Buy The Complete Version of This Book at … Florinda Donner and Taisha Abelar, I was excited to...

The author describes her initiation into the sorcerer's world and mastering conscious dreaming. This book takes readers throughout the magic realms of the unknown, and gives a new approach to the traditional training of women sorcerers.

The Sorcerer's Dream

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Copyright © 2010 Alysa Braceau, Dreamshield ISBN 978-1-60910-156-5 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author. The Sorcerer’s Dream is a true and personal account of the author’s apprenticeship of the second line tradition in the Art of Dreaming. Some names have been changed and locations altered to protect the privacy of those involved. Original title: Running Deer en de Liefde van de Tweede Werkelijkheid ©2008, The Netherlands Translation: Nicoline van der Eyden-Welsch Printed in the United States of America. BookLocker.com, Inc. 2010

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Table of Contents Foreword .................................................................................... 1

Chapter 1: Vidar ......................................................................... 5

Chapter 2: The Dream Stone .................................................... 25

Chapter 3: Totems .................................................................... 43

Chapter 4: Sexual Energy ........................................................ 64

Chapter 5: Chosen .................................................................... 89

Chapter 6: Madeira ................................................................. 111

Chapter 7: The Sweat Lodge .................................................. 130

Chapter 8: The Entity ............................................................. 153

Chapter 9: Meeting Mateeë .................................................... 173

Chapter 10: She Runs With Wolves ...................................... 185

Chapter 11: The Second Reality ............................................ 202

Chapter 12: The Second Encounter with Mateeë ................... 218

Chapter 13: Spiritual Distance ............................................... 230

Chapter 14: My Inner Child ................................................... 243

Chapter 15: Third Encounter with Mateeë ............................. 258

Chapter 16: The End of the Dreamer’s Cycle ........................ 279

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Chapter 1

Vidar

26 June 2004 “Can I help you?” a hurried voice asks from behind the

counter. I look up absent-mindedly and order, “an Indian soup, two cheese sandwiches, a cappuccino and a glass of water please.” I turn around with a full serving tray and see with a quick glance to my right that the terrace is packed. I walk to a table further down the hall, which has a view of the terrace. It is one thirty. Rush hour in the spiritual centre located along a canal in Amsterdam. I did not come here for the Ayurvedic massage, yoga or astrology, but for lunch. Apparently, there are several courses going on, as the line at the counter has never been this long. People are busy talking to each other, standing in groups spread out in the hall, sitting at one of the tables inside or outside on the terrace where they can enjoy the first rays of summer sunshine.

Distracted, I dip my bread in the soup. In a gymnasium, some fifteen kilometers from the ring road, I drag myself for the second and last day through the Magical Passes of Carlos Castaneda. I was hoping the magical movements would make me as light as a feather just as they did two years ago. At that time they freed me of stifling emotions, which easily dragging me down and freeing me of my inclination to nag about everything. However, this time I feel no difference at all. I cannot appreciate the movements. As everyone in the entire room releases graciously, I stay invariably behind.

ALYSA BRACEAU, DREAMSHIELD

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This morning while I was driving my car I had already decided where I was going to have lunch because there are no cafés or restaurants near the gymnasium, which is alarming for someone like me, since you could say I have a healthy appetite. I was quick to remember this spot. They serve a nice vegetarian lunch and I enjoy wandering around in the bookstore.

While I eat my soup, four women at the table in front of me are busy talking and laughing. They are most likely of Surinam or Antillean descent. I think they are discussing the workshop they are attending.

My thoughts drift back to my friends Antonio and Camillo. Two years ago, the Magical Passes were held at the RAI Congress Cent, where a few hundred people from all over the world filled the room. After reading the books written by Carlos Castaneda, Florinda Donner and Taisha Abelar, I was excited to hear there would be a workshop in Amsterdam, so I immediately enrolled. During the past years, I participated in a whole range of workshops and courses in the field of spiritual and personal development. To mention a few, I did meditation, yoga, healing with precious stones, intuitive development, aura reading, rebirthing and trance dance. The more obscure the better, as far as I was concerned. However, nothing appealed to me more than the adventures of the sorcerer’s apprentices.

Thinking back to that day, I wanted to prepare myself well for the big day, I opened my closet and quickly shut it again. Except for grubby sweatpants I had nothing nice to wear in which I could move freely, so I headed into town where I bought a pair of black Capri pants, a modern gunny and a tight red top to make it slightly more exciting. Even though I dragged myself through the original workshop just like today, it had a benevolent effect. I wonder why things are different this year.

Perhaps - two years ago - I sought refuge in the vibrating energy of the room or was it because I was meeting the

THE SORCERER'S DREAM

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Mexicans, Camillo and Antonio? On the other hand, maybe it was the combination of the two? After everyone had settled down on the floor after the first lecture, the Mexicans sat next to me and looked at me curiously.

“Are you from here?” they asked, and “Where are you going?” they asked me during the break. I did not know anybody else and felt relieved to be approached, and before I knew it, they introduced me to a group of Mexican friends.

After the workshop Camillo, Antonio and I continued talking on into the wee hours of the morning. Antonio spoke a few words of English but that did not make any difference as Camillo translated - he had lived and worked in the United States as a teacher for years. I bragged to them about my dreams and they listened and gaped at me when I told them in my best English about meeting sorcerers in lucid dreams. With a slight sense of shame, I confessed they had accurately pointed out my weak spots and said things about me that I would never dare to admit to myself.

I remember we were talking about relationships and especially about the problems they had. Camillo sat to my left and Antonio to my right. Once they started talking about their relationships, they never stopped. Camillo was very much in love with his girlfriend, but she did not want a steady relationship. She told him a relationship hampers the freedom of a sorcerer. He hoped she would change her mind, but in his heart, he felt exactly the same way. Antonio’s relationship problems were the opposite. He wanted his freedom but his girlfriend (he was crazy about her) tugged at him and demanded the next step in their relationship: marriage and children. Gloomily the Mexicans gazed in front of them.

They started a discussion and I felt like they were forcing that nonsense about freedom on me. I believed that so-called freedom is an excuse for not wanting or keeping a steady


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relationship. I said they spoke nonsense and brought myself forward as an example. As a modern western woman, I had a relationship and in the meantime was free to do whatever I pleased, to a certain degree of course. I leaned back in my chair and looked at them commiserating.

I concluded we were dealing with a cultural difference because it was written on their faces that they did not understand a word I was saying. At least that is what I thought until they said, “we follow the witch,” toasting their glasses against mine. That night we finished several bottles. Actually, they seemed to me like a couple of easy opportunists, but I was flattered that they had called me a witch. It was something they would regret, because that night, they even started smoking. We said our goodbyes in the middle of the night and I could not withhold my tears. Perhaps it was because I had never felt so light-spirited, unconcerned, and especially completely at home. I will miss them terribly.

