The physical grace that comes in water. The weightless sense of body buoyed, no fear of falling, no chance of imbalance. A healing space beyond the reach of gravity of all sorts. May we all meet there!
Stephanie - I love this! Thank you for sharing it. I have a soft spot for dreams and thus I appreciate how you ground the dream in the reality of the night: the knee pain, the tossing, the headache, the tea. The dream doesn’t float above any of that. It sits right inside it. The old woman at the bottom of the sea reads less like a symbol and more like a presence that simply exists alongside you. She weaves, you watch, there’s an exchange. You give her what you have. She gives you what she’s made. It doesn’t need to be decoded to matter.
Jung would probably have had a field day with an elder figure on the ocean floor, but what stands out here is that you’re not forcing her into meaning. You let her be who she is, doing what she does, and you remember her song. That feels closer to how dreams often work in real life: not as answers, but as ongoing relationships that keep unfolding in their own time and in their own way without rushing them.
The way you connect that to aging, to spirals rather than straight lines, fits the tone of the dream itself. It feels less like a message and more like being accompanied while you keep growing into the life you’re already in.
Bronce, I so appreciate what you have to say about not forcing meaning.
I rarely share dreams, but this one felt like I should risk the share -- the why of that, I do not know. Seems like a lot of knowledge and self-knowledge comes to us in fits of dreams and imaginings and need no analysis, but rather the relationship gently unfolding as we integrate it.
This beautiful, meaningful piece of prose really went right to my heart. I love every word. Your words, "It’s a cycle, a circle, a spiral, that keeps bringing me back home to myself informing with metaphor, poetry, images and imagination. I love growing old" are simply brilliant and so authentic. Life, indeed, is a spiral and circle rather than a straight line. When I was a child, I thought life was linear; that was the narrative I believed. But now, like you, I see life as a spiral or circular.
The elderly woman at the bottom of the sea would have a wise message for me, I think. Maybe she would be telling me to endure the trials and tribulations of life, that this is part of life and not to fight against it. To accept life as it is. And the dolphins would work with her, as they pull me gently along, into a flow of acceptance.
This is an important message to me because my tendency is to grapple with the fact that as I age, I must deal with the aches and pains and see more doctors, which, frankly, I hate. But your wonderful story is teaching me to accept what I cannot fully control.
I'm so sorry you have had difficulty sleeping due to pain. You are showing me such resilience and acceptance, as you managed an important dream in spite of the pain. And your love of metaphor and words is breathtaking to behold.
Like you, for too long, I saw life as linear. The spiral gives us a chance to re-learn lessons at a higher octave as the spiral turns and we pass by that place again. You, dear Beth are one of the most resilient people I know. You have a body of work that supports that. My knee barks, yes, but lots better than three weeks ago when it just burned. So, there is healing and though this one may take a bit longer, because of you and a handful of others, I feel determined to work at it.
I do love the language of metaphor, which is the language of myth and I do love the human heart that manages pain through painting, poetry and other art forms. Your forever friend and fan, dear Beth. Thank you for being such a light in my life.
Dear Stephanie, what a luminous dream you’ve shared. Thank you so much for weaving it into words that carry both enchantment and Truth. Through my Jungian lens, the old woman at the bottom of the sea feels like the archetypal Crone, Herself. The Wise Weaver who dwells in the pregnant darkness of the unconscious ... shaping nets from seaweed to catch fragments of soul and vision we might otherwise lose.
The dolphins, messengers of play and deep intuition, remind me that even in restless nights the psyche is always at work. Your offering of stones and sea glass feels like a beautiful, sacred ritual of reciprocity ... the ego bowing to the unconscious, acknowledging that inspiration must be tended with reverence. And in this way, your dream speaks of the eternal cycle: exhaustion and pain at the surface, yet beneath, the archetypal feminine eternally weaving gifts that sustain us. Enchantment isn't something we chase, but something that rises from the depths when we're willing to listen.
