Dreams: just flights of fantasy?

Hi Visitors, Today All Things That Matters Press shares an excerpt about my book The Sorcerer’s Dream!
Enjoy!
Alysa

All Things That matters Press:
I am happy to present an excerpt form an exciting new book by Alysa Braceau. We all have dreams but we often see them as flights of fantasy. But, do they contain messages and guidance that we often ignore? Have you actually been dreaming more lately? maybe we should all pay more attention!

Facing spiritual, physical and emotional blocks and stopping your dreams

The Sorcerer’s Dream is about my initiation into the sorcerer’s world and mastering conscious dreaming. Among other things, I describe the steps you can take to master your dreaming. It takes you on the road to the totality of the Self. To reach this point you have to face your spiritual, physical and emotional blocks and work to release them. Stopping your dreams is one of the first steps you take in this procedure of facing your blocks. The following excerpt is a conversation with my dreaming teacher Vidar and my dreaming experiences, which gives an impression of this procedure. (The next step which I describe further on in my book is a ritual to heal your inner child).

“Unpleasant dreams disappear when you look right through them. First you ask yourself what is happening, what is going on? When you stare at it, all that remains is beauty, wisdom and strength and the fear of certain situations will vanish permanently.” Vidar summarizes, “On the way to the totality you may encounter many shocking images, but you must not let it distract you. Tell yourself: I will reach the totality. Nothing can keep me from reaching my goal.”

I fly along with the eagle and from the air I see the red path down below bending like a thin trail through the rocky west and I dive downwards after the eagle. Like the first time we land at the start of the trail and after a short walk we fly over the green palm tops in the direction of the ocean. Further to the left there are several bays interrupted by rocks and stones. I circle exploring over the west’s shelter. It is the first bay seen from the rocks, because towards the right the jungle starts narrowing into a point. I descend at sea, make myself comfortable and take in the light orange horizon from left to right and back. The tiger walks towards me, purrs and pushes his head against my shoulder. I stroke his head softly, get up and then we walk to the wooden villa together.

On closer inspection, the house which is accessible via a broad half-rotten staircase, could use some renovating. Except for a few stair-steps the window frames are also rotten and the paint is peeling in some places. Suddenly my attention is diverted by the sound of broken glass. The tiger walks around in circles in the sand behind me. Curiously I walk up the stairs and carefully open the front door, which is ajar, and which gives direct access to the living-room where I stand before my father who has an empty bottle of booze in his hand. He is furious. The floor around him is scattered with pieces of glass. His appearance is just as vibrating as in the last dream. I don’t like to be reminded of this part of my youth and would like to turn around, prefer to erase the dream and if it were written on paper I would ripple it and throw it in the garbage can, but my thoughts are interrupted by the tiger who jumps up from behind me and starts to attack my father.

I am indifferent to the scene in front of me. When the seriousness finally dawns on me, I order the tiger to stop dutifully. But he only listens after I have urged him persistently, stamping my foot. But it is too late.

The living room floor starts to collapse and I try to put a stop to it, but I fail and we all end up in the sand. I get up frustrated, wipe the sand off of me and crawl to the light among the rotten floor boards. I reflect upon the scene for which I was certainly not prepared. The eagle is immediately on the spot and suggests throwing my father in the sea. After careful consideration I turn down the offer: I cannot bear to think that his body or whatever is left of it would wash up on the beach in a few days time. I prefer a conventional funeral.

The tiger does not doubt for one second and starts digging a hole in the ground. The eagle collects the torn body, picks it up with his strong claws, flies up to the sky with a powerful beat of his wings and then lowers my father into the hole. We cover him with sand, everyone of us in our own way. We become more and more fanatical as the sand slips away or dissolves, leaving my father visible. I drop down in the sand disappointed, grab some of the loose sand and look up as I let it slide through my half-opened fist, like an hour glass. From the green oasis we are being spied on by an Indian holding a spear in his raised hand, ready to throw. He watches us attentively, as if he is turned to stone, petrified, except for his deep brown irises shooting from left to right. I am too busy to pay attention to it as I am trying to figure out how I could have prevented the situation, or how to turn this into something positive and then, unsatisfied, I return to reality together with the eagle.

Before I fall asleep that night I return to the west in hope of a miracle, or rather that I wish not to be faced with my father still lying in the way. I call upon the eagle. Looking down from the sky I realize nothing has changed, except that the tiger is walking circles in the sand where my father lies. I sleep on it and than it seems that time has left its marks, but I am certainly not happy about it.

Looking on from the rocks I see my father – dead, but physically unharmed – lying crossways like a hand of a clock in the eastern part of the circle, with his head pointing outside. Overcome by grief I kneel by his side and start crying pitiful. Anyhow, he is more alive than you would expect from a dead man.

He pulls himself up mechanically like a stick, faces me and – with his green eyes and expressionless face – he says exactly what I need to hear: “I’m sorry I was such a bad father.” I wait for the rest of the words patiently, which he searches in the handful of shells in the sand. “But I had no choice,” he continues as he looks me in the eye. I weigh the words, I had no choice. The tiger stretches out like a sphinx, upright and with pricked up ears.

My father begs me: “I won’t have peace before you forgive me.” I am deeply touched and impressed and quickly tell him “I forgive you”. We hug each other and I wonder whether I mean it or said it to make him happy. I wipe the tears from my cheeks, right across the dream reality. The eagle comforts me by putting his wing around my shoulder and takes me to his nest where I wake up.

Vidar points out to me that I witnessed a very troublesome event. “Fixate it, and then it will transform itself into beauty.” I feel stupid. That is precisely what I did not do. It hadn’t entered my mind for one single second to fixate the attack. “If you look fixated, the totems help you to erase unpleasant events from your history. Only then you will be able to reach the totality.”

He says that it is important to stay in close contact with the totems and to share feelings of worth, love, warmth and trust. “Consider them devoted friends. Just think back the way the tiger took your part and the eagle put a wing around you.””

The Sorcerer’s Dream by Dreamshield
Buy it at:http://www.booklocker.com/books/4654.html

The book can also be ordered on Amazon – http://www.amazon.com/Sorcerers-Dream-Dreamshield-Alysa-Braceau/dp/1609101561 and everywhere they sell books

Website Dreamshield: http://www.dreamshield.nl

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