Bitterly I realize that this weekend’s workshop stands in sharp contrast to last years, if only for the fact that I miss my Mexican friends. I take a bite of my sandwich to comfort myself. Maybe I will see them at the next workshop in Mexico City. Another voice tells me “no.” Enough is enough. I need to put energy into my family and my work. At present, two months after my maternity leave, I am finally getting the hang of things at a publishing company with career opportunities. Suddenly, I look toward my right. A dark man moves slowly past me wearing an Indian headdress and starts a conversation at a table in front of me. An incredible show-off, probably hoping to attract women, wearing that headdress.

However, the calm look in his eyes and his unobstructed way of talking to the women around him contradicts my first thought about him immediately. Shortly after, the dark man slowly walks past and gives me an open look with his kind, dark brown


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eyes. He is a heavy built man approximately in his mid-fifties, wearing his dark straight hair in a long ponytail. As I eat my soup, I look back at him just as openly. A few minutes later, the feathered headdress passes my table once again, toward the ladies, who await him longingly. I quietly start to become curious and begin to wonder what kind of workshop he gives. As he talks to the women, he frequently looks my way as if he knows me from somewhere but does not remember from where. At the same slow pace, he walks back and once again, we look at each other openly. I become more curious by the minute, no, I mean every second. I want, or rather, I need to know who this man is, where he comes from and especially what he is doing here. As he walks past once more, I do not think I can stand it any longer.

My question “What do you teach?” pulls him toward me. The man stops abruptly and walks toward me cautiously.

“I teach people to heal themselves,” he says. His voice sounds warm and sympathetic.

“Okay,” is the only answer I can think of as another question pops up in my mind. However, the question is not necessary as he starts talking himself. He says he is a medicine man and with the help of drums, he is capable of bringing people into a healing state. “Sounds interesting,” I try to encourage him, because I have always been very interested in everything about healing.

“The rhythm of the drums produce theta-waves in the brain which activate the self-healing powers,” he explains. His head turns to the right toward the open door on the other end of the hall where people trickle out, to indicate where it is taking place.

“Where are you from actually?” I ask him most sympathetically. I am used to turning a man inside out with


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questions and if you do it in a nice way, it is not necessarily annoying.

The man tells me he comes from the Southeast of the United States and he curiously asks me in turn, “Have you ever participated in Indian rituals or ceremonies?”

“You mean shamanism?” I ask. He shrugs and looks as if he is saying, “give it a name you like.” I stare in front of me and go into a kind of trance in an effort to dig into my memory.

I am playing for time and tell him that I have done so many things and I recollect that shamanism was also one of them. I tell him about the trance journey experiment I made, combined with the modern psychotherapeutic techniques, which made me find my lost soul again, or at least part of it.

A tall, middle-aged, strawberry blond woman signals toward the Indian. She is wearing traditional North-American clothes. She is standing at a table a few yards in front of the door and gives me a friendly nod. A few people surround her. I think they would like to pay, perhaps he has the change. The dark medicine man excuses himself and walks toward her. I quickly stuff my sandwich down my throat and hope he will return as soon as possible. As he walks toward me, I wash it down with lukewarm cappuccino.

The Indian continues the conversation where he left off. He tells me he gives teachings in original shamanism and goes into the subject of an upcoming event. “If you are interested there is going to be a weeklong festival in July where shamans from all parts of the world exchange knowledge. There will also be healing rituals.” That sounds wonderful. However, camping out for a whole week in a primitive Native American lodge, hanging around in casual clothes, standing in line for a cold shower and going to filthy bathrooms, is not for me.

I look disappointed and tell him: “Too bad that’s right in the middle of my vacation.”


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He puts his hand in his pocket, rattles the coins, looks toward the strawberry blond woman and nods. He has to finish the conversation and says: “We also have a small, exclusive group of people to whom we teach more in-depth knowledge, but that is not until somewhere in September or October.” Small and exclusive, that suits me much better. I eagerly ask him for more information. He writes down my address, promises to send me a flyer, and hands me a yellow-brown business card with the words “Running Deer” on it and underneath in small letters Vidar, his Western name. He puts the address information in brackets, and tells me he will be moving soon. Three-quarters of an hour later I continue the Magical Passes with renewed energy and meet a kind, big man from Colorado, teddy bear-like, with whom I dance the tempestuous northern and sensible southern wind. 31 August 2004

Vidar throws the door open of his working-class house built in the thirties and located in the middle of a decent neighborhood. “Come on in,” he says with a huge smile; a smile that instantly puts me on my guard. As soon as I was out of the car, I smelled a stuffy cocoa scent coming from the industrial estate only a stone’s throw away. I doubted whether I was at the right address because it did not seem like anyone was living here. This was due to the silence that surrounded it, and the cobwebs dangling from the doorpost, but especially because of the closed curtains with a faded flower print. Reluctantly I step across the threshold. I had been looking forward to this moment for three months.

Two weeks after our meeting I still had no information, and had not received any flyer, nothing. Therefore, I called him up


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to see what had become of it. I did not need to introduce myself again because he knew immediately who I was.

“I cannot believe you’ve gotten a hold of me!” he said surprised.

“Why?” I asked in my turn surprisingly. He pointed out the time of day, it is two o’clock in the afternoon, and he said most people try to get a hold of him early in the morning or at the end of the afternoon. “Oh, of course,” I answered him guiltily and asked him about the flyer without beating about the bush.

“It isn’t finished yet, you have to be patient,” he said. His friendly and natural way of making conversation immediately put me at ease and I wanted to fire a question at him but he already started himself. “I have seen many extraordinary qualities in you.”

“What kind of qualities?” I jumped up and pressed the phone as close to my ear as possible. He called them psychic and healing qualities, mentioned the course with the exclusive group of apprentices, and roughly stated that my qualities or gifts could be enlightened in rituals and ceremonies. This is where I needed to be. The sun broke through, ropes were cast off, the rusty floodgates were opened and as far as I could see, I was sailing toward a new horizon. In short, I was exulting inside, even when he slightly backed out, saying: “After healing your Self you might also be able to heal others.”

The “Self healing” sounded like an endless road, but I was not going to be discouraged. I felt a sense of recognition in everything he said and I told him that for many years now, whenever I felt pain or discomfort I would practice sending healing energy to myself. I had read many books about everything dealing with curing, healing, laying on of hands and


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magnetizing and had hoped silently and loudly for a day like this.

He never stopped talking and apologized for information given on the phone. “Oh, never mind,” I told him immediately and encouraged him to continue and I tried to absorb all his words.

