Elemental Needs, redux

I have been uncharacteristically silent here on my blog for some time now, as I have been struggling to make sense of the recent events and developments in my life. I must admit, I have been battling some depression in the last several months, making it difficult to focus on much beyond basic survival. So much of my process has escaped description in words, so even as I opened the blog to write, I simply sat mute, staring at the blank page.

I still find myself at a loss to explain the directions my life has gone lately, but I also know that my mind is hard at work, delving deeply for resolution. This is most clearly revealed in the intensity and symbolism of my recent dreams.

The symbolism is vivid, powerful, and evocative.

For example, the other night I dreamt that we were hosting a party, but the finished basement kept flooding, and with the water emerged flows of black beetles, all of which made me very angry as I tried to focus on our guests and keep the flooding under control (and out of sight of the guests).

Upon examination, this dream is not very difficult to interpret. The basement represents the deepest layers of my mind - the subconscious - which is being overcome by emotions (the water) that are out of control. The beetles represent forces at work against me, perhaps representing what I perceive to be deceit or trickery around me. All the while, I am desperately striving to maintain an appearance of outward calm and normalcy, as the hostess of the party. In all, not surprising, as I struggling daily to reconcile my life.

As the final term of my current employment marches ever closer to its end, I also am trying to deal with the health issues confronting me. Presently, I am in a waiting game, ticking off time until we check to see if the abnormal cells have returned.

I have never been patient, and I never deal well with uncertainty, so this three months of "wait and see" have created much anxiety, adding to my already full plate of discomfort.

In a couple of weeks, I have the test repeated and then wait for results.

In the depths of my angst, trying to keep afloat as the waves of anxiety wash over me, I have people reassuring me that things will all work out for the best. Ironically, it reminds me of the story of Voltaire's Candide, where he argues that, at each moment, "this is the best of all possible worlds." It's hard to understand how these seemingly negative situations could possibly be for the best.

And yet, I get these moments of great clarity and affirmation, in the midst of all of this junk.

Last weekend, I was blessed with a visit from my closest friend, Ellen, and her two children. We spent hours talking and sharing, hugging, and engaging in deep, make-your-belly-hurt laughter. It was an incredibly cathartic experience. My deepest angst took a much needed break and allowed me to reassess the blessings that surround me. It felt good, especially as Saturday was the "largest" full moon of the calendar year.

Ellen and my moon recharged me, giving me the energy to continue.

This week, I have returned to swimming. Even after a LONG hiatus, due mainly to my health, I was able to complete my regular routine without too much difficulty. Ironically, this return to swimming was not as soothing as I had anticipated, and I believe it is because I spent too much time away.

The lessons of this week have to do with being true to ourselves and to each other.

I have pledged to continue swimming. I have even committed it to my planner, making it harder to make excuses for not getting there. I have also pledged myself to feeding my other elemental needs as well.

Fire, Water, Air, and Earth. Together these are the elements which must be balanced for us to reach a sense of equilibrium.

My weekend with Ellen reawakened my awareness of these elemental needs.

We sat for hours beside a gorgeous fire, watching the dancing flames and embracing its glowing warmth. We saw the full moon and felt its energy charging the air. I felt the hard earth beneath my chilled feet, supporting me. And I returned to the waters that embrace my very being and give motion to my soul.

So, this week, even as we face more difficulties and sorrow around us, I remain committed to these elemental forces and recognizing their role in helping me cope. The universe is not always calm, but it is always readjusting itself to remain in balance.

Here's to maintaining balance.

The Dreamweaver's subtle language of the self

(Altar of the Church of the Nativity in Erie)

I have been suffering from a series of disturbing and related dreams for weeks now, so I thought it was time to write a post about dream symbolism and their messages.

Sunday, we enjoyed the Dinner in Old Russia at the Russian Church of the Nativity here in Erie. After the meal, we went into the church itself, and I spent quite a long time admiring the chapel and taking photographs. The stained glass windows in particular struck me, and reminded me that I need to be a bit more reflective myself.


