Defiant Wisdom

Tag: dreamwork

Dream-based entries exploring symbolism, emotional patterns, and subconscious themes — the backbone of this archive.

  • Their Old House

    Their Old House

    The Dream

    Mum’s kitchen.

    I make
    soap.

    Open
    the window
    away
    it blows.

    Undergrowth
    cradles glass.

    Unbroken.

    Sigh.
    I mend.

    I worry.
    Another thing
    he cannot
    fix.

    The Meaning

    soap
    Creation. I’m trying to make something gentle and caring.

    family home
    My origin and foundation.

    broken window
    The structure of familiarity is being ripped from my hands and I’m powerless.

    a temporary fix
    I’m relieved; it’s not as bad as I’d feared. The repair will hold for now, it will buy some time, but things are changing; they’re not the same anymore.

    worry
    I’m trying to protect Dad; I don’t want him to be burdened, but there’s the realisation that this person isn’t who they used to be.

    What Lingers….

    What if we can’t make things be as they once were but accept how things are now?

    Marginalia

    My Dad has broken his shoulder. The house is falling apart. I’m unable to fix these things. The situation calls for a different side of me as I swap places to nurture those who once nurtured me.

  • Two Donkeys

    Two Donkeys

    The Dream

    Toy donkeys
    wander city roads.

    Ears.
    A bow in spotted red.

    Ha!

    Toy donkeys

    No!

    Real donkeys?

    One skittish,
    the other, calm.

    Phone box.
    RSPCA?
    No space?
    What?

    But they’re not mine.

    The Meaning

    donkeys
    Life’s inconveniences. They wander in and demand attention.

    RSPCA
    I try to reallocate the problem. To the person whose job it should be.

    responsibility
    Responsibility arrives through proximity. I noticed; now I’m involved.

    What Lingers…

    What happens when conscience becomes responsibility?

    What if responsibility arrives before consent?

    Marginalia

    Life isn’t a funfair, it’s messy, sometimes absurd, and takes up space. My dream hands me two problems. There’s a reluctance from me. I tried to redirect to the proper authority. These are not my problems and yet I’m left dealing with them anyway.

  • The X Files

    The X Files

    The Dream

    Old memories,
    return
    rerun.

    She didn’t make it,
    that woman.

    You.
    Stitched in.
    You mean nothing.

    Don’t you?

    The Meaning

    old memories
    Not all memories dissolve on contact.
    Some stay lodged until the body feels safe enough to unearth them.
    Healing isn’t a delay, it’s timing.

    What Lingers…

    What if the body stores what time alone can’t dissolve?

    What if release depends not on will, but on safety that never comes?

    Marginalia

    We know that painful memories can be hard to process, but what happens when they resurface years later like fresh cuts, unannounced and unprepared for?

    I don’t think our bodies want us to return there; instead, I think it’s a passage forward. To allow us to reframe with fresh, compassionate eyes. To help us let go.

  • Part 2: The Break-In

    Part 2: The Break-In

    The Dream

    My house.
    I lived here—
    once upon a time.

    My son.
    Sleeping upstairs—
    small but not cosy.

    The door.
    A huge bolt,
    but so many holes.

    The windows.
    So many,
    with useless curtains.

    I am exposed.

    A knock.
    From the darkness—
    a man, desperate.

    “Open up!
    I need money—
    I see you in there!”

    I’m silent.
    He’s angered—
    smashing his way in.

    “Fire!”
    I shout—
    I’m terrified now.

    The Meaning

    house
    A past place of exposure and vulnerability.

    door
    One access point now, but full of holes. My inner boundary under direct threat.

    windows
    How I’m perceived. Someone sees me as withholding, but my refusal comes from fear, protection, and context—not stinginess.

    curtains
    I can’t hide myself. Transparency makes me a target.

    attack
    A collision of learned behaviour, fear of overextending, misunderstanding, and maternal instinct. I’m literally under siege.

    fire
    Survival strategy at its peak. I don’t cry for help—no one will come. I shout “fire” to draw people in through spectacle and self-interest.