He talked as if it was about a regular training program and I heard him say “With the help of the medicine wheel you will become acquainted with your totems, your special place of knowledge and your personal medicine.” My thoughts ran away with me. Somewhere in the distance, I heard him say that I was going to find two rings in a dream and that is where I lost the thread. Then I heard him add, “At a later stage you will have visions and medicine dreams.”

Normally I would want to break the silence that followed, but I was speechless. I heard a sigh and felt he was starting to end the conversation. I asked if I could meet him in person without sounding too eager. He consented! Then I started to breathe again. He promised to call me after the summer vacation. “After the vacation,” turned out to be a wide notion. My patience was severely put to the test. It was not until the summer was almost over when the phone rang. Finally! A clear voice announced, “Good afternoon, this is Running Deer speaking.”

My heart began beating faster. I had almost given up hope. After exchanging formalities, he asked if we could meet and explicitly mentioned the goal of the appointment. He literally said, “It is my task to explain to you the difference between modern and traditional shamanism.” Before hanging up I asked about the price of the consultation. “Nothing at all,” he answered. “It is part of my mission.”


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~*~

I hand Vidar my jacket in the hall before he opens the dividing door to the living room. He drapes my jacket neatly across a coat hanger and hangs it on the coat rack. An uncertain tension rushes through my body. I am excited and curious, but on guard, since I am with a man I do not know in unknown surroundings. Cardboard boxes are scattered all over the place and it looks as if he moved only yesterday. In the middle lies a deerskin and next to it, its antlers. To the right, just past the hallway I can see the wood timbered staircase. I look at the closed curtains behind me once more, showing only a small strip of dusk. The curtains are drawn, I am worried. Is he hiding something from the neighborhood?

My host walks to the kitchen just past the stairway, excuses himself as he starts stirring in a pan on the stove. “I am cooking chai tea,” he explains as he turns toward me.

I feel sorry for him as I watch him make the tea so primitively. Presumably, the poor Indian has no money to buy a teapot, because if you look closely he does not even have a couch. With my hand, I lean on the armrest of the chair at the head of the dinner table. The other end of the pinewood table is stacked with piles of paper, magazines, books and junk. A real male household, I conclude. I look around. The small bar in between the kitchen and the living room is also packed with stuff. “Have you just moved in?” I try not to sound too curious. I would not mind knowing whether he is married and if he has children.

I assume he is recently divorced and the next question is why? Did his wife divorce him because she was fed up with him chasing women? Prove me wrong, but I believe he is a big charmer. By the way, he does not stand a chance with me, because he is too small and too old. He mumbles something


15

inaudible from behind the stove, sounding reserved. I had better not ask any further, that would be overbearing. It is probably unusual in his culture to ask personal questions. As he stirs in the pan, I observe everything in detail and look toward the backyard, which is at least 15 meters long, surrounded by high trees and covered in grass that urgently needs mowed according to Dutch standards.

A gentle breeze blows through the green branches. At the far end, right against the fencing there is a wooden shed painted in typical Dutch style: dark green with white window frames. It looks well kept. I look back around the living room nervously. A firm hit over the head would do it if he would start to harass me. I ease my thoughts by thinking there are men who do not have an ulterior motive, but to be quite honest I have never met them, apart from my Mexican friends.

Opposite the stairway there is a burgundy-red cabinet, approximately 5 feet long, stacked with piles of paper, magazines and CDs. I walk across and read the titles of the CDs. From the corner of my eye, I watch my host turn down the gas and reach over to the right to get two mugs from a cupboard above the kitchen sink. On the wall above the cabinet, I see a pouch with two long grey feathers sticking out and two shorter brown-white feathers. Vidar comes toward me and then stays standing next to me with his arms crossed watching the feathers.

“That’s nice,” I say. “It is a spirit knife,” he replies. He points at the two long

grey feathers “these come from a heron, the brown ones come from a hawk and an owl, the grip was made from deer antler and the pouch from deerskin.” He explains, “Items of medicine like the spirit knife are made after they have been seen in a vision. The knife is used by medicine men like myself who use the deer’s spirit to heal: you can cut open the ethereal body and remove the negative energy.” Without stopping, he continues


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and tells me that animals sacrifice themselves to serve humankind. “Just like the prehistoric hunters I received a vision and saw where I could meet the deer. I met him at the pre-arranged time and location and that is where the deer sacrificed himself without hesitation. I roasted the meat, after taking off his skin and his antlers,” he says while pointing at the deerskin in the middle of the room. “In a following vision I met the deer once more. I was surprised to see him and asked him: ‘What are you doing here, I killed you.’ ‘No,’ he answered, ‘I am not dead; I have given up my material form and past on the knowledge of the deer medicine to help man heal.’” He explains, “Medicine men receive information about healing through visions and medicine dreams. To achieve this, ordinary dreams need to be inactivated.” I nod interested but I actually do not understand how that is possible, inactivating dreams. I would rather not. I am actually glad that I have them. I grant his invitation to take a place at the head of the table. The feeling of tension and excitement increases by the minute. I am curious to know what he has to say. Vidar reheats the tea for a few seconds before turning it off and pours the steaming tea in the mugs. I look at the kitchen sink, which is packed with bottles of red wine to the left. They are trying to seduce me with their calling. I would not mind a glass of wine; it would taste good, too good actually and it would relax me immediately. To the right of the kitchen sink are many pots of vitamins and other kinds of pills and powders. He places a mug of hot chai tea in front of me on the table and asks whether I would like a piece of apple pie. I turn down the offer even though apple pie is my favorite. My host makes himself comfortable, blows the hot vapor away from his cup with an elongated breath and asks me what brought me to the place where we met. I tell him about the Magical Passes a few kilometers down the road, the absence of a good place to lunch


17

nearby and my desire for a nice vegetarian lunch. A huge smile appears on his face. Then he asks me what appeals to me in Castaneda’s work.

“Its accessibility,” I call out spontaneously. However, as soon as I say it, I realize that his work is far from accessible. When I read The Art of Dreaming, I understood less than half of it, but I was hooked because it unleashed my imagination. Just before going off to sleep, I read a few pages and as soon as I slept, I was dragged into his world and received lucid conscious dreams without having to do anything. It gave me a rush, it was addictive and I wanted to read more. Automatically I read one book after another. All of them were beautiful, but they hardly had the interactive effect of The Art of Dreaming and I kept dreaming that one day I would meet a Don Juan. I return to the subject of accessibility and philosophize: “His books display a desire to learn and show his vulnerable side.” Vidar's encouraging smile stimulates me to share more of my intellectual side. “Carlos shares his fears, doubts and uncertainty which make him human, since he does not pose as a weighty spiritual apprentice, but as an ordinary human being with all his shortcomings. That is what I mean by accessibility.” Vidar carefully takes the talking stick out of my hands and expresses himself cautiously: “… do you feel resistance in your life… as if you were held back?”

