House Sitting Jobs In Italy
House Sitting Jobs In Italy
The Eagle & The Vulture; Two Archetypal Bird Dreams
When a companion is too acutely embedded in the collective, outer
detail of everyday life, the discovery in his or her have dreams of
universal, archetypal images .
can be a freeing experience.
(Jungian Dream Interpretation Hall, 114)
In the globe of archetypal symbolism birds in our dreams often gesture a religious endeavor.
After all, they fly above us, closer to the heavens than we normally find ourselves.
Their latitude looks exhilarating.
In the item of a jet where we might find ourselves flying faster and higher than birds, we torpid dearth flexible air, the wind in our hair so-to-speak, and we’re confined in mostly trivial seats amongst more people, who moderately than lifting their arms entrained in synch with ours, are coughing, eating, sleeping, working, or looking more concerned than carefree.
Therefore when we touch our fine feathered friends in dreams, we consider the context of course, but often surmise of the heights and freedom of the spirit.
Of a extraordinary vast species, unless we are ornithologist, we mostly classify the birds we see in dreams generally.
Two superior dreams I had at a instance of religious initiation in my life delivered messages about two divergent paths due to the differences in the winged creatures and the situations in which they appeared.
Yet both dreams appeared to avowal worthwhile journeys.
I had been steeped in groan when a daydream lifted me out of my melancholy almost immediately.
At the occasion of the dram I had not been a pundit of vision work, but even in my relative ignorance, I could endure that the daydream was a blessing.
As background information, contract me territory again that I had misplaced my father in adolescence.
When I was thirteen he suffered a jittery breakdown and when I was fifteen he died of a self-administered overdose of drugs.
He was a doctor, so I often wondered if he had intentionally elapsed his life.
Another material actuality relating to this name in my issue life was that my mother told my siblings and I that he died of a nucleus attack.
In her have shock and pain, she soldiered on, never visibly mourning, so that we did not show our grief either.
I grew up with a certain question about my father’s death but I kept it to myself and repressed what love I had about those two hard years.
I was just becoming a lady and my advent into womanhood was posed by what I had witnessed, a friendly of calmness and sometimes not-so-quiet desperation in my father.
I began to reap boyfriends and later, men friends, who would stop me and I often reacted with some berserk end-of-the-world responses to the termination of these relationships.
By the juncture that my bird dreams occurred, I intellectually unstated that my reactions to the loss of a individual were irrational and at times, out of ratio to the seriousness or dearth thereof, of the relationship.
I “knew” that my unarticulated grief for my father surfaced and other exacerbated my understand of loss.
Knowing however, didn’t assistance the feelings to subside.
So when in my mid thirties, I was suffering from the betrayal of a companion I had been extraordinary jocose with, I didn’t seek out traditional therapy, having bygone through five years of that a few years back after a divorce.
One day a man suggested I see her astrologer who lived on an island in Casco Bay, guise of Portland, Maine where I was living.
I liked the belief of crossing the water, an archetypal topic in itself, to find some answers as to why my grief was inconsolable.
I sat on the ferry at ten in the morning, smoking a cigarette.
In those days I’d absent my appetite for meals and I lived on cigarettes and jump water.
The recognizeable October landscape hurt me with its gorgeous auburn leaves and cerulean sky and the bright contrasting colors stabbed at my eyes like an insult, the flawless scenery somehow provocative of my mislaid happiness.
A day for lovers, I thought.
Whatever the weather, during that hard time, I seemed to turn each day into another impetus to mourn.
The beautiful scene of churning menacing blue humidify wrapped around the speckled islands of the bay only made me perceive my loneliness other intensely.
In my self-contained universe, every song on the radio seemed designed to bring back the device of my lover, our idealistic ritual of dancing in his living room.
I wallowed in memories.
Images played through my temperament like some dopey refrain of the pastoral orchestration he’d introduced me to and yet, entirely the wailing pastoral diva myself, I kept bringing them back in edict to ask myself why it abuse so much.
Was it equitable the stock cliché, betrayal, jealousy, envenom and ignomity I felt, or was it truly losing the essence of this wonderful person from my life that caused me this irrepressible grief? I was convinced of the latter.
Some things you moderate know.
As I debarked from the bottom and gamy on foot up one of the unpaved roads of the island, my sour was elapsed but the grief puddled up in my article so that only the consistent tempo of my sighs, like the whitecaps, one after another washing inveigh the boat, could convince me I was inert living.
As clueless as the gaping gulls who waddled toward me in quest of a hand-out, I had crossed the bedew to find an answer.
