A Dream
At a time in my own life when I was experiencing grief, pain and despair,
I had a dream that has illumined my life and informed my practice as a psychotherapist.
I dreamt I was running a race. The race had no time limits, there was no competition and no rules. Everywhere I could see others running the race, each running in his/her own way, along his/her own path. I knew the paths were to some extent allotted to the runners, but I had no idea on what basis or who had made the allocation. I knew that I could choose how I ran along my path, and that each choice had its own consequences.
I did not know why I was in this race or where I was going. I certainly did not know how to run the race. My task was to take on this race, with whatever it involved and to run it to my best capacity, with honest effort and commitment. I knew that I wanted to head directly for my destination (though I did not know where or what that was). I also knew that I liked the soft bits, I liked to dawdle and look at the flowers and daydream and I knew that I could not do this all the time, or I would not complete this race.
At first, I was running barefoot over a rolling landscape of hills covered in soft, green grass dotted with small flowers. All around me and as far as the eye could see, ahead of me, behind me, and on either side, there were other runners, some close together, others widely spaced, all moving across the landscape, all going in the same direction. Some were running fast, some walking, some were on crutches, some crawled or hobbled, some sat by the roadside in elegant alfresco cafes sipping drinks. Some lay sprawled, exhausted, at the side of the track, some still watching, still interested, some face down in the grass. Wherever people had collapsed there were “others,” who encouraged them or sat with them. I did not know who they were, sometimes they seemed to be runners, sometimes unknown others not in the race.
Then just as I thought this was all too easy and that I knew everything, the landscape changed. It became harsher, rockier, and I found myself running over a bed of flint. The stones lacerated my feet and as I looked down I saw blood on the stones where my feet, and the feet of many others before me, had bled into this stony path. I became very frightened. I was frightened of the pain, frightened to turn back, and frightened to leave this path for the softer paths nearby. I forced myself to endure, hobbling along, listening to an encouraging voice within, until I saw ahead of me the flints give way to an easier part. What relief!
Too soon the soft path gave way to another challenge. The path led up a steep slope and the track was soft and muddy. For every step I moved upwards I seemed to slip down again. I was going nowhere, even sliding backwards. Screaming in frustration, I got down on my belly and dragged myself uphill, humiliated, covered in mud. I reached the top - only to face another perilous section of the path.
The path now ran along a cliff face, along a narrow ledge with rocky handholds and the occasional bit of rope. I embarked on this terrifying part of my race, face to the rock wall, a sheer drop behind me and other runners both behind and ahead of me. Sometimes another runner ahead of me got stuck in terror or exhaustion and I helped where I could, or waited patiently for him/her to gather strength and move on. Sometimes when I was stuck, the runners behind me shouted in impatience, or tried to go around me or threatened me. Others encouraged and helped me.
The steep slopes and narrow ledges gave way once again to an easier landscape. As I ran I noticed that sometimes I ran alone, other runners nearby immersed in their own thoughts and their own task. At other times I ran with others who for a short while shared the same path. We talked and joked and supported each other. Then our paths diverged and I ran again on a path different from theirs. I felt grief and a deep sense of loss as they left.
Sometimes when I was exhausted, when I stumbled or felt I was losing hope, I would feel another hand at my elbow or hear words of encouragement from my fellow runners. At other times I was alone and had to find something within myself to help me over the painful parts.
In the dream I felt every emotion - from despair to hope, from terror to courage and determination, from grief to great love and gratitude, from rage and frustration to a sense of accomplishment. Whenever I successfully negotiated the difficult parts, I felt renewed, filled with a sense of satisfaction and power, and hope for the rest of the race.
The race seemed to be endless. At last the path led to a rocky road embankment and after scrambling up the limestone rubble, I found I was on a road made of crushed limestone, where road workers were sweeping away the rubble to leave a soft sandy surface on which to run. Confused as to whether to turn left or right, I asked the workers, who pointed me left. I saw that the road led steeply up to a range of mountains and on the mountain tops was a city of tall towers which shone in the sunlight. Full of joy, I ran on filled with excitement and hope. Was this my destination?