I take some time to reflect, but in fact, I could answer him with a straightforward “yes. I feel I have great difficulties achieving anything,” I say, and hope not to sound too wretched. Vidar nods understandably.

You could call it resistance. Dissatisfied, I look back on a bumpy career. Sometimes, when I wonder what unknown power is responsible for all of this, the voice of my conscience says I have little patience, I quickly lose interest and lack stamina, I have difficulty adjusting, do not like rules and do not


18

feel like playing up to anyone. In short, I am standing in my own way with my own resistance.

“Have you ever had the feeling you could fly away, escape?” “Oh yes,” I say eagerly “I allow my energy body, or whatever it’s called, to fly away into space. I give it wings and make triple front and back somersaults, high in the sky. I think it is my way to release energy,” which would explain these circus acts of my energy body. “But, why do you want to know about my resistance?”

“A human being becomes resilient through experience and the way he has been raised.” He declares, “You may have become hardened as you resisted pain and disappointment or it could be that you were raised according to certain convictions which keep you from learning anything. The resistance keeps you from following the path to your eternal Self. For that reason it is imperative you get rid of your resistance.”

Returning to our conversation on Carlos Castaneda he says: “You’ve read his books, so you must also know that Castaneda’s sorcerer’s tradition is known as the first line of knowledge, coming from the Toltec’s and Aztecs.” I nod. “But there is also a second line,” he continues. “Originally there was only one sorcerer’s line, but because hunters covered great distances during the ice age, and due to the origination of land bridges, this original line split into two tribes. The second line is the North American tradition in which I have been raised,” he says without hesitation.

He adds without much ceremony that we both come from the same spiritual family and that his assignment is to lead me into the teachings of the totality. The expression on my face reveals surprise, then disbelief and back to surprise again. I feel like I am dreaming. Do I hear what he is saying? A deep-rooted desire tucked away somewhere becomes reality, but it seems too good to be true.


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He says again, “You know Castaneda’s books, and then you also know that sorcerers discover and train successors.” Vidar takes a piece of paper and draws three lines forming a Greek Y. He points at the vertical line and says, “That is the original tribe and the two lines going up symbolize the two lines of sorcerers.” Explicitly he says, “You cannot compare the two traditions because there are different teaching methods. The tradition of the first line uses fear and terror as a teaching method, whilst the tradition of the second line is the way of monumental beauty.”

Without humility he goes on to say, “I am an experienced teacher and am capable of leading you toward the totality within two-and-a-half years.” He releases a deep sigh, “You have no idea how much luck you had to have met a benefactor like myself,” and he determines that I must have crossed his path to finish off my personal medicine wheel. I stare at him with amazement. “Your arrival is to accomplish your life’s mission, to complete your personal medicine wheel. You have taken up the Way to find or become the totality. That is your spiritual goal,” continuing, “As soon as you have obtained sufficient knowledge, you will meet the source of your knowledge, someone like me to bring it to an end.” I sense no doubt in his voice when he says, “You are capable of crossing that finish line, recognizing yourself in your totality.” I smile at him politely, but I do not have the faintest idea where this is leading. “Desire is the technique to reach that goal,” he continues.

Hey, hang on, “desire”? Is that what he just said? I look at him disapprovingly and wonder if he wants to have sex after all. He does not give in. Perhaps he means a different kind of desire. Without reserve, he explains that beauty is a clue in finding the apprentice who will be educated to become a person of knowledge. Even though I would love to extensively wallow


20

in his compliment, I decide not to let it distract me too much. It would not be the first time I have had my judgment clouded.

As he looks down meaningfully, he declares, “During the past thirty years I have trained five groups of sorcerers, but I never expected a sixth one to show up.”

Do I hear compassion in his voice? Are those tears in his eyes?

“You are the sixth in line and currently the only one in the group.” He mumbles: “If only you knew how special our encounter is, it is a chance in a million!” and he stares at the table emotionally. I feel the urge to hug him but my distant nature holds me back. The knife is put to my throat. Tell me, is he a dangerous lunatic or is he speaking the truth. I blink my eyes nervously.

“You do not have any more apprentices like me?” “There is a possibility a stalker will join our group, but until

then you will have to put up with me,” and he gives me a kindhearted look.

There is a tense silence as if the invisible world is listening in. There is great esteem in his voice when he finally asks me; “Officially I must ask you if you are prepared to enter into the apprenticeship of the totality.” My heart is in my mouth. I do not doubt for one second but I let the answer drift for a moment, not wanting to sound too eager.

I clear my throat and without sounding too formal, I say, “I want to do this for myself and for my family.” He laughs, amused.

A burst of energy shoots out of me and kisses him on the cheek. It startles me. This makes me blush and I wonder if he noticed anything as he is gazing out of the window with a faint smile on his face. It looks like I have given permission to proceed as he turns toward me and says; “You need to be in good physical condition to reach the totality.”


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“Good physical condition,” I repeat after I have cooled down a bit, “sounds like I am going on a survival trip.” Vidar smiles reserved. Outside a white cat pricks up his ears. “Whatever you will become after your training depends on your talents and your predilection, which means that your spiritual family will decide what your life’s mission will be.”

I am trying to catch the eye of the future but all I can see is a grey twilight zone.

With an unaltered determination, he continues, “You will reach the totality by dreaming.”

I interrupt him immediately. “How do you know I am a dreamer? I might be a stalker.” Through Castaneda’s books I know that the world is divided in dreamers and stalkers, but why am I one or the other and not both? I fear he might be overlooking something valid.

“You told me how much you dream, and that’s says a great deal, your dreams are ready-made.” That sounds reasonable. For the brief period that I am here, I have told him about my active dream-life and the fact that I have written down all my dreams in notebooks for at least fifteen years. In the past few years I noticed their development into conscious dreams. It has given me an enormous rush to realize I could direct them and I always look forward to the next experience. I love my dreams and never want to lose them again. Shyly, I tell him about the dreams that kept me busy these past years. In those dreams, I am seduced by dark men, am dragged to their cave where they make love to me, after which they are determined to marry me. Quite a shock when you wake up the next morning beside your own husband. Vidar explains there are four practices that guide the apprentice into the totality, summing up: the art of dreaming, stalking, hunting and the art of the warrior. “Gradually you will learn to master all of them, but because you are a dreamer the


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art of dreaming is the most important one for you. On the way to the totality you will learn to master your dreaming, which means that ordinary dreams will come to a halt and will be replaced by the dreaming of the spirit. Ordinary dreams come to a stop, disappear because they are primitive, and take up too much energy. As you master your dreaming, you will have medicine dreams and visions that guide you into the totality.” He explains: “When you start dreaming, you become conscious of your dream body. The totality creates a dream body to travel from this reality,” knocking on the table, “which is the first reality, into the second reality.”