(Stained glass window at the Church of the Nativity)

Perhaps it was the vivid blue of the glass, or the simplicity of the designs in the windows, but whatever it was drew my attention immediately, and kept me fixated on those windows, even as I struggled to move away and take in the splendor of the iconography that adorns every available space in the chapel.

I even stopped and lit a candle, a ritual that I do not often complete, but which I felt compelled to perform on that rainy Sunday afternoon.


(Prayer Candles at Church of the Nativity)

The three of us (me, my husband, and my father-in-law) were the only ones in the chapel at the time. My father-in-law discovered the alms box, where donations are accepted for the candles. He stated flatly, "I'm going to light a candle." And, in that moment, I knew I needed to do the same.

So I lit a candle. And I lit it for all the suffering in the world, especially those who have been the object of tormenting and teasing in their years of development and adolescence. I thought about the recent victims of bullying who have given their lives senselessly, both those whose names made the nightly news and the many, many more whose names did not see the public eye.

And the action, the lighting of the candle, also turned my attention inward, to my own experiences, and my dreams of late.

Though the subject matter of the dreams varies, there are common elements. First is the ever present element of water. Water represents emotion, and in my case the sense of being overwhelmed by emotion and not knowing what direction to turn. As the dreams have progessed, so has the size and power of the water in them. Most recently, I was swimming in (and against) the ocean, in order to reach the bathhouse, which was located offshore and only accessible through the water. What a clear message that sent me! I need to resolve my emotions, but I can only do so by pushing THROUGH the emotions themselves. Quite a spot, I'm sure.

Another common element has been the presence of a young girl, often in distress. In one dream, I watched a young girl walk into a lake and drown herself, while I and others stood by pondering her intent and wondering if we should stop her until it was too late. In another dream, I was in charge of a young girl, trying to comfort her, but instead my actions made her more distressed. In a third, the young girl was the daughter of my best friend, who was very upset and concerned that she could not dry off (she was freezing cold) and I was trying, unsuccessfully, to help her warm up. These images all seem to point to my need to nurture, but the feeling that I was not doing a very good job of it after all. It reflects my sense of insecurity and lack of confidence that I am, in fact, making a difference in the lives of those I touch, both figuratively and literally.

And underlying all the images and the messages, is the most subtle and also the most subversive of them all: the idea that I am not worthy, that I am inferior, that I do not deserve to be happy or successful.

And these feelings have very deep roots, going back to my childhood, to a childhood much like that of those for whom I lit that candle in the Church of the Nativity. But in my case, it was not just in the school yard that I experienced denigration of my self, but in the bosom of my family, at the hand of my paternal grandmother.

So, as I fight to achieve stability in my life and figure out my path, my dreams are digging deeply into my past and revealing those (I thought) long-resolved feelings of insecurity and fear, and shining them over the movie screen of my dreams over and over again, coming at me like the proverbial two-by-four to pound me into submission.

And yet, the glimmer of hope remains, as I struggle to translate this twisted language of dreamland, that I will not succumb, as I once might have, to these feelings of inferiority. Because now I have more strength and more love in my life than ever before. And with the help of my loved ones (both human and furred), I will conquer these challenges to my weary brain and move past the images of failure into the brighter ones of success.

Dreamweaver, weave your magic. But tonight, remember, I am no longer interested in wallowing in the past oceans of despair, but would like to soar to the new heights of self-awareness and control. Oh, and while you're at it, you can take the migraines with you, too.


(Ceiling and image of the iconography in the Church of the Nativity)
Here's to happy dreams, and a happy self.

Headlong into the wind....

(our newly remodeled home office)


If you have been reading my blog, you know that I've had a rough time of things regarding my career. This year marks my last year at my current institution, and I admit that I am facing the beginning of the year with a great deal of trepidation.

It will not be easy.

Let's face it, it will be an extremely stressful situation, to go in every day with a smile pasted on my face, pretending that I have not a care in the world. Just thinking about going back has had me sleepless or with nightmares for weeks now.

Meanwhile, I need to figure out where I go from here.