Hmm, in answer to your questions, I imagine myself holding onto a dolphin’s fin, guided playfully yet purposefully toward Her wisdom. As I read your words, the story of "The Water Babies" has just surfaced ... that Victorian tale of transformation through watery depths, where Tom must journey beneath the surface to grow into his new life. Your dream and this story feel like kin: both remind me that descent into the unconscious sea brings gifts of renewal.
Thank you for your warmth, your words and your wisdom ... for tending the depths, for tending the language of enchantment and magick, and for reminding me that both waking and sleeping dreams are threads in the great loom of becoming. All the love in my heart, your poet friend, Deborah. 🙏💖🐚
And now, I have tears. Thank you for such a close look. THIS: "The Wise Weaver who dwells in the pregnant darkness of the unconscious ... shaping nets from seaweed to catch fragments of soul and vision we might otherwise lose." THIS feels so right to me and I give pause to take in the "pregnant darkness of the unconsciousness." I've had several dreams recently about swimming in deep water, but this one had the most detail.
I love that you see yourself being guided playfully by the dolphins. I once swam with dolphins and I knew they were playful, so the first thing I did was to dive to the bottom of the pool and turn somersaults. A dolphin was waiting for me at the surface, and gently took one of my thighs in her mouth and began pushing me around the pool where we swam. I was thrilled and overwhelmed at the same time!
A recent post of yours gave me courage to also share a dream. Thank you. And thank you for the insights through a Jungian lens. I so love all things Jung . . . You are in my heart, dear poet friend.
Thank you for sharing your dream. So powerful, so clear, so full of kindness and beauty. It fit right into my morning and reading it calmed and focused me.
This piece causes me to remember our retreat in September 2023 when you took the attendees on Persephone's journey of descent and discovery. Loved this: Just a few days ago I was longing for more enchantment in my life, not realizing it could be garnered on such a restless night. Maybe we all toss and turn in order to awaken to our yet un-lived life, the life that continues to unfold and grow us.
I have a friend who is suffering from a bit of restless sleep. I'll share your good words with her.
I hadn't thought about it, but this also reminds me of our retreat and the Persephone descent and ascension. As my friend, Deborah Gregory said here, enchantment rises up within us. Is it possible that our restlessness is the body knowing, that enchantment is stirring? Love you dear woman.
Once again, you've given me much to think about. First of all, I'm sorry you are still experiencing pain enough to disrupt your sleep. When our body's been revamped, this is not an uncommon thing. One tiny example: my favorite sleeping position used to be my stomach. Since my revamping, which began in 2010, I have not been able to sleep in that position and likely never will again.
I love how you have a dream journal. I do not often remember my dreams, but when I do, they are usually upsetting ones. So now, I'm going to be more intuned to them when they do occur. Ready and waiting, as they say. I'm going to remember the invitation idea of Deborah's.
You described your dream beautifully. What a gift for us to get a glimpse into your dream - your soul. As for those dolphins, since I am afraid of the water (I never learned to swim), I would likely be hanging on to a fin for dear life, trusting the dolphins to take me wherever they were headed.
And the old woman at the bottom of the sea - I don't know what message she might have for me. I need to ponder that further.
"We must never forget the language of enchantment is fed by both our waking and sleeping dreams." That's lovely and certainly inspires me to think more deeply about deciphering and appreciating both kinds of dreams.
Thank you for writing this. Hoping your pain subsides soon, dear friend. xo
Thank you for your kind and caring words. A dream journal has helped me, because sometimes I only remember snippets, yet when I write them down, they often remind me of other things in my heart or in my thoughts. I often have dreams that are not story, and I draw them — not exactly Beth Gainer quality, but it helps me to get it onto the page. I also have a book called The Book of Symbols that helps me. It’s a reference book — not the kind of thing you’d sit down and read cover to cover, but a book where you look up things. I like diving into the symbols. Sometimes, for example, I dream about a moon or a lake. Just one thing, so reading about how others interpret that one thing can be helpful.