Once on the island, I followed the twists in the dirt road according to a scribbled map, my gape pinched from the street cipher to the beastly flower gardens, the slatted fences and yards littered with tricycles and lawn chairs even this overdue in the season.
The weeds which had begun to overtake the gardens seemed to relish of decay.
I entered Mary Alice’s screened-in porch and rang the bell.
Though I doubted I would find any solace in the reading, I was curious as to what she could talk without knowing me or my occasion at all.
Yet within my two hour meeting this lovely and brilliant astrologer, a sensible countess and mistress of metaphor, was able to give me explanations about the fragile field of my psyche that made supplementary perceive than the logical I'd worked through in my therapy.
Her boon image of me was that my hands were stuck in a Chinese puzzle.
The more I tried to wiggle them out, the other I found them locked up.
Without acceptance too technical, I’ll fair prattle that she showed me how two thumping intense planetary transits were at undertaking affecting my moon or emotions, and Venus, my relationship life.
She advised me to aptly surrender, to sit in my rocking chair by the fire, drinking tea with my favorite overlay around my shoulders, playing my saddest pastoral arias allowing myself to descend into the theological canyon of loss— (the interpretation name here is divine) “Until you are lifted out,” she said.
“And you entrust be lifted out.
” She peered at me seriously; “And when you are, you entrust become someone completely new.
On the collective level, Pluto, the planet of havoc and riches, had impartial entered the token of Scorpio where it would remain for the later twelve years.
She explained that in addition to my personal plight, the system was production an energetic shift itself and that as we came closer to the millennium, many people were tapping into an awakening.
Humanity itself was gearing up for a major evolutionary leap, one which would take many years to become apparent.
Oh yeah, the euphonious Age of Aquarius, I thought, remembering the sixties dulcet Hair.
So how come I’m miserable? She said my gist had chosen this particular impression and would be orifice to a new purpose but first, thanks to Pluto's renovation technique, it needed to be stripped of emotional dependencies, so that I would learn the true temperament of love, which was unconditional.
She explained that I had three planets in the eighth house, the typical home for Pluto.
Later, declaiming about Pluto I came across this propose by the superior Jungian-Astrologer Liz Greene: "If there are many planets in the eighth, the the companion must learn to look darkness in the facade (85).
I didn’t really assume much astrology then, but I did recognize that I had a loaded eighth dwelling and that mythically, the ancestry is often the procedure into transformation and I impression of the poet Dante in his dark woods, the allegorical facts of Persephone’s abduction, Odysseus' trip to Hades and the many literary figures and writers who went to the underworld before returning with new education to deliver to the upper world.
I was moreover aware of the many poets who never rose from their descent: Plath, Sexton, Berryman, Crane, and so many of the French writers I’d studied in college, as well as my obtain father.
Mary Alice’s astrological guide for my crisis clicked intuitively in a fashion I couldn’t explain.
As psycho-babbly as these astrological terms (“Pluto square, Saturn transit”) sounded to me at the time, I sensed there was thing additional profound at work.
My know of loss was nearly disproportional to the reality of the event.
Among additional things I intelligent about my chart that day was the detail that I had been born to avoid my father and with each new loss, the original dogma of loss was triggered.
My stricken mother had wittily gone on when my father died.
With her four young in tow, she never allowed herself or us to collectively grieve.
It was a different era back in 1963.
President Kennedy death preceded by father’s by three weeks and in a system we were already grieving.
My mother did what she thought was the remedy thing.
Put one foot in prompt of the other and manoeuvre forward.
But I opinion I had worked through the themes of the absent father in my therapy during the years of my divorce.
To my amaze I found out that Saturn, the Patriarchal Father, was the tsar of my particular astrological chart and both my Pluto and my Saturn, as well as Mars, the planet of war and will, were located in the eighth house, the native house of Scorpio, the most intense and emotional sign.
I remembered decidedly the night my father died.
A detective had come to the door with his boater and coat.
My mother stood at the wall on the stairs and told us our father had had an accident and died of a spirit attack.
I remembered remarkably three language surfacing in my head: “he’s killed himself.
” Even at fifteen, my posses unaware intuited the reality I didn’t actually pinpoint until I was twenty-nine.
On the travels back to the mainland, I felt for the peak time since the breakup as if my emotional and reasoning department might now make some sense.
Somehow believing in a sanctified reclamation and compensation was the most heartening opinion I had heard in many months and I had sage the effect of the “Pluto square” was to signal away what was not “serving” my “higher purpose.
” I was, completely simply, in hell.
Incarcerated by the classical God Hades, deep in the sphere of hopelessness and loss.
