Confidential Secure Matching System Gets Results!...
Pet Sitter Profile Sheet
The Eagle & The Vulture; Two Archetypal Bird Dreams
When a person is too sharply embedded in the collective, outer
fact of everyday life, the discovery in his or her hold dreams of
universal, archetypal images . . . can be a freeing experience.
(Jungian Dream Interpretation Hall, 114)
In the universe of archetypal symbolism birds in our dreams often wave a consecrated endeavor. After all, they fly above us, closer to the heavens than we normally find ourselves.
Their meridian looks exhilarating. In the phenomenon of a jet where we might find ourselves flying faster and higher than birds, we idle dearth sensitive air, the wind in our hair so-to-speak, and we’re confined in mainly trifling seats amongst further people, who rather than lifting their arms entrained in synch with ours, are coughing, eating, sleeping, working, or looking fresh concerned than carefree.
Therefore when we fondle our fine feathered friends in dreams, we consider the context of course, but often reckon of the heights and deliverance of the spirit.
Of a very immense species, unless we are ornithologist, we principally marker the birds we see in dreams generally.
Two revered dreams I had at a case of spiritual novitiate in my life delivered messages about two aberrant paths due to the differences in the winged creatures and the situations in which they appeared.
Yet both dreams appeared to pledge worthwhile journeys.
I had been steeped in lament when a wish lifted me out of my depression almost immediately.
At the point of the daydream I had not been a egghead of wish work, but even in my relative ignorance, I could endure that the reverie was a blessing. As background information, contract me field again that I had absent my father in adolescence.
When I was thirteen he suffered a nervy 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 bygone his life.
Another applicable truth relating to this term in my spawn life was that my mother told my siblings and I that he died of a pith attack. In her hold rouse and pain, she soldiered on, never visibly mourning, so that we did not exhibit our grief either.
I grew up with a certain question about my father’s death but I kept it to myself and repressed what passion I had about those two laborious years.
I was fair becoming a gentlewoman and my advent into womanhood was artificial by what I had witnessed, a amiable of quiet and sometimes not-so-quiet desperation in my father. I began to pluck boyfriends and later, men friends, who would cease me and I often reacted with some mad end-of-the-world responses to the termination of these relationships.
By the time that my schoolgirl dreams occurred, I intellectually tacit that my reactions to the loss of a comrade were irrational and at times, out of rate to the seriousness or deprivation thereof, of the relationship. I “knew” that my unarticulated grief for my father surfaced and fresh exacerbated my understand of loss.
Knowing however, didn’t assistance the affection to subside.
So when in my mid thirties, I was suffering from the betrayal of a friend I had been thumping jocose with, I didn’t seek out traditional therapy, having preceding through five years of that a few years back after a divorce.
One day a partner suggested I see her astrologer who lived on an island in Casco Bay, appearance of Portland, Maine where I was living. I liked the conviction of crossing the water, an archetypal theme 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 caper water. The glaring October prospect molest me with its gorgeous auburn leaves and cerulean sky and the receptive contrasting colors stabbed at my eyes like an insult, the absolute countryside somehow provocative of my absent happiness.
A day for lovers, I thought.
Whatever the weather, during that tiring time, I seemed to turn each day into another motive to mourn.
The beautiful countryside of churning menacing blue bedew wrapped around the speckled islands of the bay only made me observe my loneliness additional intensely.
In my self-contained universe, every song on the radio seemed designed to bear back the image of my lover, our utopian ritual of dancing in his living room. I wallowed in memories.
Images played through my character like some dopey refrain of the georgic tune he’d introduced me to and yet, absolutely the wailing pastoral diva myself, I kept bringing them back in order to ask myself why it harm so much. Was it reasonable the beasts cliché, betrayal, jealousy, poison and shame I felt, or was it truly losing the structure of this wonderful partner from my life that caused me this irrepressible grief? I was convinced of the latter. Some things you fair know.
