At the Gym

Dream: I’m in a gymnasium with a bunch of guys exuberantly sprinting from half-way down the court, like “suicides” for basketball practice. Each time I get to the line at the end, a large, tall woman lunges toward me and grabs me in a frontal bear hug. She scares me and I yell out. This happens several times. When it’s time to leave the gym, I sprint to the door and the lady reappears again, grabbing me in a final bear hug and I scream again. She reminds me of a homeless lady I used to see in NYC.

Years ago, I lived in New York City while I was undergoing my clinical pastoral training and residency. I would frequently encounter two particularly intriguing homeless persons while riding the subway and other places while moving about the city.  One was a man and the other a woman. One black, one white. I never saw them together, but what immediately struck me about each was their stature. Both were very large—tall and hefty—which I could never determine if it was from obesity or from the many layers of clothing they wore. I’d run into them in various places, usually with their bags and a cart of personal items.

One weekend in early cold February, I was in the process of moving my belongings from Queens, where I had been house-sitting, to Manhattan, where I had just found a place to stay after being homeless for five weeks. It would take me three long rides on the F Train to haul my stuff in one jumbo suitcase and a small side kick. On my first trip, I made it to the last subway car just in time before the doors were about to close. As I boarded, I noticed everyone making a beehive out of the car, but I was too rushed and out-of-breath to notice what was going on. I was grateful to have a seat and plenty of room for my suitcases, and especially grateful to have escaped a bitterly cold wait for the next train. As I settled down, I began to notice a terrible odor. I looked around and noticed that it was just me and the homeless woman I used to see around town. Oh, that’s why everyone was baling out of the car when I got on….

We stopped at the next station, and I noticed how riders avoided the woman. They’d step off and walk to another car as soon as they entered, or change cars through the gangway doors once the train was again in motion. I had planned to change cars, too, but seeing that everyone else was doing so, I somehow wanted to stay present and not “abandon” the homeless woman. I stayed in the car for several more stops; however, being unable to bear the stench any longer, and I eventually changed cars feeling sheepish that I had “done charity,” then baled like everyone else.

I eventually got to my new place, emptied my suitcases and headed back to Queens for my second load. Off the subway at Sutphin Station, onto the Q44 bus, walk a half mile to the house, load up my suitcases, walk back to the bus stop, back on the Q44, back to the subway station, but definitely NOT the last car this time. I sit in what I think is a vacant car and wouldn’t you know, the same lady was there, again! I began to wonder if I was undergoing some kind of cosmic test.  Aw, shucks! I thought to myself as I sat down. However, I decided that whatever it took, I would stay in the car this time, for the entire l-o-o-o-o-n g ride back to Manhattan. I did just that, breathing as shallowly as I could to prevent the stench from stinging my nostrils and lungs.

I made it! The train was still in motion when I stood up and rolled my suitcases near the door. There was a still moment when I looked at the lady as the train came to a stop. She raised her covered head exposing her matted bangs framing her dark chocolate face with eyes strangely gleaming. She smiled, exposing startling and unexpected dimples. And with seemingly capriciousness, she winked at me. I was stunned with wonder.

How interesting, that years later, the homeless lady shows up in my dream while I’m sprinting with a bunch of boys in the gymnasium. My association with physicality and being in the gym brings memories of frustration and deep shame about my body as a pubescent girl with because of my pear-shaped body. Boys not knowing anything about who I was on the inside taunted and sometimes battered me because of my big calves, thighs and derriere. My five siblings were lean with more equally proportioned bodies, although I ate the same foods and portions they ate. My mother prided her petite physique, posting height-weight charts around the house which was humiliating for me because I never measured up to “normal” range. She frequently tugged at the tops and dresses I wore because they would “ride up” in the back because of my heavy bottom. Somehow, she was always trying to cover it up and clamp it down. She made me start wearing a girdle at age 11.  I was very self-conscious, and instead of celebrating the body God had given me and the changes around coming into womanhood, I internalized that my body was bad and a source of betrayal.

The gymnasium in my dream reminds me of the gym at my junior high-school. I hated going to P.E. Our girls’ P.E. uniform was a romper with elastic in the legs. My generous thighs caused the elastic to painfully cut into my crotch. I was constantly pulling down the elastic bands which would only ride up again, leaving raw, tender welts in the creases of my thighs.

I remember doing forward rolls when we first started tumbling, and I lost momentum and got stuck upside-down–my bottom in the air. Coach Edwards swatted me on the butt with her paddle to “push” me over and everyone laughed. I was mortified. At the same time grateful that the boys were on the other side of the gym and had not seen it. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough when class was over. No shower that day. I just ran across the school yard towards the buses, wiping away my tears while trying to compose myself to look and act normal on the 12-mile bus ride home.

So back to my dream. I’m now back in the same gymnasium no longer persecuted, but rather, on the team with the boys in all my vitality and uninhibited expression. I am not deferring to anyone. I’m not hiding or running away in shame. Instead, I’m equally sprinting with newness and potency. I can see now that in my dream the Divine Feminine/The Healer in the role of the homeless woman from the subway was redeeming me with her powerful bear hugs. Like her, I knew something about homelessness, including metaphorically in my own body. I wonder if she also knew something about struggling with body image. That day on the subway, I sought to stand in solidarity with the woman’s humanity, and therefore she reciprocally appeared in my dream to witness mine.

I remember how reticent and scared I was each time the woman approached to hug me in my dream. Maybe her stature reflected something about me. Stepping up to the plate to own one’s own fullness and take up space can sometimes feel scary, intimidating. Of course, I screamed! It’s all big. Pretty damn big! The dream gives me an opportunity to reclaim the robust, vital parts of myself that I had separated from during my difficult pubescent years.  My dream reminds me of my perpetual healing from places and times where I felt displaced and homeless on the inside. My dream also reminds me that I get to return “home” with a mama bear’s welcome and stay in the robust, “I Am” energy of the boy archeptyes on the gym floor. They’re on the same “team” with the woman, my inner allies who see and know who I am, and redeem me from layers of my covers, and compensations.

A next day I had the following dream:

Dream: I’m in bed with a man having a very sensual encounter. We’re both naked. He turns over on his stomach, exposing that he also has a vagina. I’m startled by this…very curious, in awe. Liquid stool begins to seep from his anus. Somehow, I’m not repelled. The sight stirs a deep place in me. Another man is nearby…I don’t remember what he’s doing because I can’t see him, but I know he’s there. I see grayish turds that turn ashen white, then they turn into brilliant gold nuggets. I feel as if I’m seeing a miracle. Something washes over me, inside of me, filling me from my gut upward to my heart, then to my head, outward to my shoulders, my face and nose, downward through my legs and my feet. Oh my gosh, even my fingertips. Everything’s buzzing.

The “medicine” of this dream is to see and feel the miracle of the excrement (i.e., shame) transmuting into pure gold, and feel the energy moving through every cell of my body. I know that my shame is redeemed and my life force and energy can freely emanate and flow because my blocked channels are clearing.

Another episode in the “healing theatre” of my dreams. Truly a continual and miraculous journey home.

Thanks for visiting!

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I am so very excited to share this alchemical part of my journey with you. I really want you to know that you can be cleansed and healed by your dreams if you develop the practice of following where and how they lead.  If you would like know more about the process of Archetypal Dreamwork as an avenue for inward journey and healing, please reach out to me via the form below, or email me directly at nowjourneyhome@gmail.com. I am based in metropolitan Atlanta, GA, USA, but work with clients anywhere  via in-person visit, phone, or HIPAA compliant video conferencing.

Much love to you,
Cheptu