That's not to say that I don't have ideas, or haven't been thinking about options.

Believe me, I have.

Life, however, must cooperate with my dreams. So this year, I need to be extra sensitive to the opportunities that avail themselves to me, and grab for the golden ring. In fact, one particular opportunity made itself known to me just this week, as if a sign from above. I will be following up on that avenue, rest assured!

I know that I will overcome this bump in the road.

And I know this, because I have the greatest support system in the world, waiting for me at home.

And this is how I will make it through this year.

With a newly remodeled home office space, to make working pleasurable!



And with these smiling faces and warm cuddly bodies to help make the world disappear, if even for a few hours each night.

Our sweet, adorable Miss Scarlett...


And our old man, Monte, who I swear is at least 50% cat himself...




(and our two elder cats, who remain a bit camera shy....Sulu and Lucy).

I will endure. I will survive.

And I will thrive.

Thanks to the ones who've got my back. Oh, and of course, most of all to the best warm cuddly body of all, who can always make me smile.

Hana's Story

(my sketch of Hana)


This must needs be a multiple part post. It's a bit unnerving to me, to write about Hana, because it is so close to my soul. She is so much a part of me, that it is like exposing myself when I write about her.

But I promised, so here goes.

Hana's story is complex.

I have written here before about my Holocaust dreams, dreams that started when I was a child of only about 4 years old. Over and over again, I dreamt horrible things, images of the atrocities of the Holocaust. When I began to have these dreams, I had no idea what the Holocaust was, or what any of the dreams meant. I only knew they frightened me, and that I felt as if they were not merely dreams, but memories.

But how could they be memories?

As I grew older, I began to understand what I had been experiencing. It was not until I was in my mid-30s, however, that I comprehended their full significance.

I was having dreams from a past life.

The first past life that I fully uncovered was that of Rachel, a Russian Jewish woman, who was killed in a pogrom in Russia in the 1890s. She was married to a man named Yakov, and they had a beautiful daughter, Sarah, who also perished that day in the pogrom, despite Yakov's efforts to save them.

As I began to delve deeper into my past life experiences, I re-discovered Hana.



(The town square at Kazimierz-Dolny)

Hana was a 10 year old little girl, from the town of Kazimierz-Dolny in Poland. This was a quiet market town, about 2 hours outside of Krakow. She had a lovely life before the war, adored her father and was the apple of her mother's eye. They had a small farm and her father sold milk and produce in the town square every week.

One night, as I opened myself up to her memories, a flood of names rushed at me. I believe that her last name was Skibiskova, or something similar. She also was very fond of a man named Pulli Eckstein, from the village, who served a grandfatherly role for her. Her father, Wladek played the violin, and her mother Elsabet was a strong woman with broad shoulders and a huge heart. Her maiden name was Rawkow.

Their life was peaceful and calm, until the Nazis arrived.

Her family was rounded up, along with all the other Jews in the area, and sent to the camp at Maidanek, where Hana would perish in the gas chambers. She was captured by two Ukrainian brothers, Anton and Marko Danilovich, who were aiding the Nazis with the persecution of the Jews.

Once in the transport, Hana was ripped from her parents, and she became frantic to find them again. At the camp, a female Nazi SS guard took Hana roughly by the hand and began to walk her down the Black Path towards the gas chamber. Hana had her red ball in her hand, but dropped it along the way and was worried about finding it again. Inge, the guard, distracted Hana, singing songs and telling stories, and promising that Hana would find her parents once more at the end of the walk.

Instead, Hana found blackness.

Hana would perish, along with about 100 other young women, in a gas chamber at the back of the camp.

The dreams I had, starting with age four, were all various versions of Hana's memories. Most of them revolved around a huge door being shut on me, and my screaming in fear at the guards who were closing them. I also had repeated dreams about dying inside the gas chamber. This is most likely the source for my claustrophobia.

All of these memories came to me, repeatedly, before I made my trips to Poland and to the camps. Once there, especially at Maidanek and at Kazimierz-Dolny, I felt Hana everywhere. These experiences only solidified my conviction that I was Hana. Over and over again, I saw what she saw, felt what she felt, experienced what she experienced. And, ultimately, as I stood on the grounds of Maidanek, I knew when, where, and how she perished.