Vidar offers me a notebook and I neatly write everything down. He quickly checks me out to see whether it all makes sense to me. I try to look as neutral as possible and then I look downwards, pretending to be aloof, because the expression on my face never lies. From experience I know I need more time to absorb all the information. Besides, this is all theory and I prefer to put things in practice.

Vidar is quite unconcerned and continues. “The Algonquin-Indians sorcerer's of ancient times believed that the Big Bang was not an instant but a twofold event, the result of the first and subsequently the second reality.” He declares, “the second reality reflects the first reality,” drawing a circle on a notepad with a line in the middle. “The characteristic of the totality is twofold.” He says, “The totality consists of the first and the second reality. The first is created by the creative energy of the first reality and the second by the creative energy of the second reality.” He draws another circle and places a dot in the middle. “The dot is the totality of the Self.

Your dreaming creates the first reality as well as turning around your totality. With your dream body and your intention, which is the energy used to create, you will not only travel from the first into the second reality, but you will also reach the


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totality of the Self. Creating and dreaming are one and the same and both are created by the creative energy of your intention.” My teacher then tells me both realities are created by the totality and the totality is dreaming. “The first rule of the first reality is fixation which means that one believes this is the only reality, but the space outside the circle represents the boundless second reality. The shamans of old discovered that to balance things out a second reality exists, a reality which is not fixed.”

He grabs his mug and says; “We have fixated the mug, but if you shift your assemblage point it changes into a very random thing.” He concludes: “To reach totality you need to stop or dismantle this reality by manipulating the assemblage point, a small shift is all that is needed.”

He looks at me again. I apologize and in case he had not noticed, I tell him I need more time to comprehend it all. “You will learn by experience,” he reassures me “and that means you will find out yourself what the truth is and if I am right.”

A subtle nod of the head tells me that it is enough for tonight and he invites me to come back in ten days and asks me to find a stone to be used in the first dream exercise. “Take any kind of stone and study it in detail, you need to know it inside out, every line, every dent, every outline. Let your inner eye - between your eyebrows - visualize the stone,” pointing with his finger to his forehead. “Aim to find the stone,” he continues. “With this exercise you create your dream body, a double, an extension of yourself. You can never break away from it. With your dream body you will be able to travel into the second reality.” I put my pen down. My head is spinning from the amount of information and in the meantime I am spun to and fro between what my mind shouts and my heart whispers. My mind gets the worst of it. What a night! My desire for knowledge has come true and everything is coming together. I yawn deeply and look at my watch. Midnight. Time has flown past. An


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uncontrollable flashback takes my mind back to the eight months prior to meeting Vidar. I get up to leave and tell him I was driven by a powerful energy, like a gust of wind pushing me forward and urging me to undertake all kinds of things but I did not really know what I was looking for. Carefully, I tell him the wind stopped blowing the moment I met him, I felt at peace.

I drive back home in a state of arousal, it feels like I am in love, but quickly I put that thought aside. Impossible, he could be my father.

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Chapter 2 The Dream Stone

As the sorcerer plays his flute and dances around in a

setting of white clouds, he watches me curiously. I hand Vidar the grayish green oval-shaped gemstone with the black figure. He observes the stone closely.

“Good find,” he says. I carefully chose the stone from a box containing all sorts of gems in a small shop in the center of Haarlem where they sell books, incense and jewelry. The bent figure is also known as the dancing sorcerer, a male being with physical characteristics of several animals: with eyes of a wolf, antlers of a moose, a horse’s tail and bear claws. Vidar holds the stone at arm’s length between his thumb and index finger and says “it’s jade.”

He tells me it is a medicine stone, which means that the stone has healing properties and can be used at shamanic healing rituals. For the time being its role is that of the prey and I am the hunter who must try to find it in my dreaming. During the past week, I have been studying the stone from every angle, but there is so much to be discovered that I cannot see the woods for the trees. I ask Vidar, holding the stone in his left hand, what would be the best procedure to learn all the stone’s characteristics by heart.

With the index finger, he caresses the figure and the contour of the stone. “First you study the sorcerer’s outline and draw the lines in your mind until you are able to visualize them. When you succeed, you follow the same procedure with the white spots and the stone’s shape. Carry the stone with you at all times and make a habit of studying it on every occasion, even when you are standing in line at the cashier’s desk,” he smiles. “You have to know every spot, dent or drawing from the


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inside and from the outside. Practice as long as it takes to get it in your mind and aim to find the stone in your dreaming within the next ten days. Then you start counting the days.”

“And what if I don’t find it within that time?” “Then you start all over again, until you get it right,” he

replies, and gives me the necessary instructions before falling asleep. “Look at the stone in detail and place it somewhere near, close your eyes and visualize the stone on the inside of your inner eye, between your eyebrows. It is important to become conscious of the moment right before you fall asleep. At that specific moment you visualize the stone immediately inside your inner eye.” My mind resists. Waking up before falling asleep seems impossible. He must have read my mind, because he says; “It’s actually enough to have the intention to be conscious before falling asleep. Attempt it.” I decide not to worry anymore. I will just do it. “Aim to wake up consciously every morning and visualize the stone with your inner eye,” he continues as he slowly brings the stone closer. “Pick up the stone and move it closer from an arm’s length to the tip of your nose as if the stone is coming toward you. Do not forget to repeat to yourself that you will find the stone,” he concludes.

He carefully places the stone in front of me on the table as if it is fragile, pushes his chair backward and gets up to boil water for tea. I place the sorcerer in the palm of my hand, he gives me a defiant look as if he is about to make a getaway and obviously expects me to chase after him. He is one in a million and I will do anything to find him.

“You need stamina,” Vidar says as he turns around from

behind the stove. “I’m making medicine for you to cleanse your body, this is vital to your health.” I ask him what kind of medicine he is preparing. “Rose hip tea with cinnamon,” he answers.


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I am disappointed. The least I expect is for him to come up with something unusual. I drink rose hip tea almost every day. “Cinnamon has strong cleansing qualities because it kills bacteria in your body,” he states as he puts the tea on a low flame and walks toward me. He places his hands on the back of the chair and starts to sound the praises of the beneficial functioning of rose hip. It contains antioxidants that protect the body from free radicals. It is truly a medicine.

