Diving into dream practice is like holding a mirror up to ourselves. We don’t have the opportunity to pretend anymore, and a lot of the time, we don’t like what we see.
Our dreams have a wonderful ability to tell us the truth about who we are, if we are interested in listening to them.
On the other hand, there is always the issue of letting our egos run the dream world, and we ham-fistedly assert a frightened, insecure kind of control over dreams. We demand that the dream produce a certain result (such as giving us sex, enjoyment, some kind of pleasure) and recoil when the dream produces something we think is ugly, or revolting, or unpleasant.
If we accept the dream as our potential teacher, however, we can learn from the ugliness. In fact, the ugliness becomes our greatest teacher. We would never really listen to what pleasure has to say, because we are too busy being pleased. We never question the pleasure in any sense.
It is much easier to question pain.
“Why are you here?” “What do you have to teach me?” In dreams, once we make the important shift, the dream characters shift to support us. Once we cease to regard them as threats, and see them as teachers, they become teachers.
Wherever the mind goes, the dream will follow. This is because dream is mind.
Eventually, we may have the realization that the dream’s true secret is playfulness. A silent playfulness: all of our stories about meaning, confusion, clarity, and oneness have all been a big game. It’s been a lot of fun, but maybe now it’s time for something different.
Maybe it’s time to dive into something unknown, where we have to leave all thinking, all thoughts of “me,” and “myself,” and “what I’m going to get out of this” completely in the lurch. As Trungpa Rinpoche would say, “We pop out without even finishing our dessert.”
We just dive in.
We become wild.