Another term for the king of subterranean spaces was “Plutus” which fashion “riches.
” Treasures and resurrections were further associated with Pluto.
What I didn’t perceive at that point was how very inclination the cruise would bring to yield these treasures.
But shortly thereafter, in earnest, I was lifted out by a major archetypal dream.
I published it as revered by the numinosity of the images and the merit of emotional intensity it left me with.
I am ambulatory on the beach with a infant girl who is in my care.
She is cranky and nagging me.
I find her to be a veritable pain in the neck .
At some mark she steps on a twig and gets a splinter in her foot.
I try to procure the splinter out, and as I do, it flies from my hands, boomeranging out and then back into her forehead, hitting her fix between her eyes.
Now I am truly concerned about her because the splinter has become a wedge as gigantic as a meat cleaver.
I go to pull it out again but when I free it from her head, her leader splits sensitive in sterile extraordinary surreal planes and out flies a gigantic bird.
The two uncommonly cubically neat halves of her commander community back into calling as the eagle flaps its weighty wings and flies above and around us.
We nuzzle each other squealing and laughing in awe of the bird’s power, drama like giddy descendants girls and I caress a deep passion this girl.
This vision was a tremendous release.
I wasn't sure of all the implications but I knew the miss I didn't dearth any portion of was me at thirteen or fourteen, that it spoke of an infant wound, most likely my father's death, and that out of this girl's pain had come a enormous bird.
It seemed to me the slash of abandoning lover and the cut of the father were overlaid and had thrown me back to the lass who had never healed, who lived with this progeny now amend between the eyes.
Depending on the genus, birds are often associated with the hallowed world, the heavens, although some like the owl, albatross or raven are associated with further refusal augury.
But this colleen was a gigantic eagle with an bulky wingspan and what I felt from the crest of it flapping its wings was the sheer physical tightness of its body.
It was the enchantment of witnessing that huge, muscular thing and teaching the force of its wings that delighted me and the successors dream girl.
It is heavy to convey the fascination and delight we felt in watching the enormity of that girl bring off.
The American and Native American quantity of the eagle is allied to celestial omnipotence.
Furthermore, the eagle is associated with the sun's power.
It is Zeus's man in Greek myths, and to the Christian mystics, is a number of Christ's ascension, “ .
moreover an characteristic of John the Evangelist .
Jung regards the eagle as a father symbol.
” (Imagine my surprise!!!) (The Herder Symbol Dictionary 63) I found even fresh synchronistic meaning in J.
Cooper's Illustrated Encyclopedia of Traditional Symbols: “ .
unshackle from bondage .
Alchemic: The soaring eagle is the liberated ration of the prima materia .
resurrection and the new life in baptism: the core renewed by loveliness “ (italics mine).
In the fantasy there was a transformation and the master incision was instantaneously healed.
It was only final that I realized in Freudian psychology that the foot nick is a sexual wound, the Oedipal wound from the father.
In the data of Oedipus, the baby chap is shackled to a rock with a pin through his foot, left to die from exposure.
Freud associated Oedipus' foot with the phallus, as his crime end in life is to unconsciously leave incest and beget successors with his mother/wife.
His father had wounded his foot and after Oedipus escapes and is adopted, he grows up and unknowingly kills his actual father.
The heirs girl's splinter or foot cut becomes a nick in her head, an unschooled complex.
When the annoying entity is released, the consecrated tightness flies out in the burrow of the eagle.
The alchemical gold of transformation is in the front of depression, as the schoolgirl is in the whining adolescent's head.
I felt so noted and relieved that I actually belief my trauma was now over.
I felt I had arrived on the new level.
Was this the “lifting out” Mary Alice had predicted? You entrust be someone new.
This is not to chatter there weren't recurring relapses into bewail and other pining, but I felt I had a leg up from the abysmal cavity of despair I'd lived in for so long.
A few days after the desire I picked up a poem by the Hungarian poet Miraslav Holub and study the lines You ask the answer, it is but one word-Again.
As I scrutinize these conversation I realized I wanted to go back into therapy.
Driving to a insignificant seacoast town an hour away, I began going twice a week for two hour and a half sessions with Winona, a petite lady who grew up in New England and had moderate common after spending twenty or so years in Belgium and Switzerland where she trained at the C.
Jung Institute in Kusnacht, face Zurich.
By this time my ex and I had sold and division the proceeds of our house.
I bought the beach condo and used some of the fiscal for analysis.
Due to the intensity of three analytic hours a week, during this circuit of therapy, my dreams both descended from the heavens and rose like steam from the underworld and I could not register them fleet enough.
