A woman brings a dream in which she is awakened by the sound of someone—a woman–howling in the woods behind her house. In her dream it is nighttime, of course. It is always nighttime in a dream when there is something about which we are not fully conscious. Behind this woman’s house there is a woods—much like there is behind all of our houses. We live in the civilized part of ourselves. But just underneath, behind, or around the corner, the world of nature is waiting—untamed, uncivilized.
What is happening when we are howling in the woods behind our houses? Our surface lives goes on, pretty much the same, and yet out there in the nighttime we are howling. Something is not right. We are not living in accordance with all of who we are. Some part of ourselves is left to wander the woods—hoping to be heard, hoping to wake us up.
Once I had a dream in which a box of my writing was left outside. This was my howl—why are you not writing, why are you not living the creative side of your own nature? Perhaps I was afraid—perhaps I felt that too many changes/sacrifices/effort would be required for me to bring that box of unlived creativity into the space in which I lived. In another dream, children from “the projects” were attempting to break into my house. All those abandoned creative acts wanted in. What is so important, they seemed to be asking, what is so necessary, that you cannot make space for your own creative life? All these unfinished projects were howling at me to take them seriously—to take my creative life seriously.
I don’t actually know what this woman’s howl is about. Only she can say. She needs to feel deeply into herself and begin to pay attention. Already this is a step in the right direction. Already this is a form of listening, of including, the left out part—inviting it to the table. I can say, though, that this woman is not unique in her howl. We all have parts of ourselves that have been left out. They haunt us—hovering around the periphery of our minds, filling us with longing and envy and sorrow. They are the ghosts of our unlived lives—the parts of us that have been shut out, abandoned, unheard.
When the pressure grows too great—they begin to howl.
Imagine what it might be like if this woman were to open the door to her howling self—to invite her in, to make time to listen to her story. The howling self seems pretty wild—she is out in the woods, after all. Perhaps she would bring some wildness into this woman’s life. Perhaps she would encourage this woman to also howl, to voice her truth loud enough for everyone to hear.
Most of all, our howling selves want us to pay attention to who we really are. If we are lucky, we find these parts of ourselves in our dreams. The dreaming mind is the forest—the place behind the place where we habitually live. Dreams bring us in touch with lost aspects of ourselves—creativity, skills, feelings—that we have forgotten or need to reconnect with. They also let us know when life is out of balance. Dreams are like a force of nature. They do not pander to our limited sense of who we are. They do not hesitate to show us where we are howling in the nighttime.
Where is your howl? Begin to pay attention to your dreams—record them nightly. Muse upon them, play with them, decorate the pages of your dream journal with images from your dreams. Allow them to speak to you.