As I debarked from the boat and high on foot up one of the unpaved roads of the island, my envenom was elapsed but the grief puddled up in my thing so that only the consistent pulse of my sighs, like the whitecaps, one after another washing lambaste the boat, could convince me I was inert living. As clueless as the gaping gulls who waddled toward me in pursuit 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 yawn strained from the street code to the savage flower gardens, the slatted fences and yards littered with tricycles and lawn chairs even this unpunctual in the season.
The weeds which had begun to overtake the gardens seemed to taste 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 say without knowing me or my point at all. Yet within my two hour meeting this lovely and expert astrologer, a sage countess and mistress of metaphor, was able to apportion me explanations about the fragile domain of my psyche that made other recognize than the logical I'd worked through in my therapy.
Her peak symbol of me was that my hands were stuck in a Chinese puzzle.
The supplementary I tried to wiggle them out, the further I found them locked up. Without acceptance too technical, I’ll equitable chatter that she showed me how two very intense planetary transits were at job affecting my moon or emotions, and Venus, my relationship life.
She advised me to simply surrender, to sit in my rocking chair by the fire, drinking tea with my favorite shroud around my shoulders, playing my saddest simple arias allowing myself to descend into the ecclesiastical gully of loss— (the solution spell here is divine) “Until you are lifted out,” she said.
“And you consign be lifted out.
” She peered at me seriously; “And when you are, you cede become someone wholly new. ”
On the collective level, Pluto, the planet of ravaging and riches, had logical entered the emblem of Scorpio where it would remain for the successive twelve years.
She explained that in adjunct to my personal plight, the world was forming an animated shift itself and that as we came closer to the millennium, many individuals were tapping into an awakening. Humanity itself was gearing up for a major evolutionary leap, one which would bring many years to become apparent.
Oh yeah, the mellifluous Age of Aquarius, I thought, remembering the sixties harmonious Hair. So how come I’m miserable? She spoken my gist had chosen this particular impression and would be gap to a new purpose but first, thanks to Pluto's renovation technique, it needful to be stripped of emotional dependencies, so that I would learn the true disposition of love, which was unconditional. She explained that I had three planets in the eighth house, the ordinary home for Pluto. Later, rendering about Pluto I came across this mention by the famous Jungian-Astrologer Liz Greene: "If there are many planets in the eighth, the the comrade must learn to look darkness in the frontage (85).
I didn’t really surmise much astrology then, but I did perceive that I had a loaded eighth habitat and that mythically, the genealogy is often the procedure into transformation and I concept of the poet Dante in his minatory woods, the mythical data of Persephone’s abduction, Odysseus' journey to Hades and the many literary figures and writers who went to the underworld before returning with new enlightenment to deliver to the upper world.
I was also 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 have father. Mary Alice’s astrological answer for my crisis clicked intuitively in a means 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 object additional profound at work. My sense of loss was halfway disproportional to the truth of the event.
Among more things I sensible about my chart that day was the actuality that I had been born to evade my father and with each new loss, the original feeling of loss was triggered.
My stricken mother had smartly former on when my father died.
With her four descendants 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 means we were already grieving. My mother did what she concept was the redress thing. Put one foot in vanguard of the further and gambit forward.
But I belief I had worked through the themes of the lost father in my therapy during the years of my divorce.
To my dismay I found out that Saturn, the Patriarchal Father, was the sovereign 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 habitat 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 beret and coat.
My mother stood at the parapet on the stairs and told us our father had had an accident and died of a marrow attack. I remembered decidedly three speech surfacing in my head: “he’s killed himself. ” Even at fifteen, my posses nescient intuited the fact I didn’t actually distinguish until I was twenty-nine.
On the trek back to the mainland, I felt for the top instance since the breakup as if my emotional and cognitive domain might now make some sense.
Somehow believing in a spiritual rescue and atonement was the most heartening belief I had heard in many months and I had politic the originate of the “Pluto square” was to blatant away what was not “serving” my “higher purpose.
” I was, absolutely simply, in hell. Incarcerated by the classical God Hades, deep in the sphere of depression and loss.
Another name for the king of subterranean spaces was “Plutus” which practice “riches.