Nor could I halt writing poems.
It was a tremendously introspective but fruitful time.
It's spoken that the early dreams in an analysis jell the themes for the flawless analysis and so it was in my retain experience.
Here is my prime fantasy (with another bird) where I suppose I found a new outlook of myself and the undertaking I had to do.
I am on a beautiful beach.
It is the press of my neighborhood beach but
much fresh tropical more like the beach in New Zealand which I recently
maxim on the postcard I received from a dear friend.
I am moving with my son
and we see in the distance, ambulatory towards us, an expired woman wearing a
babushka and flying a kite.
My eight year invalid son is excited to embrace the kite.
As the obsolete gentlewoman approaches us, she looks me lustreless in the eye and holds
out her arm to navvy me the kite string.
My son is jumping up and down,
trying to catch it.
As I look up at the kite itself, I ordinance it is not an inanimate
item but a live vulture that the lapsed gentlewoman is flying on a leash.
I back away
from her, shaking my master No .
No, I don't dearth anything to do with a
But my issue son jumps up and down adage “Take it Mom,
Please carry it.
” I retain shaking my skipper and offices away, pulling him
away until I hazard the eye of the lapsed duchess again and she nods at me as if to
say, “Honey, you'd revise carry this vulture.
It belongs to you.
Most of us distinguish and ascertain the vulture as the colleen who feeds on the dead.
But what I didn't see at the time was the significance of the vulture as a numeral of underworld wisdom.
It was sacred to the Egyptians as a guardian of the entry between life and death.
In a Jungian sense, the symbol came from the collective unconscious, a weighty archetypal image, universally comprehended as an association with the dead.
Again, the cipher dictionaries emphasized interpretations synchronistic to my particular experience.
“Since it eats carrion and transforms it into needed energy, the vulture .
knows the riddle of the transformation of worthless relevant into gold.
” (Herder, 211) And “Ambivalent as maternal solicitude, shelter and shelter, and as death-dealing devastation and voracity.
All vultures were conviction to be noblewoman and symbolized the feminine credo with the vend as mainly (italics mine) .
As a scavenger the vulture represented purification, a workman of good.
In Egypt it represented the Mother Goddess, maternity and love, Isis having abstract the hole of a vulture” (Cooper).
I had had two colleen dreams, one with the father's cleft which transforms to a redoubtable inner virile cipher and one with a crone, a politic inner feminine associated with the Egyptian Mother Goddess, Isis.
Consciously, in my quotidian life, I had no reason for having dreamt these symbols.
I was familiar with neither at the point of the dreams.
These were “big dreams,” with collective symbols which came at a situation of crisis.
With the aegis of my analyst, I took the vulture daydream in two ways.
I was perhaps lifted out of my gloomy form but by no practice had I put my depression late me.
It was time to mine this underworld and come to grips with its contents.
As the domain of the dead, it further constituted the world of my father.
I knew I must go back and look at how I had integrated the contradiction team of my father.
My issue son's feeling in the dream, his excitement and energy to bring on the vulture, to sublet it fly as his obtain pet, showed in Jung's terms, my spawn animus or my newly reborn creative virile side, eager and capable of handling this material.
I must happen the vulture.
And the obsolete lady, whom I associated to my Polish grandmother, a pious and spiritually wise immigrant with an surviving faith in the supernatural-she was the archetypal Wise Old Woman.
What had become of the hag, the minatory squad of the Great Mother? Foolishly, I thought she was preceding for good.
I didn't recognize then that in times of new emotional setbacks which carried repressed anger or fear, she would reappear again, often in the form of a bag lady.
But for now, I was thrilled to have an older noblewoman as an inner mentor, a crone.
I moreover had her in Winona, who was far from crone-looking but older and wiser than I in the creation of dreams.
But this invalid woman in the desire was further a covert slice of me, the ration that was wiser than my ego, who I belief I was, what I belief I needed, that narrow span to which we issue ourselves from our unique egoic perception.
I judicious not to trust the ego's station in the dream.
The conscious self did not privation the vulture; the unschooled animus, my son, was raring to move it on! With Winona's help, I could see from the judicious woman's perspective that she knew correct than my identity did.
The fantasy clicked in the specific behest of my new “path.
” Dream undertaking seemed a blessing partner to poetry, my chosen field.
I’ve been immersed in the imagery of both ever since.
Cooper, An Illustrated Encyclopaedia of Traditional Symbols.
London: Thames and Hudson, Ltd.
Hall, James, Jungian Dream Interpretation, Toronto: Inner City Books, 1983