Her story has come out in bits and pieces, in the form mostly of poetry, which I will share here on this blog. And more of her story will also emerge, as I haltingly begin to let the memories tell themselves here.

Please help me remember Hana, and all the Hanas of the Holocaust, to ensure that such tragedy may be prevented from ever happening again.

Taking Care of the Self

Lately, my dreams have been out of control.

I usually have vivid, detailed, and often bizarre dreams that are filled with meaning, and I learned long ago to listen to my dreams and what they are telling me.

Lately, though, I'm being overwhelmed by them.

Though the subject of the dreams varies, the underlying meaning does not: my life is out of control.

To the outsider, nothing is noticeable. Life goes on, and I seem calm, collected, and on top of things.

And for the moment, this is true.

But my need for long-term control is driving me nuts. Because, as I've written about here earlier, as of May I will not have a job. And that knowledge is driving me insane.

So much so that I am driven to control the aspects of my life that I can, indeed, control.

For instance, it explains my rabid desire to finish painting this summer before I go back to school. Originally, once I had finished the TV room, guest room, and bath and hallway in the basement, I was going to take a break from painting until at least Christmastime.

But now I have a bee in my bonnet to paint our office. You see, it's the last room I can paint on my own, without hiring someone, in our house. So, now I want it done.

Because it's something I CAN DO and thus I can control the outcome.

It's not fear, really, that is getting me. I have this sense that, ultimately, things will work out and I will be fine and that I will be meant to move in whatever direction comes next.

It's the uncertainty, though. That's what gets me.

I hate not knowing.

I hate not being able to determine my own path.

And my dreams keep reminding me that, in fact, I do not. For instance, the other night, I dreamt that I was in charge of getting a living history display up and running in a neighboring town. I was in a van with several others, driving full tilt down a highway over the mountains, with the doors of the van flung open and us struggling to keep inside. Behind us followed a Canastoga Wagon pulled by 6 horses, and a hitch team of a variety of farm animals (including pigs, goats, cows, and a mule). As we came down the mountain, suddenly it was covered with snow (lots of WHITE imagery in my dream - highly significant) and the wagon lost control and wound up plowing into the bank and flipping over. The animals behind were in danger of being crushed.

The interpretation of this dream is simple: the items in my charge were wildly out of control and there was nothing I could do about it.

So, the question is how I can wrap my brain around this dilemma and move beyond it. Obviously, I have MONTHS to go before I will know where my life will lead me next. How do I ease my troubled mind and let go of this need to control?

I think I am finding the answer, right where it has always been, in the pool. As I swam yesterday, I let myself go and let the water support me, let it take me where I needed to go, and let its energies fill my soul.

The angst is still there, admittedly, but its power is lessened. Hopefully, with more time in the water, I'll become strong enough to let go of the control completely and go where life needs me to be.

How will you take care of yourself today?

Past Life Musings

I was cleaning this past week, and came across a poem I wrote in June of 2007, after I returned from one of my trips to Poland. As I reread the poem, a flood of memories and emotions flooded over me, and I was awash with psychic sensations that I had managed to "tuck away" for so long. So I figured it was time to write a post about this particular episode, and its significance for me.

I've written here, a little bit, about my past life experiences with Hana, the little girl who died in the gas chamber at Maidanek.

In 2007, I was preparing to go to Poland again, for a conference on the Holocaust. I had been having some Hana dreams, which was to be expected, since I was going to be immersed in the history of the Holocaust on my trip.

What I was not prepared for, however, was a series of OTHER dreams, very vivid and haunting, that would connect me to a different past life.

In these dreams, I was a young man, with fair hair and a light beard, dressed in tights and a tunic, with a sword at my side. I/He was searching desperately in the depths of a castle - A building I knew with all of my heart, but also had never physically seen before. These vivid images came to me repeatedly in the two weeks before my trip.