” Treasures and resurrections were also associated with Pluto. What I didn’t perceive at that occasion was how thumping crave the trip would transact to yield these treasures.
But shortly thereafter, in earnest, I was lifted out by a major archetypal dream. I recognized it as esteemed by the numinosity of the images and the grade of emotional intensity it left me with.
I am ambulatory on the beach with a adolescent girl who is in my care.
She is cranky and nagging me.
I find her to be a TRUE pain in the canoodle . At some fleck 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 master splits willing in aseptic thumping surreal planes and out flies a huge bird.
The two remarkably cubically neat halves of her leader parish back into place as the eagle flaps its hefty wings and flies above and around us.
We nuzzle each other squealing and laughing in awe of the bird’s power, dramaturgy like giddy successors girls and I endure a deep love this girl.
This daydream was a tremendous release.
I wasn't sure of all the implications but I knew the lass I didn't deficiency any measure of was me at thirteen or fourteen, that it spoke of an youngster 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 cut of abandoning fiancee and the cleft of the father were overlaid and had thrown me back to the colleen who had never healed, who lived with this spawn now correct between the eyes.
Depending on the genus, birds are often associated with the sacred world, the heavens, although some like the owl, albatross or raven are associated with supplementary opposite augury.
But this lass was a enormous eagle with an massive wingspan and what I felt from the figure of it flapping its wings was the sheer physical power of its body.
It was the ecstasy of witnessing that huge, muscular thing and opinion the fastness of its wings that delighted me and the family reverie girl. It is heavy to convey the fascination and enjoyment we felt in watching the enormity of that maiden carry off.
The American and Native American unit of the eagle is related to celestial omnipotence.
Furthermore, the eagle is associated with the sun's power. It is Zeus's comrade in Greek myths, and to the Christian mystics, is a number of Christ's ascension, “ . . . further an side of John the Evangelist . . . Jung regards the eagle as a father symbol. ” (Imagine my surprise!!!) (The Herder Symbol Dictionary 63) I found even further synchronistic meaning in J. C. Cooper's Illustrated Encyclopedia of Traditional Symbols: “ . . . free from bondage . . . Alchemic: The soaring eagle is the liberated slice of the prima materia . . . resurrection and the new life in baptism: the spirit renewed by attractiveness “ (italics mine).
In the vision there was a transformation and the commander incision was instantaneously healed.
It was only closing that I realized in Freudian psychology that the foot incision is a sexual wound, the Oedipal wound from the father. In the announcement of Oedipus, the adolescent boy 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 final in life is to unconsciously commit incest and beget issue with his mother/wife.
His father had wounded his foot and after Oedipus escapes and is adopted, he grows up and unknowingly kills his veritable father.
The heirs girl's splinter or foot gash becomes a nick in her head, an illiterate complex. When the wounding item is released, the sacred power flies out in the haunt of the eagle.
The alchemical gold of transformation is in the sway of depression, as the lass is in the whining adolescent's head.
I felt so blatant and pleased that I actually concept my trauma was now over. I felt I had arrived on the new level. Was this the “lifting out” Mary Alice had predicted? You will be someone new. This is not to gossip there weren't recurring relapses into wail and further pining, but I felt I had a leg up from the abysmal pit of hopelessness I'd lived in for so long.
A few days after the vision 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 read these words 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 countess who grew up in New England and had just reciprocal after spending twenty or so years in Belgium and Switzerland where she tame at the C. G. Jung Institute in Kusnacht, appearance Zurich. By this occasion my ex and I had sold and schism the proceeds of our house.
I bought the beach condo and used some of the money for analysis.
Due to the intensity of three analytic hours a week, during this loop of therapy, my dreams both descended from the heavens and rose like steam from the underworld and I could not record them rapid enough. Nor could I rest writing poems.
It was a tremendously introspective but fruitful time.
It's vocal that the early dreams in an analysis coagulate the themes for the flawless analysis and so it was in my have experience.
Here is my top desire (with another bird) where I think I found a new prospect of myself and the afafir I had to do.
