it’s a theater – not my house

This dream I have had all my life, in different variations: lots of people coming in to my house without being invited. They behave as if they have the right to treat it as they choose – no respect, no consideration of borders or privacy.

The dream tonight was an extreme version: Holy Spirit Special Edition. Classroom not to be missed. New people streaming in each second. In the bathroom ( which was big in the dream, like an actor’s. Ahem) several women were sitting and using MY makeup ( which was an enormous selection, well worthy the biggest theaters.)

In the dream, I did not realize that I in fact was inside my own theater/dream. I thought it was my house, and was in my old victim-identity of being violated/abused/raped/not respected etc. – and had a hard time throwing people out. I remember talking to a fat lady who had lots of my makeup on, telling her ” this is my house! How would you have reacted if strangers had come into your house and used your makeup?” She looked very confused – clearly not getting at all that she was a criminal trespasser. She looked so forlorn that I had to give her a hug.

They were not intruders: they were actors in my dream/theater. I/my/mind was dreaming it all.

Waking up, I did not realize this: I was still immersed in the old agonized memory of feeling invaded and disrespected.

I know well that  abusers/gang rapers feel constantly terrified by their own guilt and fear – which they have repressed – and therefore subconsciously are feeling like worthless pieces of garbage  – and the only way they feel better is by projecting their agony on someone smaller and weaker, so they can feel strong and safe.

 T-14.XI.6. 9… I will not use my own past learning as the light to guide me now.

Sitting down. Blue says: “What if there was another dimension to this? What if “rapists” really are crying for love? What if what they deepest want is a taste of innocence – believing that they are themselves completely without it? What if what is really bothering you about these memories is the story you have made of who you are, because of it –  a piece of worthless shit, a piece of meat? Somebody guilty and sinful and in need of this kind of punishment?

We’re not justifying the acts of abusers – but we suggest that you revise your interpretation of their acts as a cry for Love. And if it is a cry for Love, you are not guilty or sinful, and you have not done something wrong that you need to be punished for.

How liberating to realize that it is ONLY my story of what happened, and what that meant about my identity that hurts

Today yet another level of the old story is forgiven.

Level one must be to forgive myself for making up the story in the first place – as something that has power to keep me here in the world, seemingly separated from God and Love. And that power is slipping now: only if I believe in it do I hold on to it as true.

Holy Spirit, thanks for these healing dreams – with so much humor! I really DO use a lot of costumes/identities  and make up to hide who I am in this dream.


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Please note that nothing written here is intended as medical advice. Readers who think that they need help with a physical or psychological condition are advised to seek a qualified opinion.

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