I dreamt I was running a race. The race had no time limits, there was no competition and no rules. Everywhere I could see others running the race, each running in his/her own way, along his/her own path. I knew the paths were to some extent allotted to the runners, but I had no idea on what basis or who had made the allocation. I knew that I could choose how I ran along my path, and that each choice had its own consequences.
I did not know why I was in this race or where I was going. I certainly did not know how to run the race. My task was to take on this race, with whatever it involved and to run it to my best capacity, with honest effort and commitment. I knew that I wanted to head directly for my destination (though I did not know where or what that was). I also knew that I liked the soft bits, I liked to dawdle and look at the flowers and daydream and I knew that I could not do this all the time, or I would not complete this race.
At first, I was running barefoot over a rolling landscape of hills covered in soft, green grass dotted with small flowers. All around me and as far as the eye could see, ahead of me, behind me, and on either side, there were other runners, some close together, others widely spaced, all moving across the landscape, all going in the same direction. Some were running fast, some walking, some were on crutches, some crawled or hobbled, some sat by the roadside in elegant alfresco cafes sipping drinks. Some lay sprawled, exhausted, at the side of the track, some still watching, still interested, some face down in the grass. Wherever people had collapsed there were “others,” who encouraged them or sat with them. I did not know who they were, sometimes they seemed to be runners, sometimes unknown others not in the race.
Then just as I thought this was all too easy and that I knew everything, the landscape changed. It became harsher, rockier, and I found myself running over a bed of flint. The stones lacerated my feet and as I looked down I saw blood on the stones where my feet, and the feet of many others before me, had bled into this stony path. I became very frightened. I was frightened of the pain, frightened to turn back, and frightened to leave this path for the softer paths nearby. I forced myself to endure, hobbling along, listening to an encouraging voice within, until I saw ahead of me the flints give way to an easier part. What relief!
Too soon the soft path gave way to another challenge. The path led up a steep slope and the track was soft and muddy. For every step I moved upwards I seemed to slip down again. I was going nowhere, even sliding backwards. Screaming in frustration, I got down on my belly and dragged myself uphill, humiliated, covered in mud. I reached the top - only to face another perilous section of the path.
The path now ran along a cliff face, along a narrow ledge with rocky handholds and the occasional bit of rope. I embarked on this terrifying part of my race, face to the rock wall, a sheer drop behind me and other runners both behind and ahead of me. Sometimes another runner ahead of me got stuck in terror or exhaustion and I helped where I could, or waited patiently for him/her to gather strength and move on. Sometimes when I was stuck, the runners behind me shouted in impatience, or tried to go around me or threatened me. Others encouraged and helped me.
The steep slopes and narrow ledges gave way once again to an easier landscape. As I ran I noticed that sometimes I ran alone, other runners nearby immersed in their own thoughts and their own task. At other times I ran with others who for a short while shared the same path. We talked and joked and supported each other. Then our paths diverged and I ran again on a path different from theirs. I felt grief and a deep sense of loss as they left.
Sometimes when I was exhausted, when I stumbled or felt I was losing hope, I would feel another hand at my elbow or hear words of encouragement from my fellow runners. At other times I was alone and had to find something within myself to help me over the painful parts.
In the dream I felt every emotion - from despair to hope, from terror to courage and determination, from grief to great love and gratitude, from rage and frustration to a sense of accomplishment. Whenever I successfully negotiated the difficult parts, I felt renewed, filled with a sense of satisfaction and power, and hope for the rest of the race.
The race seemed to be endless. At last the path led to a rocky road embankment and after scrambling up the limestone rubble, I found I was on a road made of crushed limestone, where road workers were sweeping away the rubble to leave a soft sandy surface on which to run. Confused as to whether to turn left or right, I asked the workers, who pointed me left. I saw that the road led steeply up to a range of mountains and on the mountain tops was a city of tall towers which shone in the sunlight. Full of joy, I ran on filled with excitement and hope. Was this my destination?
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