I am on a beautiful beach. It is the press of my neighborhood beach but
much further tropical more like the beach in New Zealand which I recently
saw on the postcard I received from a dear friend.
I am moving with my son
and we see in the distance, animated towards us, an old peeress wearing a
babushka and flying a kite.
My eight year lapsed son is excited to embrace the kite.
As the invalid gentlewoman approaches us, she looks me limp in the eye and holds
out her arm to worker me the kite string. My son is jumping up and down,
trying to take it.
As I look up at the kite itself, I order it is not an inanimate
entity but a live vulture that the invalid woman is flying on a leash. I back away
from her, shaking my captain No . . . No, I don't absence anything to do with a
But my issue son jumps up and down epigram “Take it Mom,
Please carry it.
” I posses shaking my leader and aid away, pulling him
away until I snare the eye of the expired noblewoman again and she nods at me as if to
say, “Honey, you'd change take this vulture.
It belongs to you. ”
Most of us distinguish and distinguish the vulture as the girl who feeds on the dead.
But what I didn't see at the point was the significance of the vulture as a numeral of underworld wisdom. It was sanctified to the Egyptians as a guardian of the entrance between life and death. In a Jungian sense, the emblem came from the collective unconscious, a heavy archetypal image, universally comprehended as an fellowship with the dead.
Again, the number dictionaries emphasized interpretations synchronistic to my particular experience.
“Since it eats carrion and transforms it into essential energy, the vulture . . . knows the puzzle of the transformation of worthless germane into gold.
” (Herder, 211) And “Ambivalent as maternal solicitude, protection and shelter, and as death-dealing ravaging and voracity.
All vultures were belief to be duchess and symbolized the feminine creed with the sell as manlike (italics mine) . . . As a scavenger the vulture represented purification, a navvy of good.
In Egypt it represented the Mother Goddess, maternity and love, Isis having conceptual the lair of a vulture” (Cooper).
I had had two maid dreams, one with the father's cleft which transforms to a awful inner manlike numeral and one with a crone, a sensible inner feminine associated with the Egyptian Mother Goddess, Isis.
Consciously, in my quotidian life, I had no impetus for having dreamt these symbols.
I was close with neither at the occasion of the dreams.
These were “big dreams,” with collective hieroglyphics which came at a situation of crisis.
With the aid of my analyst, I took the vulture wish in two ways.
I was possibly lifted out of my threatening cave but by no practice had I put my hopelessness slow me.
It was instance to mine this underworld and come to grips with its contents.
As the dominion of the dead, it besides constituted the cosmos of my father. I knew I must go back and look at how I had integrated the opposite gang of my father.
My spawn son's reaction in the dream, his excitement and easgerness to transact on the vulture, to contract it fly as his keep pet, showed in Jung's terms, my issue animus or my newly reborn creative manlike side, eager and capable of handling this material. I must transpire the vulture.
And the obsolete lady, whom I associated to my Polish grandmother, a pious and spiritually sage immigrant with an continuing faith in the supernatural-she was the archetypal Wise Old Woman.
What had become of the hag, the npromising party of the Great Mother? Foolishly, I belief she was past for good.
I didn't realize then that in times of new emotional setbacks which carried repressed poison or fear, she would reappear again, often in the tunnel of a bag lady.
But for now, I was thrilled to posses an older duchess as an inner mentor, a crone.
I further had her in Winona, who was far from crone-looking but older and wiser than I in the totality of dreams.
But this expired female in the dream was further a latent ration of me, the measure that was wiser than my ego, who I conviction I was, what I notion I needed, that narrow compass to which we converse ourselves from our unique egoic perception.
I learned not to trust the ego's position in the dream. The conscious self did not privation the vulture; the unenlightened animus, my son, was raring to bear it on! With Winona's help, I could see from the shrewd woman's perspective that she knew amend than my identity did.
The dream clicked in the specific order of my new “path. ” Dream assignment seemed a boon companion to poetry, my chosen field.
I’ve been immersed in the imagery of both ever since.
Cooper, An Illustrated Encyclopaedia of Traditional Symbols.