A few moments later, he places two mugs of extremely hot rose hip tea on the table in front of us. I blow the vapor away as Vidar returns to the kitchen. From a kitchen cabinet above the sink, he grabs a transparent bag filled with white capsules and places it in front of me on the table.

“Are you aware that a healthy intestinal flora is the basis for good health?” he asks without expecting an answer. “These are acidophilus capsules, intestinal cleansers, which have the additional advantage of keeping your intestines in good form. I advise you to take two daily.” I grab the bag, open it and take one capsule out.

Is he proposing cleansing and pills because he detects some sort of physical defect? Are things not running as smoothly as I thought? I put that thought aside because I believe - no, I am sure that this is a precautionary measure. Even though I rather not discuss any ailments I may have with others, I must admit his devotion gives me a wonderful feeling. He brings me a glass of water to swallow the capsule and I put the bag in my purse.

Apparently, the pounds are written all over my face, because he asks me whether I have difficulties losing weight. I wonder if he thinks I am too fat but I dare not ask and tell him that I have not yet lost all the excessive kilos after the birth of my daughter, about nine months ago. I am used to repeatedly losing or gaining weight. I do not pay a lot of attention to it. However, these four extra kilos are starting to get in the way.


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“What is your blood type?” he asks. “O,” I remember from the last time when I had to get my

blood checked which was somewhere between the conception and the birth of our daughter. “Why?” “The hunters from the ice age had type O,” he beams. “Make a study for yourself on the blood type diet. With your blood type, you should reduce the intake of carbohydrates to control your body weight.” I am starting to feel awkward when he also asks me whether I am always hungry. I agree suspiciously. He gives me the advice to avoid refined sugars. “Sugars stimulate hypoglycemia, a fluctuating blood sugar level, and sugars are processed in many products. Read the ingredients on the covers of the products before buying anything.”

I heard and read quite a lot about hypoglycemia and recognized myself in the list of highly prevalent complaints. Besides the spontaneous upcoming appetite, these were feelings of fatigue, bad temper and total depression to name just a few. However, I never took the problem seriously. He adds, “The fluctuations of your blood sugar are the cause of your mood swings. You don’t want to know how many marriages are destroyed because of this.” I feel very uncomfortable, as if someone is peeping through the key hole and I am being caught. It makes no sense to deny it.

When I happen to get hungry and there is nothing to eat, you had better stay away. Suspiciously, I think back about the apple pie and the bottles of wine on the kitchen sink when I was here last time. Will he be aware of my unhealthy habits and addiction to coffee, apple pie and red wine? The chief doesn’t need my confirmation because I hear him echo somewhere in the distance, “It’s best to use fruit-sugar, it is slowly absorbed in your bloodstream and prevents fluctuations in your blood sugar level.” I feel ashamed but do not let it get to me. I take a deep breath and write fruit-sugar down on my shopping list. He


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means well when he suggests I eat six small amounts of food spread out over a day to prevent feeling hungry. I did read that somewhere before. Perhaps I should take the advice for a change.

Vidar looks toward the yard and I take the opportunity to recover my breath. I desperately hope he will conclude this chapter on “health and well-being” after the break.

He is contemplating, then without thinking he places his hands on both thighs and announces that, in a moment, we will set up my medicine wheel. The medicine wheel which moves toward the totality to be exact. I wait in expectation.

With slow movements he takes five pebbles from somewhere between the junk and the papers. He places four in an imaginary circle and puts the fifth one in the middle. “The medicine wheel is a sign post in the dream reality,” he starts to explain. “Every stone signifies one of the four wind directions, the stone in the middle is the centre from where you travel. Accompanied by the drums you will momentarily travel to the four wind directions and in each one of them you will identify the dwelling places of knowledge.”

I worry because I know my sense of direction has its shortcomings for such a trip. “When saying wind directions, I mean the spiritual wind directions,” he exemplifies. “By identifying these wind directions and the dwelling places, they will prevent you from having a spontaneous experience and being unaware of your whereabouts.” He adds that the medicine wheel is the fastest way to reach the totality. “Look at it this way, the spiritual wind directions are represented by entities and together with your animal totems, whom you will meet at a later stage, they are the roadmap leading you into totality.”

I ask what significance is attached to these wind directions, in the sense that it might represent a certain development or phase in one’s life, for example. He would rather wave away


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any possible meaning. “Originally there is no significance to it,” he says, “It prevents you from fixating on it. The medicine wheel is an individual process and its significance depends on the specific information you obtain elsewhere.” Finally he says, “Wherever you travel you retrieve your history and accumulate enormous reserves of spiritual energy.”

Vidar gets up, gathers five big pebbles from the floor in front of the cabinet, and places them in a circle in front of the deerskin. “We commence in the north,” he says and invites me to take my place on the deerskin, facing the street (meaning the closed curtains). Then he picks up his drum next to the deerskin and explains, “The repetitive rhythm and fast beat of the drum will guide you during your journey. The overtones of the drum influence the wave patterns of the brain that means it sets off an increased state of perception. You will perceive with your spiritual senses, your inner eye. Look intensively in every wind direction to determine what you see and absorb every little detail.”

I try to place myself in a comfortable crossed-legged position and tell him I am ready. As the rhythm intensifies, I fly away on the deerskin toward the northern wind direction, high above green mountains, interrupted by rough rock formations. From the highest point, there is a crystal clear stream which flows down the sloping hills.

“Search for your dwelling place,” Vidar says. My feeling tells me I have no time to lose. Far beneath me I

discover a sandy path effortlessly making its way among the hills. I descend as soon as possible and quickly take a sharp turn to the right, into another path, which leads toward a splendid bare piece of sandy soil with a little lake. Here and there, long strong blades of grass arise from the ground. To my left, at the foot of the lake, steep rock formations rise up to the blue sky. A frail looking woman with long black hair comes toward me. It


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looks like she is floating. Her cream-colored skin and grey eyes are in beautiful contrast with her long black hair going down to her waist. She signals for me to follow her as she runs in the direction of the rocks. Then she climbs up the cliff and I climb after her, pulling myself up into the opening of the cave, just as she does.

Once we are in the cave, she invites me to sit opposite her, I take a good look around, and I hear Vidar telling me to return to the centre of the wheel to travel to the next wind direction. I say good-bye to the woman and return to the slowing of the rhythm of the drum.

Vidar asks me to make a quarter turn toward the east and as soon as the rhythm goes faster, I travel to a round sandy plain surrounded by a thick jungle with one small shed in the middle. I suspect I am somewhere in the inlands of Africa, in the middle of nowhere. I closely look at the ramshackle muddy shed and walk around it. The wrecked roof is in some places covered with thatch. The silence is distinct. It looks deserted. As if someone has just discharged a weapon and the whole village has fled into the bushes. I look around in the cabin. There is nothing there, except for a wooden bench. It reminds me of a visitors’ waiting room of the local healer.