Thank you for saying what you did about sleeping positions. I’m having to reprogram my body — I like sleeping on one side or the other and right now, but it causes my knee discomfort. So, maybe I won’t be able to go back to that. I’m doing my best to stay on my back at night . . . sigh. This recovery business is like having a full time job, Nancy! LOL.
Sending you love, hugs and good dreams, my friend. I so appreciate your gentle caring.
How beautiful, l have just crawled into bed at day’s close and read this … my body feels the weave as your words spiral into being … our universal connectedness. Just before sleep. Thank you 🙏🌀🌊
Simone, I feel like you and I are connected by dreams and stories and for that I'm so grateful. May all of your sleeps bring gentle peace and creative seeding. . .
She “love(s) growing old.”
Loves growing. Growing old. Loves.
Wields wild waters words.
...
Tossing and turning,
tossed net into sea, and saw.
Web weaver, world work.
Such a beautiful summary, Marisol and I especially love your last line: Web weaver, world work.
Big hugs and happy holidays.
The physical grace that comes in water. The weightless sense of body buoyed, no fear of falling, no chance of imbalance. A healing space beyond the reach of gravity of all sorts. May we all meet there!
Laura, thank you for the insight of what the water brings as a healing space. I had not considered that. And yes, may we all meet there.
How beautifully you evoke the shades and shifts of liminal sleep-states Stephanie- thank you.
A little departure from my usual -- but always experimenting. Thank you for your thoughtful comment, Linda.
Numinous and glowing. Wonderful to wake up to and ponder. 🌹🙏
A pondering for days ahead, I’m sure. Thank you, Elizabeth. It always feels a little risky to post something more numinous.
I'm right up your alley, so to speak.
Thank you for being here, Claudia and I so appreciate the recommendation. Sending you big hugs and all goodwill.
Thanks for taking the risk 😊
Thanks for the support and goodwill, Melanie.
I understand. Yet, that’s the state of being we elders are nourished by. I know that’s true for me.
Stephanie - I love this! Thank you for sharing it. I have a soft spot for dreams and thus I appreciate how you ground the dream in the reality of the night: the knee pain, the tossing, the headache, the tea. The dream doesn’t float above any of that. It sits right inside it. The old woman at the bottom of the sea reads less like a symbol and more like a presence that simply exists alongside you. She weaves, you watch, there’s an exchange. You give her what you have. She gives you what she’s made. It doesn’t need to be decoded to matter.
Jung would probably have had a field day with an elder figure on the ocean floor, but what stands out here is that you’re not forcing her into meaning. You let her be who she is, doing what she does, and you remember her song. That feels closer to how dreams often work in real life: not as answers, but as ongoing relationships that keep unfolding in their own time and in their own way without rushing them.
The way you connect that to aging, to spirals rather than straight lines, fits the tone of the dream itself. It feels less like a message and more like being accompanied while you keep growing into the life you’re already in.
Bronce, I so appreciate what you have to say about not forcing meaning.
I rarely share dreams, but this one felt like I should risk the share -- the why of that, I do not know. Seems like a lot of knowledge and self-knowledge comes to us in fits of dreams and imaginings and need no analysis, but rather the relationship gently unfolding as we integrate it.
What a beautiful journey into the depths; perhaps the wise crone you met was showing you your gift for weaving words…
I love the idea of "weaving words." Thank you, Julie.
Oh Stephanie,
This beautiful, meaningful piece of prose really went right to my heart. I love every word. Your words, "It’s a cycle, a circle, a spiral, that keeps bringing me back home to myself informing with metaphor, poetry, images and imagination. I love growing old" are simply brilliant and so authentic. Life, indeed, is a spiral and circle rather than a straight line. When I was a child, I thought life was linear; that was the narrative I believed. But now, like you, I see life as a spiral or circular.
