I had a nightmare night before last that is still with me, and I realized I need to write about it, to share it. I will warn you in advance that parts of my nightmare are quite gory, so if that sort of thing bothers you, I recommend you stop reading now. I will also say that I will refrain from gratuitously grossing anyone out, but I am a Word Shaman and I tend to paint rather vivid pictures with my words.
Having said all that, this was the dream: A very large cat staggered around my bedroom, trying to climb up on my bed. All of his legs (in the dream I knew with absolute certainty it was male) had been stripped of flesh about halfway down, and clearly he was in terrible pain. I remember feeling shocked and sickened at the sight of naked bone with bits of bloody flesh clinging to it, and the existing flesh and fur had jagged red edges. The cat had two holes in his torso — one on each side — that looked as though two extra limbs had been lopped off or yanked out. I remember also feeling sad that the cat could not climb up on the bed, since he seemed to want to so desperately.
At some point the cat transformed into a man whos limbs were in the same grisly condition, except now the naked bones of his arms and legs were clean and dry, and he seemed in much less pain. He turned toward me and asked me for help. We had an extended conversation then, and all I can recall is his request for assistance.
When I woke up yesterday morning, what came first into my mind was, “Okay, what rejected, suppressed, denied, hidden, or cut off part of me does Catman represent?” (I almost want to call him “Zombie Catman,” except that he was clearly alive.) After all the shamanic work I’ve done, I have come to understand that my nightmares are suppressed parts of me being very loud in order to get my attention. One of my teachers likened this to what happens when you ignore a child’s repeated requests for attention. First, they tug gently on your sleeve. You ignore them, and they tug again, this time adding a plaintive, “Mom!” You continue to ignore them (after all, you have a lot of work to do and only so many hours in the day), and eventually the requests become louder, more strident, and finally end in a full-blown temper tantrum. If nightmares are the temper tantrums of my inner children, Catman was sure as heck throwing a hissy fit on Tuesday night!
This is the second time I’ve written about this, and I have a deepening sense that Catman represents my own needs, specifically those needs that go unmet when I ramp up into co-dependent overdrive. Raised to be a caretaker, I believe that’s my job — to emotionally take care of all my friends and loved ones. NOTE: I’ve never really understood that phrase, so I’m going to stop using it. I love my friends, after all, so aren’t my friends also my loved ones? Anyhow, I take care of other people, chiefly through managing (or attempting to manage) their emotional states. When I do this, my own needs get shoved aside. After a while, this translates into fatigue, irritability, wild mood swings, and illness, as well as the resurfacing of addictions, most notably to food — especially sweets.
Now I am uncertain what my next step will be, except that I clearly need to focus more closely on taking care of myself, and letting my friends take care of themselves. Therein lies the challenge, because I have accumulated quite a few friends who (big surprise) want someone to take care of them. Striking a balance between their needs and mine — actually, strike that! Focusing primarily on my own needs is what I must do, and that’s challenging. In a way, doing that feels like closing my heart. Perhaps instead I can think of it as opening my heart to myself. Wish me luck!
Thank you so much for reading. As always, comments are encouraged and appreciated. Take care, and may your life find a marvelous balance that often spills over into joy.
~Love and Blessings,
Selene~