    What Lingers…

    What if desire to help sits hand in hand with the fear of giving too much?

    What if the forgotten safety of intuition is replaced with survival scripts to protect?

    Marginalia

    After The Renovation from the night before, as much as this dream feels like its sequel, it doesn’t feel like it’s mine.

    I’ve spoken before about how dream sequences ramp themselves towards a terrible climax. Each night teasing themselves closer to the ‘root’ of the issue being explored.

    In Not My Dream, I also discussed how I’ve had dreams that haven’t belonged to me. This I believe, is another of those dreams.

    Only yesterday, I’d posted the insights I’d discovered about my maternal great-grandmother in Fragments of Catherine. In it, I state how she overextended her boundaries. This dream feels like her warning to me.

    To trust my instincts when things ‘feel’.

    To make sure I have boundaries in place. Not just in my waking life, but in my dreams also.

  • Part 1: The Renovation

    Part 1: The Renovation

    The Dream

    My house —
    so big.
    So many
    front doors.
    It’s perfect
    to split.

    Everything
    needs renovating.
    It’s such a
    disaster.

    When it’s done,
    I’ll rent the rooms
    to refugees.
    It’ll be safe
    here.

    The Meaning

    house
    It’s back. This time in ruins.

    door
    Access points to my inner world. More than one way in or out. I’m open.

    renovation
    The interior is chaos, but I’m not giving up. I’m ready to rebuild from scratch — not patch over. What’s reborn here isn’t just for me. I want it to shelter those still seeking safety.

    What Lingers…

    What if inner ruin can be repurposed into refuge?

    What if usefulness begins not with perfection, but with making one room ready?

    Marginalia

    I think I’ve already mentioned elsewhere that I only ever recall dreams that have a message for me. Because of that, I don’t remember every bit of brain fodder, and days, weeks, and months might go by before I recall again.

    Sometimes the recall comes in flurries. It’s been over a month since my last ‘recalled’ dream. I’ve now started my new herbal course and already feel confident that this was meant to be the way forward.

    The last time I dreamed of my house in The House That Contains Everything, I accepted all the rooms in it, even those that were cold. Here I’m on with the renovations and I’m clear about why I’m renovating… It’s to be for the benefit of others.

  • Retreat From A Storm

    Retreat From A Storm

    The Dream

    A hedged garden.
    Weather, raged
    is rolling in.

    I shout, in warning
    I curl
    the wind
    bawls overhead.

    The Meaning

    weather
    I sense disruption before it breaks. I warn, not to control, but to prepare.

    curling
    I withdraw into instinct. I don’t confront, I don’t outrun, I survive by yielding until it’s safe to stand again.

    What Lingers…

    What if retreat isn’t weakness, but the most powerful form of retaliation?

    What if sensing a shift is its own kind of power?

    Marginalia

    There are many ways to deal with stressors. We can fight, flight, fawn, freeze or, as I’m learning more about, I can simply remove my energy as a conscious choice instead of a visceral reaction rooted in learned reflexive coping. There’s something quite soothing in knowing where my boundaries lie. I’m learning that not every storm that blows, needs or deserves my energy.

  • Seeds in the Attic

    Seeds in the Attic

    The Dream

    The attic.
    Dark,
    cold.
    I lift
    the corner
    of a rug.

    Seed trays
    underneath.
    I look at
    the seedlings—
    struggling.

    Belladonna
    I think.
    But no.

    On closer
    inspection
    they’re ribes
    afterall.

    The Meaning

    attic
    A higher space of insight and memory.

    seed trays
    Hidden, forgotten growth. At first I mistake it for poison, but on closer look—it’s food. What I feared was dangerous is simply misunderstood.

    What Lingers…

    What if fear clouds what’s simply waiting to nourish?

    What if curiosity is all it takes to turn poison into fruit?

    Marginalia

    In The Attic, the Shite, and the Kettle, I’m desperate to get into the attic. It’s painful work. In How the Fuck Do I Water This Fig? I tend to what’s growing out of the ceiling, regardless.