The fast rhythm takes me to the south, to a snow-hut in the snow-white world of the Antarctic. Two elks watch me curiously and reserved in the background. With every move I make they withdraw. My mind strongly resists when the snow starts to melt, but I cannot stop the sun from shining. The snow carpet changes into a hilly country with shades of matted dark purple and brown. The snow-hut makes room for a round shed covered with skin. I return to the centre when the drumbeats start pounding only every other second.

I make a quarter turn to the west and fly high above a rocky mountain with the splendor of tropical flora and fauna. Far


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beneath me, I discover a red path twisting through the mountain range and I am drawn toward it like a magnet. I land on the place where the path begins and walk a bit until I come face to face with an abyss that is viciously covered in palms. Effortlessly I spread out my wings and drift past the sea of palms above an idyllic sandy bay on an elongated ocean, surrounded by rock formations on the left and jungle to the right. In the far corner, on the edge of the jungle there is a wooden house on poles, partly hidden between the palms. People are walking in and out. Compared to the other shelters this is a luxurious villa. I observe everything well as the drum beats bring me back to the center of the medicine wheel.

“What color are you sitting on?” Vidar asks and I become conscious of the orange color underneath me. “Orange is the color of the first and second chakra, the place where your uterus is. It is your strongest point. Remember that whenever you seize this orange color in dreaming you will be able to return to Earth’s reality.” He clarifies, “In our tradition chakras are also called ‘dwelling places of knowledge’ or ‘spiritual senses.’”

Vidar puts his drum aside. I get up, rub my eyes, softly caress the deer and thank him for the journey.

My travel companion goes to the kitchen to make more tea and I try to retrieve as many images as possible and take notes.

It is midnight when Vidar places the mugs on the table. He blows the vapor away and carefully sips his tea. I feel sleepy but wait for a signal to start telling him about my adventures.

When I think I have waited long enough I ask, “Would you like to know what I saw?” He nods briefly. I had expected him to jump up for joy, but I do not let it discourage me. I take the necessary “elbow-space” and tell him about my experiences. Things remain quiet for a while on his side of the table. As though he needs time to put things into perspective, he clears his throat and says, “In the northern wind direction your


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ancestors accompanied you to a cave,” a long, almost silent sigh follows, “which means I will guide you to the unknown.”

“Why did you sigh? Is something wrong?” I ask. “No, nothing is wrong,” he suddenly answers in a more

casual tone, “but it is an enormous responsibility.” “What about the muddy shed?” I try to speed things up. “That means you need to be educated in healing,” he says

without a trace of doubt. “Exactly like I expected,” he says with a satisfied tone. As if I am being chased, I fire questions at him and leave the east behind. Subsequently I am astonished at the unexpected turn of events in the southern wind direction, where things begin to defrost and spring arrives.

“You are capable of placing images side by side,” he declares, “which means you have the capacity to switch over from one reality to the next.” I neatly take notes without knowing what this looks like in practice, but I do not worry about it now. Without looking back, I gallop onwards to the west and tell him I was overwhelmed by the natural beauty and was pleasantly surprised by the luxurious villa after seeing so much poverty. I could spend a dream vacation there.

“The west is a place where your ancestors come together joyfully,” Vidar knows. I find, to my pleasure, they have chosen a beautiful place for it.

After a long night, he says; “You’ve worked very hard; your dream body has traveled long distances. The doors toward your ancestors have been opened.”

~*~ The dancing sorcerer keeps me focused – that is good. Now

and then I forget about him, but then he appears not long after. In most cases I hurry back home, rush around searching, thankfully and relieved I give him a kiss as soon as I find him


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and put him in my pocket or else in my bra. On my way home or to the office I take it out, look at it attentively and count the days out loud or quietly. I will find the stone within ten, nine, eight days and I am determined to go on until I succeed. Suddenly I recall what Vidar had told me during the extensive instruction, “Attempt to find the stone.”

”What do you mean?” I asked then. “That you intend to,” he shrugged as if done with the

subject. After ten days of studying, practicing and attempting I still

have not found the stone, therefore I start again and gather renewed courage with a tidy artificial state of mind for the next attempt and I smother the voice inside my head saying I will never succeed. Three nights later, I am rewarded for my efforts. Next to my bed, I dance and jump up and down for joy because I feel I have reached an important stage. The enormous rush and the feeling of excitement stays with me all day. Now that I have reached my goal I cannot wait to tell my teacher, but I will have to be patient because our next appointment is a week away

Time goes by so slowly, but on the day of our appointment, my nerves are worn to shreds. A little voice inside my head repeatedly yells, “I don’t want to, I don’t want to!” coupled with a heavy, strange feeling in my abdomen. Another voice pushes the first one aside. It wants to seek refuge in this knowledge without having the faintest idea of where it leads. “I want to and I will go,” takes the lead and the resistance disappears as I take my place at his table.

“Have you been dreaming?” he asks, absorbing me from top to bottom as his face lights up.

Overwhelmed by shyness I hardly know where to look. “Are you sure you want to hear about them?” I ask.

Blushing, I reach underneath the table, to grab my notes from my purse and to free myself from his intense gaze. My


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heart skips a beat. In a flash, he looks exactly like three men I fell hopelessly in love with once. Usually being in love past quickly, but they were irresistible because of their mixture of charm, masculinity and intangibility. All three were free spirited. The latter made them so attractive.

They were not nearly as in love with me, as I was with them. Surely, that is a reason to love them even more. It cost me countless days and sleepless nights before I could give up my desires and finally forget about them. I wanted to completely ignore my preferences for charmers, good-for-nothings, free-spirited and rakes. Never again, I thought when I raised myself from the latest love-trap and laughed about it scornfully. How could I fall in love with such impossible odious men and throw dust in my own eyes?

“Tell me. I want to know every little detail,” he says when I return from underneath the table, in a way I cannot oppose. Facing his masculinity, I feel feminine from head to toe. I am thrilled and relieved to see him get up to make us tea. It gives me a minute to recover myself. I look into my notes and decide to surprise him by saving the best news – finding the dream stone – for last.

Vidar opens a cupboard above the kitchen sink and takes out two mugs. I suddenly notice how muscular he is, but I sternly tell myself not to let it distract me. I reassure myself, thinking these amorous feelings disappear as quickly as they come.

After toasting our mugs, I report to him about the last three weeks. I start by telling him that waking before falling asleep turned out to be easier than I expected. I practiced with naps during the day. Before long, I awoke - even though my eyes were closed - and bathed in a sea of light as though someone had turned on the light in my dark head.


