, the stinging, burning, boring orbs fell from my hands, powerlessly they eased to the ground.

I blinked and thought in the direction of the creatures.

“Oh, I remember, I love you.”

Panic was nowhere to be felt. Profound quietness in it’s place. I lifted my head, the creatures were dissolving, no flailing or gnashing, no struggle, simply fading, going, going, totally gone.



In the morning I basked in the transition from sleep to waking, the dream so real; an actual experience. The palpible quietness lingered. For hours I sat gratefully replaying the dream, mining it for insight, determined not to let a morsel go uncherished.

I thought about the exclamation, “Oh!” and chuckled how the intonation of it reminded me of the vegetable juice commercial - “Oh!” hand to head “I could’ve had a V8.”

I thought about the word ‘remember’, as in - become a member again. Re-membering, re-joining, re-turning, perhaps like the Prodigal Child.

I thought about love. The dream’s love, rich, multidimensional, inclusive, powerful in ebullient generosity. I thought about how this experience of love differed from the word ‘love’ -- frequently a code for manipulation, expectation, judgment. I thought how easy it was to give my attention to the dream’s love, as if it were a perfect fit, familiar yet vastly interesting. I recalled how the ominous characters of the dream had responded to the presence of love, as if their every need were utterly filled, too.

I examined the dream’s ‘remember.’ It was a transportive action, a leap from being in the ego inscribed endangered territory, to being instantly the energy of love itself. A perceptual shift, similar to the two faces and a vase stereogram, is it two faces looking at each other or is it a vase? The perceptual shift went even deeper; it was as if the ego leaped with me, we re-membered together, like the shift couldn’t have happened any other way. I thought about the long long time I had worked at being free from ego. I smiled, “Oh!”

I thought about the dark night, the forest, the wild creatures, and orbs. I wondered if Jungian-ists were right that all of these elements were communications from my subconscious. If so, then, so too is ‘remembering’ and ‘love.’ I smiled, “Oh!”

I thought about the timing of the dream. I had been working for years as a registered nurse and preparing to open my hypnotherapy practice. I’d garnered the requisite training, credentials, experience but had stalled, questioning - the unknown territory, the dark night. Could it be the dream came to nudge me? Truly the dream’s love activated all of my hypnosis sessions; I was well prepared. Was it time to go?

I thought about the mythical Fool, striding along the Royal Road, the eternally rising sun illuminating its path.

I enjoy re-membering this dream and the rich processing that flowed with it. I heeded its nudge; I have my own practice. It is the Swan Approach; Trance-Ending Counseling. My office in the Tucson Creative Living Center in the Tucson Mountains west of 1-10. My practice, as you might imagine, dissolves trances of limitation by raising their energy to that of love, the real deal.

Hypnosis is the real deal, too. Every source concedes that self talk is the number one determiner of success or failure in any endeavor. Hypnosis has the capacity to go to the origin of an “issue” and resolve it. Hypnosis potentiates every health and healing modality and is substantive enough to stand alone in many situations.

My practice is my joy; my calling. You may contact me either by phone:

520-743-4516

or e-mail: theswanapproach@msn.com


... to the utmost in life ...
Susan Swan RN, CH