    Now, with access to the attic, I’m reassured: not everything is as frightful as I expected. The attic might even have something useful to share.
    It reminds me how often people who’ve lived through torrid experience become lanterns for others in that same place. Trauma can be a site — not to remain trapped in, but to guide others through.

  • How the F*@k Do I Water This Fig?

    How the F*@k Do I Water This Fig?

    The Dream

    How the f*@k
    do I water this fig?

    Arched
    backwards.
    I gaze
    upwards.

    From the
    ceiling—
    Down
    it grows.

    The Meaning

    ceiling
    The higher self, the divine — dropped into the everyday.

    fig tree
    A symbol of knowledge, shame, fertility, protection. Here it hangs awkwardly from above, still demanding care.

    growing
    Not rooted in the ground, but descending from the top down. Inconvenient, unconventional — and I’m still trying to nurture it.

    What Lingers…

    What if grounding doesn’t always rise from below, but descends from somewhere less expected—and more true?

    What if all knowledge isn’t learned, but nurtured into being?

    Marginalia

    My fig tree, dried to a crisp. Still alive but very sick. In waking life, I bring it inside to keep my eye on it. Perhaps it has more to teach me than I’ve yet allowed myself to learn?

    This isn’t the first time I’ve tried to care for herbs in dreamland, despite an inhospitable environment. In The Wind Wasn’t Even That Bad I try planting Rhubarb in a campsite. In The Attic, the Shite, and the Kettle, I’m trying to gain access into the space above. The experience is painful.

  • Misunderstanding and Violence

    Misunderstanding and Violence

    The Dream

    Conversation.

    Their smile
    said yes.
    Something else
    said no.

    I felt it
    before it
    happened.

    A pencil—
    They bored
    into
    my face.

    They’d misunderstood
    me.
    I woke
    crying.

    The Meaning

    sense
    I register danger before it’s visible. A felt knowing. Something’s off, but I can’t name it.

    stabbing
    The wound of being misunderstood.
    My system is primed for it—hypervigilant, bracing for impact.

    What Lingers…

    What if the body recognises threat before language can name it?

    What if living in defence becomes its own signal—drawing what it fears?

    Marginalia

    A recent conversation gave me information that didn’t tally. I remember the apprehension in my body. This dream is how my unconscious chose to live out that anxiety.

    It could have pacified me, but instead it forced me to face my fear — releasing it so violently it shook itself out through my body.

    I know nightmares mean different things depending on our histories. For some, they retraumatise — looping the body in terror, not healing at all.
    For me, they sometimes act like emotional fire drills — terrifying in the moment, but afterward I feel lighter, as though something has been processed.

    This is only my experience. I know not all bodies dream this way.

  • Reverent Without Rules

    Reverent Without Rules

    The Dream

    Ceremony.
    A square of fabric–
    adorns the floor.
    A woman
    kneels,
    a small table
    in front of her.

    A young girl
    jumps excitedly
    around the
    candle-lit room.

    I speak.

    You can do
    without that
    stole.
    It just
    gets in the way.
    And it makes
    no
    difference.

    The Meaning

    ceremony
    The accessories are all present—fabric, fire, posture. Reverence is here.

    girl
    Her energy disrupts the solemnity, but no one chastises her. Youth and joy are allowed, even in ceremony.

    me
    I refuse what feels ornamental.
    I seek resonance, not excess.
    Rebellious, yes—but also practical: if it makes no difference, why keep it?

    What Lingers

    What if reverence is meaningless unless joy is allowed to run through it?

    What if ceremony begins not with tradition, but with trust in what’s already known?

    Marginalia

    This isn’t the first time I’ve wrestled with appearances and gatekeeping.

    In Appearance isn’t Identity I question the costumes of belonging.

    In Walking Away with the Door Still Open I read Tarot — a beginner, yet I trust that I know how to proceed.

    In the Christian faith, a priest’s stole represents spiritual authority, humility, and the yoke of Christ. Here, I’m rejecting the “exclusivity” of that role and its attire.

    This dream is another step in questioning the gatekeeping of spiritual connection, and in choosing to trust my own inner knowing.