Dream Reentry: Vehicles, Maps, and Healing

Summary of First Dream Sequence

What I’m about to write is the dream sequel to the incubated dream from my last post.

After the sequence I audio-recorded upon waking, I went back to sleep, hoping for return to or expansion on the incubated question, which was directed to the masters, teachers, or ancestors, and sought, because I’m suddenly very ill with a strange vaculitis, to show me what I need to pay attention to for my highest good. The themes and images in the first dream sequence were as follows:

  • Autumn and nighttime at a rural fair
  • A decapitated jack-o-lantern head mounted above a written warning against sexual manipulation of gullible girls and women
  • Games of basketball with a warped ball that was analogue to the perfect moon
  • Advice from a father about my writing poetry
  • My teaching people how to start a white car with love and psychic knowledge

So I fell back asleep and had another series of rather brief and disjointed dreams, in the following order.

Collision of Black and White Vehicles

I am driving a white car through a western desert in daylight. The white car is exactly like the one I taught others to start with the Love button in the first dream. I reach an intersection and see a mirror image of my car, except that it is black. I assume that it will follow the rules and yield right-of-way to my white car, but instead it runs the stop sign and will smash into my car – except that I wake up from the dream just before impact. I vow to remember this dream, and then I go back to sleep.

Anger at My Teacher for Taking My Practice Mapping Journal

I’m in a big house that seems to be a place of dharma retreat and teaching. Other students are there. My teacher John is there, and I go into a room with him and sit beside him on the floor. I open a handwritten journal I’ve been keeping and begin reading a couple of short passages aloud to him. He says nothing about those passages. Instead, he takes the journal away from me and turns to the front, where I’ve drawn maps of attainments and made notes beside each attainment about where I think certain acquaintances of mine are on the map. He knows one of these acquaintances. I am angry at him for doing this. I rise, snatch back my notebook from him, and walk out of the home, quitting the retreat. I walk all the way home, alone. Then I wake again. I’m lying on my left side, and morning light is streaming in through an aperture across the room, in vertical rays. Then I fall asleep one last time.

Two Spirit Hands Healing Me While I Lie Lucid

I am aware that I’m sleeping. I’m lying on my left side. From a third-person point of view, I can see two white spirit hands come down from the heavens. The two palms of white light rest down on my right hip, whose extreme pain was a prodrome of my current illness. The hands are healing me. I am healed.

Before I went to sleep last night, and before I wrote out the dream incubation, I called upon Padmasambhava and White Tara for healing. I then did a short healing practice via akashic records. The final dream was remarkable and lucid.

The entire night’s dreams need to be sorted and evaluated in terms of the question that incubated them. I’ll do that later in a separate post.

Dream of the Heart Lamp on the Dark Path

I’m a little frustrated with myself for not adhering to my dream yoga practice, but I’m scattered and have been since September 2014, when I began working on MCTB2 with Daniel. After that scene exploded, I had a hard time winding down from it. I sought replacements for him and for the Dharma Underground, which I considered my ragtag sangha. Meantime, my teacher urged me to stop. He told me I needed to feel my losses. He told me that the real sangha is always already with me, to feel that, connect with that. He told me to pull all my energy back into myself instead of playing the Helper, that doing so would deepen my practice. And deepening the practice, finishing the Path, is Mission 1.

Only in the past couple of months have I begun to really withdraw. Now it is hard to do anything but withdraw. Dharma scenes are not my scenes. Although I can touch into scenes from time to time and enjoy other people there as friends, gone is the notion that any are going to enrich my practice. Honestly, very few are practicing at the level I am now. There is nothing to talk about, therefore, and my journey will be unique from here on, less subject to mapping than what came before. I cannot even write here about my main practices, not yet anyway. I’m keeping a private journal again. Maybe it won’t always be private, but it needs to be for now. My teacher is right, you see.

Moreover, I’m more and more finding that I need to be metacognitively aware of how I’m interacting with those seeking my practice advice. Sometimes people pretend to want help, but then they reject the straightforward advice and want to spend time verbally pushing back against me. In short, they are externalizing a loop they are caught in, perpetuating; they are projecting onto me one end of the loop. Funny – I now understand well how I did the same thing to Daniel on some occasions. And when he was like a Refusing Wall over and over and over again, that actually ended up being what I needed. I was thrown back on myself and the “no escape” of the here-and-now of suffering. “It always amazes me – the lengths to which people with go to avoid looking at their own suffering,” I still hear him saying.

For the past two weeks, I’ve wanted almost nothing to do with dharma, including practice. Incidentally, I injured my knee while sitting in half lotus, and that has been an excuse not to practice. I’ve suddenly wanted to excel at my day job, watch movies with my husband, drink vodka martinis whose recipes I create, and plan trips to historic Savannah. I’ve done so. I’m moving further inward, back into my very human life. Even my dream practice hasn’t been appealing: I’ve wanted only to sleep deeply through the night, plunging into that holdout of Ignorance. I know my teacher would approve, strange though that may sound.

The Dreams

Over the past week, on four or so successive nights, I had a series of dreams that were part of a single narrative. I remember little detail about any of the dreams, but they all concerned my planning a solitary retreat into the dark woods. In one I was discussing matters with my husband, who wasn’t sure I should go. I told him I was going, that it would be fine. DreamWalker’s young daughter was in another of the dreams and was significant, but I’m not sure why. It was as if I were going into solitary retreat partly for her sake. 

The climax of the dream series, and the clearest part, was my going before some kind of oracle on a throne before departing onto the dark forest path. I had my backpack ready to go. I put it down and looked up at the throne above me. I told whoever this oracle was that I was going to journey alone into and through the dark and that I needed healing. Suddenly, I was looking down at my open palm in which lay an amulet with a long cube-shaped perfume vial. The vial was filled with my own tears.They had been transformed into liquid light. I tied the pendant behind my neck, and the vial fell between my breasts, at heart center. The light it gave off was brilliant, never dimming. I bowed and departed on my lone journey.

The Evaluation

Given all that I wrote before writing the dream narrative, there is little about this series to evaluate. One point I want to note, though, is that the lucidity of the amulet was self-illumination of the dream: It was the one part of the dream series that I remember with clarity and sharpness. If I decide to explore this dream further, it will be to learn more about who the oracle is. I feel it is someone I know but who remained hidden, cloaked, while bestowing the gift that was already mine. It is a Wizard of Oz or a Glenda the Good.

XX on the Importance of Righteous Anger

Jenny wrote, “He also says, ‘If Ray Jennings were alive for just 5 minutes, I would punch right him in the face without hesitation.’ Ray is my father.”For what it’s worth, there is an audio CD called “The Mind-Body Code” that describes Mario Martinez’s work.


Here’s a short interview, which really presents 80% of his material:


Your husband’s quote above reminded me of something on either the interview or the CD. He talked about two female twins, both of whom were molested by their father. One had bad rheumatoid arthritis, the other was completely without symptoms (which is rare, because the disease is thought to very genetically based). The woman with arthiritis still visited her father and when ever she did she would get a flare-up of symptoms, remembering what he did to her. The other didn’t visit and said “I can’t wait until the SOB is dead.” In this case, mature righteous anger seemed to be the main thing that separated the two twins outcomes, because obviously they where genetically identical. So the righteous anger thing can be important in life.

Anyway, this stuff is pretty deep and I don’t mean to pull you into this domain. I guess I’ve spent so much time studying and mapping all this stuff (folks on this site will groan with agreement of my self-diagnosed mapping problem) that I feel compelled to share it. But it really might not be helpful or interesting — so no worries!