We are such stuff as dreams are made on*

I dreamed a dream a while ago. It went like this:

I had been invited to a TV talk show. Neither the topic, nor the host, nor any other invitees were mentioned. I walked into a room with lots of chairs and was told that I could sit anywhere. In some of the other chairs were business-suited men, some folks who kept hugging the host and many “crunchy granolas”; mostly youngish women with long straight hair wearing gypsy skirts and peasant blouses. There were farmers in overalls and scientists with pocket pen protectors.

We soon discovered that we were seated in a large circle around a thick-trunked, twisted-branched olive tree, a “Van Gogh” tree. It appeared that we were there to talk about that tree, something about grafting or trimming. Suggestions came readily from people that I soon realized knew trees well; botanists, arborists and tree-huggers. Meanwhile, we were eating the olives, spitting out the pits and offering them back to the tree. It felt mythic, like an ancient pagan ritual. The discussion went on and on and on with no clear resolution. I stayed silent since I was not one of those experts. Finally, there was a lull. I raised my hand and spoke.

“Maybe we need to think about this from the point of view of the tree.”

I have learned that it is wise to follow your dreams; that is, to attend to the message they may be sending you. According to Jungian author John A. Sanford, dreams are “God’s forgotten language.”  Like the visions found in all sacred texts, dreams connect us to a living spiritual world, offering healing and a fuller understanding of our life’s path. They invite us to live with them, live into them, grow into them.

Have you had dreams that stayed with you, so vivid that you can still see the colors, the setting, the players many weeks later? A dream that you believe reveals a truth for you. One to ponder, write down, discuss.

My dream is like that. It has a message for me, of that I am sure. During the past year, I have immersed myself in books about trees, learning that they are  sentient beings, communal and communicative. And, without a doubt, our last best hope for cleaning up the mess we’ve made of the air. Diana Beresford-Kroeger wrote an account of her life’s journey with trees. Her book gives me hope that we will find a way forward. Perhaps it’s due in part to her title, To Speak for the Trees, that I had my dream. I believe that in continuing to meditate on it, I will be led, somehow and in some way, the speak for the trees, to be part of a solution that evolves not from me or any of the experts, but from the point of view of the tree, whatever that means. And I do already have a glimmer, a felt sense of what that may be. I’ll keep you posted.

(And by the way, if you have any idea why so many people kept hugging the host, let me know!)

*Wm. Shakespeare, The Tempest