The elderly woman at the bottom of the sea would have a wise message for me, I think. Maybe she would be telling me to endure the trials and tribulations of life, that this is part of life and not to fight against it. To accept life as it is. And the dolphins would work with her, as they pull me gently along, into a flow of acceptance.
This is an important message to me because my tendency is to grapple with the fact that as I age, I must deal with the aches and pains and see more doctors, which, frankly, I hate. But your wonderful story is teaching me to accept what I cannot fully control.
I'm so sorry you have had difficulty sleeping due to pain. You are showing me such resilience and acceptance, as you managed an important dream in spite of the pain. And your love of metaphor and words is breathtaking to behold.
Like you, for too long, I saw life as linear. The spiral gives us a chance to re-learn lessons at a higher octave as the spiral turns and we pass by that place again. You, dear Beth are one of the most resilient people I know. You have a body of work that supports that. My knee barks, yes, but lots better than three weeks ago when it just burned. So, there is healing and though this one may take a bit longer, because of you and a handful of others, I feel determined to work at it.
I do love the language of metaphor, which is the language of myth and I do love the human heart that manages pain through painting, poetry and other art forms. Your forever friend and fan, dear Beth. Thank you for being such a light in my life.
Thank you for your kind words, dear Stephanie. You are a light in my life as well.
Wow. And honest, too.
Dear Stephanie, what a luminous dream you’ve shared. Thank you so much for weaving it into words that carry both enchantment and Truth. Through my Jungian lens, the old woman at the bottom of the sea feels like the archetypal Crone, Herself. The Wise Weaver who dwells in the pregnant darkness of the unconscious ... shaping nets from seaweed to catch fragments of soul and vision we might otherwise lose.
The dolphins, messengers of play and deep intuition, remind me that even in restless nights the psyche is always at work. Your offering of stones and sea glass feels like a beautiful, sacred ritual of reciprocity ... the ego bowing to the unconscious, acknowledging that inspiration must be tended with reverence. And in this way, your dream speaks of the eternal cycle: exhaustion and pain at the surface, yet beneath, the archetypal feminine eternally weaving gifts that sustain us. Enchantment isn't something we chase, but something that rises from the depths when we're willing to listen.
Hmm, in answer to your questions, I imagine myself holding onto a dolphin’s fin, guided playfully yet purposefully toward Her wisdom. As I read your words, the story of "The Water Babies" has just surfaced ... that Victorian tale of transformation through watery depths, where Tom must journey beneath the surface to grow into his new life. Your dream and this story feel like kin: both remind me that descent into the unconscious sea brings gifts of renewal.
Thank you for your warmth, your words and your wisdom ... for tending the depths, for tending the language of enchantment and magick, and for reminding me that both waking and sleeping dreams are threads in the great loom of becoming. All the love in my heart, your poet friend, Deborah. 🙏💖🐚
And now, I have tears. Thank you for such a close look. THIS: "The Wise Weaver who dwells in the pregnant darkness of the unconscious ... shaping nets from seaweed to catch fragments of soul and vision we might otherwise lose." THIS feels so right to me and I give pause to take in the "pregnant darkness of the unconsciousness." I've had several dreams recently about swimming in deep water, but this one had the most detail.
I love that you see yourself being guided playfully by the dolphins. I once swam with dolphins and I knew they were playful, so the first thing I did was to dive to the bottom of the pool and turn somersaults. A dolphin was waiting for me at the surface, and gently took one of my thighs in her mouth and began pushing me around the pool where we swam. I was thrilled and overwhelmed at the same time!
A recent post of yours gave me courage to also share a dream. Thank you. And thank you for the insights through a Jungian lens. I so love all things Jung . . . You are in my heart, dear poet friend.
Wow, what love, and bowing to the upward semi-circle of home. You have a gift, my dear.
Your writing is pure magic. Thank you for sharing your story each week with such elegance.