Staunchly, I put them out of my mind (well, at least I ignored them), and prepared for my trip to the camps. I spent 2 weeks in Poland, in a very emotional, turbulent tour of four of the former Nazi killing centers. I felt Hana over and over again. I was overcome by these Holocaust images and memories.





And yet, it did not stop there. We returned to Krakow, and I had a free day before I was to return home. So, I spent it as a "normal" tourist, and decided to visit Wawel Castle.

THIS I felt I could handle. This was normal history, revolving around power and glory and land. So I walked to the castle from my hotel, and set out to tour it.

Before I even entered the gates, however, I realized that I knew this place. I knew it in a way that was beyond the realm of the everyday. Though I had never physically been to this castle before, and did not know its history, as I walked in the gates, I KNEW it.



Sensations began to overtake me. I heard voices and saw images. I was transported in time and became part of the earlier events.

I found my way to a bench in the courtyard, out of the way, so that I could record these sensations and try to make some sense of them. I made notes in my journal, and sat, still, listening and absorbing, for almost an hour.

Then I got up and walked around the castle. And I came to a tower, and a wall, that hit me like a ton of bricks (sorry, no pun intended there). And I knew that this was the place from my dreams, and suddenly I knew what had transpired in this place.

When I returned home, I penned the following poem, born out of the images I saw at the castle.

Castle Siege, 1267
6-23-07

Amidst chaos and confusion,
My soul struck out,
Searching,
Penetrating the dark bowels of the tower.
Iron keys dangled from my hand,
their metallic taste
Lingering in my mouth
From the moment I clamped them there
To free my hands.
Darkness swallowed the hall,
The doorways blacker holes
in the sea of pitch.
A faint torchlight glowed
in the distance,
And I made my way
to its timid embers.
Voices bellowed,
Men, women, and children cried out,
Bodies rushed in panic on the levels above.
I smelled charred wood and stone,
felt the rush of heat
from the flames that licked
the roof of the cathedral,
sending its tendrils
even down here, below ground,
in all its fury.
The siege is on,
Today men will die in defending our honor,
and I must make my way to you,
My love,
to be reunited,
even if it be in death.

My first Holocaust dream, at age four....

The earliest Holocaust dream I remember came to me when I was about four years old.

I was somewhat of a precocious child. I was reading at age three, much to the surprise and disbelief of the adults in my life. I preferred the company of adults to children. And I felt a particular affinity for animals and nature.

Yet, for all of that, I was a normal child.

I was surrounded by love and security. I was a lucky child, in many ways. I played games, sang songs, loved cookies and hugs, and knew very little of the atrocities of which humanity is capable.

Still, I dreamt of the horrors. In vivid technicolor and terrifying reality.

This first dream, like so many of them to follow, went something like this:

I was a young girl of about ten years old, dressed in worn and ragged clothing – a long dull skirt, covered by a wrap-around long-sleeved blouse that had once been white, but now was stained and tattered. On my head, I wore a kerchief, tied under my chin, and I had thin, worn shoes slipped on my bare feet.

As the dream opened, I saw myself standing before a set of massive wooden doors, constructed like a barn door with no windows or openings, as the doors swung shut with a bang, followed by the clank of iron as the doors were bolted into place.

Tears streamed down my face and I cried out for help. “Wait! Stop!” I cried. “Let us out. Pleeeaase.”

I felt desperation as I sunk to my knees with my palms resting flat against the barred exit.

Behind me, the building was cold, dark, and damp, but bustling with noise. I turned and awe an unbelievable crowd of women pulsing through the cramped spaces. All of them, it seemed, were intent on finding a portion of bunk on which to settle.

I scanned the crowd, looking for…. Someone, anyone, I recognized. And yet, I knew, even before I looked, that I would find no one. I was all alone.

The darkness seemed eternal, and I prayed that would soon end. I huddled in the corner of a bunk, jammed in with three other women, and waited. Gradually, quiet crept over the barracks, as exhaustion – or death – won out over the fear that kept us all filling the silence.