You're such generous soul, Bonnie. Thank you for coming back and continuing to read. Sending you big hugs and happy holidays.
And to you my dear friend. xo
Magical! A voyage of a dream. 💙🩵💚
Thank you for your thoughtful read, Kate. Big hugs.
Thank you for sharing your dream. So powerful, so clear, so full of kindness and beauty. It fit right into my morning and reading it calmed and focused me.
Jan, what a lovely comment. May you and I always know kindness and beauty as we walk this life. Happy holidays, friend. You are in my heart.
This piece causes me to remember our retreat in September 2023 when you took the attendees on Persephone's journey of descent and discovery. Loved this: Just a few days ago I was longing for more enchantment in my life, not realizing it could be garnered on such a restless night. Maybe we all toss and turn in order to awaken to our yet un-lived life, the life that continues to unfold and grow us.
I have a friend who is suffering from a bit of restless sleep. I'll share your good words with her.
I hadn't thought about it, but this also reminds me of our retreat and the Persephone descent and ascension. As my friend, Deborah Gregory said here, enchantment rises up within us. Is it possible that our restlessness is the body knowing, that enchantment is stirring? Love you dear woman.
Beautiful images in a hermaneutic spiral!
An unfolding still up for interpretation over the days ahead . . . Thank you for adding another lens to that, Judith. Appreciation.
What a dream, full of murk and beauty, at the bottom of the sea. It definitely inspires poetry, Stephanie! 💕
Big hugs, Sheila. Thank you.
Hi Stephanie,
Once again, you've given me much to think about. First of all, I'm sorry you are still experiencing pain enough to disrupt your sleep. When our body's been revamped, this is not an uncommon thing. One tiny example: my favorite sleeping position used to be my stomach. Since my revamping, which began in 2010, I have not been able to sleep in that position and likely never will again.
I love how you have a dream journal. I do not often remember my dreams, but when I do, they are usually upsetting ones. So now, I'm going to be more intuned to them when they do occur. Ready and waiting, as they say. I'm going to remember the invitation idea of Deborah's.
You described your dream beautifully. What a gift for us to get a glimpse into your dream - your soul. As for those dolphins, since I am afraid of the water (I never learned to swim), I would likely be hanging on to a fin for dear life, trusting the dolphins to take me wherever they were headed.
And the old woman at the bottom of the sea - I don't know what message she might have for me. I need to ponder that further.
"We must never forget the language of enchantment is fed by both our waking and sleeping dreams." That's lovely and certainly inspires me to think more deeply about deciphering and appreciating both kinds of dreams.
Thank you for writing this. Hoping your pain subsides soon, dear friend. xo
Thank you for your kind and caring words. A dream journal has helped me, because sometimes I only remember snippets, yet when I write them down, they often remind me of other things in my heart or in my thoughts. I often have dreams that are not story, and I draw them — not exactly Beth Gainer quality, but it helps me to get it onto the page. I also have a book called The Book of Symbols that helps me. It’s a reference book — not the kind of thing you’d sit down and read cover to cover, but a book where you look up things. I like diving into the symbols. Sometimes, for example, I dream about a moon or a lake. Just one thing, so reading about how others interpret that one thing can be helpful.
Thank you for saying what you did about sleeping positions. I’m having to reprogram my body — I like sleeping on one side or the other and right now, but it causes my knee discomfort. So, maybe I won’t be able to go back to that. I’m doing my best to stay on my back at night . . . sigh. This recovery business is like having a full time job, Nancy! LOL.
Sending you love, hugs and good dreams, my friend. I so appreciate your gentle caring.
How beautiful, l have just crawled into bed at day’s close and read this … my body feels the weave as your words spiral into being … our universal connectedness. Just before sleep. Thank you 🙏🌀🌊
Simone, I feel like you and I are connected by dreams and stories and for that I'm so grateful. May all of your sleeps bring gentle peace and creative seeding. . .
And you, thank you 🙏🌀💖