Finally, when I thought I could stand it no longer, there was a loud bang as the doors were thrown open, and the guards pointed their rifles at us, yelling “Raus! Schnell! Schnell!” We scrambled out of the bunks and massed out of the barracks, squinting into the bright daylight beyond.

As I was propelled by the crowd, I lost my footing and fell into a puddle, splashing muddy water across my face. Behind me, two hands reach down to pick me up, their owners not breaking stride as I was wrenched along.

Once outside, we were pushed into a formation of sorts, and we all fell silent.

Terrified, I snuck glances side to side, trying to discern what was happening. I looked up, between the rows of women in front of me, and my eyes could not believe what they took in: before us, on a platform, stood a scaffolding with six nooses, hanging empty. A line of prisoners stood just beyond the scaffolding.

Loudly, the guards shouted at these waiting prisoners, prodding them with their rifles, and they moved slowly up the wooden steps to the waiting ropes….

It was at this point that I awoke, in a panic.

A child of four.

I knew nothing of Nazis or Racial Cleansing, or death camps. I knew nothing but the warmth and comfort of my loving family.

And yet, there it was, thrust into my innocent dreams – the horrors of the Holocaust – and there it would stay, for the rest of my life.

Analyzing my own dreams

My brother stopped by yesterday, passing through town on his way home from visiting my parents, to bring me some things that had been in their basement.

We had a chat, standing around in the garage, before he went on his way.

My brother and I have not always seen eye to eye. These days, it seems, we are even further distanced in our perspectives. Our talk, I admit, bothered me to a large degree.

You see, one of the things he said to me was "you need to stop this Christiana Spiritguide crap if you want to find a new job." I smiled, and said I didn't think it was a problem, and changed the subject.

But his comment ate away at me, obviously, because last night I had some very significant and meaningful dreams, and I thought I would share one (and its interpretation) here today.

Because, as Christiana Spiritguide, that's part of what I do.

And that's what the dream was all about.

So, here's the dream:

I was doing serious research in a library, and was working with several other people on a project, but I was the only one getting anything done. We agreed to split up for a bit and work independently, then come back together to share what we found.

I left my office (a beautiful one, with huge windows, and lots of bright polished wood), and went outside to check on my car. I got into the car, and it was running. I thought that was odd, since I had remembered distinctly turning it off earlier.

So I turned the ignition key again, turning it OFF. The engine kept going. I did this over and over and over again, to no avail, getting very very frustrated. Suddenly, I realized I was late for my appointment with the others, so I had to leave the car running (even left the door open) and ran into the building, and instead of using the elevator, climbed up the stacks of books to get there.

I got there, on time, and the others just looked at me expectantly, to solve the problems we were having. I took charge of the meeting, with my mind still on my running car below, then after the meeting pulled one of them aside and asked if he had any ideas about what to do with my car.

He looked at me funny and said "Don't you know? It's supposed to do that. You can't just TURN IT OFF. It will naturally keep going. Why would you want to turn it off, anyway?"

And that's when I woke.

This is, overall, a very open dream to interpret. Cars, in dreams, are US, our personalities, our character. So, I was quite obviously dreaming about the fact that I can not hide who I really am, that even if I try to "turn it off" (referring to my psychic side), it will still continue "running" because it is a fundamental part of my construction.

The meeting, the library, even climbing the stacks, refer to the work I've been doing, both academically and personally, to improve myself and move forward, but always seeming to be stymied from the outside. Again, a reminder that I need to focus on myself and let that inner self emerge, without trying to change it.

The "office" in my dream, with large windows and lots of shiny polished wood, represents the "place" where I do my work: that is, my mind. It is, to me, a haven full of peace and beauty.

I have spent a lifetime, literally, trying to be what other people thought I should be, denying parts of myself because outsiders might not approve. It's time to stop hiding, stop pretending, and let the real person emerge. I am not ashamed of my abilities to "see" things, and I feel blessed to have them in my life. I refuse to ever be intimidated into denying my self again.

Thankfully, my wonderful husband supports me in this, and expects nothing less.

Now THAT is truly a blessing.