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As soon as I could, I placed the dream stone within my inner eye, but at the same time, I was afraid of what might happen. My fear turned out to be unfounded because everything became more beautiful. My field of vision received an unparalleled range, eternally bigger than my normal, daily scope. It was an unprecedented, broadening experience. At the same time, my body felt light and I felt as if I were floating. There was a tingling sensation all over my body. My body and my spirit felt light as well. At that moment, there are no heavy thoughts there is only lightness and clear consciousness. The lightness seems to derive from both my forehead chakra and my heart chakra. Words fail me, but it feels extraordinarily pleasurable. I would love to be here forever, to feel like this forever. At the same time, I am conscious of the fact that this will not last forever, as time is slowly running out like a deflating valve. What a shame. Slowly but surely, I return to my normal consciousness.

“Afterward, I felt completely relaxed,” I savor the moment. “However, it felt strange when I noticed that I had become afraid.”

“You have nothing to fear,” Vidar tells me. “There are only beautiful things in the unknown, your intellect is afraid to lose control.”

I turn the page to the next experience, which did not keep me waiting for very long. This time my breathing liberalized as I woke up before falling asleep. It felt like my windpipe expanded. At that moment, I realized for the first time that my left nostril is often clogged, because my nostril opened completely and I felt the air flow.

In between my eyes, I felt a light tingling sensation as though my forehead chakra had been activated. For lack of any similar material, I call it an enlightened state of being. I stopped


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thinking and was pleasantly convicted to the lightness in this moment.

“My inner dialogue ceased,” I explain. “How do you know that?” I restrain myself immediately and say, “I was not having a

conversation with myself.” “It’s the announcement of the totality of the Self,” my

teacher knows, “it is a natural event. At one point in time your sixth chakra will open and you will see light.”

I tell him prior to these “enlightened experiences”, I had short dream-flashes and I noticed especially needy people presented themselves. I explain the first time I saw two women in a wheelchair and then a confused woman taking large doses of sleeping pills. As I was writing down these flashes, I realized I always had similar dreams during naps. All of a sudden I would wake up and remember one of those passing dreams. It strikes me that the dreaming prior to the waking really does pass by in a flash. They are so subtle that you need to hunt for them and actually, it went effortlessly. I realized I had to stay alert, because suddenly these images have gone and all that remains is a vague shadow, an emptiness, which makes you realize you missed something vital.

“I wonder who these people are,” I ask Vidar. “Do they exist in real life?”

He nods. “You perceive them with your psychic senses and they are in fact asking you for help. One day, as you walk into a supermarket for instance, they will take a hold of you and say, ‘I have been waiting for you, you can help me.’”

I listen to his story and try to hide my disbelief. Moreover, I do not feel like discussing it. I recollect a rich variation of dream flashes, none of them would make you happy. I feel ashamed of the sadness and my biggest fear is that he thinks it


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has something to do with me, but I put my anxiety aside because I do not want to miss a clue to the totality.

I tell him I saw a woman neglect and abuse her young child in a dream flash. In another one there was a retarded woman with short blond hair in front of our local supermarket. She is incapable of caring for her child and therefore the child is taken into state care. Vidar chuckles, but I am afraid to ask why. Finally I ask him why all these terrible images come to my mind. He sees a common thread, which I had indisputably overlooked.

“As a child you couldn’t understand adult behavior, you couldn’t grasp their motives.” Immediately, my thoughts go to my father. When I was young, I never understood why he burdened the people around him with his unpredictable behavior.

“It is important to confront yourself with these dreams, to look right through them, and then they will change into images of beauty,” he continues. “Unpleasant dreams disappear when you look right through them. First, you ask yourself what is happening, what is going on. When you stare at it, all that remains is beauty, wisdom and strength and the fear of certain situations will vanish permanently.” He summarizes, “On the way to the totality you may encounter many shocking images, but you must not let it distract you. Tell yourself -I will reach the totality. Nothing can keep me from reaching my goal.”

I move on to the next dream flash, where I see an old man stumbling through the Warmoesstreet in Amsterdam. The old man has difficulty placing one foot in front of the other and is supported by a far younger man. When I recollect, I almost have a fit of giggles. Of course, it is pathetic, but at the same time, it is hilarious. The old man is as stiff as a board and stumbles along, leaning against the younger man, an exaggerated gesture. Vidar obviously finds this dream very interesting because he


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gives me the assignment to walk down the Warmoesstreet and observe the surroundings in detail, from top to bottom.

“Just like when you had to find the stone, this impeccable action links the dream to reality,” he explains. “You are developing your dream body by bringing experiences, objects or specific acts or movements conscious from dreaming into the reality and vice versa. As soon as your dream body works at full capacity, you are ready to travel into the second reality. Only when you master your dreaming you will be able to reach the totality.” With an endearing smile he says, “The reality is a creation of the totality and a feature of the totality is that we can shape it into anything we want. That means you can make the world a better place with your intention.”

Taking this in, I move to the next dream flash and tell him about the obese woman with the large hump on her back. She tells me she has a disease on her back and complains about the pain. The hump reminds me of the dancing sorcerer. As soon as the dream flashed past, I had a hunch it would not take long before I would find the stone. “Where exactly did she feel the pain?” Vidar asks me.

“In the upper part of her back,” I tell him and place my left hand over my right shoulder blade. He laughs at me and shouts enthusiastically, “You’ve found the stone!”

“You haven’t heard the rest of the story,” I mumble with a smile.

“It’s a medicine dream,” he knows. “In medicine dreams entities come forward to give you information about the healing of yourself or others. This dream gives information about where the assemblage point is located, but it is also an indication to learn to see the assemblage point.

“The assemblage point is the ultimate place of perception; call it a concentrated sense of perception, which is usually located on the back, at the height of the shoulder blades. From


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the assemblage point there are numerous lines of energy, lines of intent, which are connected to every living thing on Earth. It connects us to every living thing. The assemblage point is supposed to move freely so we can take a glance into the second reality. Without stimulation or manipulation it remains fixated.” He pauses an instant and says, “You should have fixated the woman with your intent.” Then he soothes me by saying, “You didn’t have enough experience. When you are dreaming you need to fixate on everything around you, look intently, that starts the movement by which dreams develop, otherwise they will remain incomprehensible for you.”

Finally, we are there. After a long evening, we end up at the tidbit I saved for last. “I’ve found the stone,” I say triumphantly. He nods at me in admiration, just as I hoped he would.

“You’re quick.” I can barely hide my pride and excitement I take another

deep breath and recite from my own dream work. “As I was walking through a wide street, all of a sudden the stone just jumped from my pocket back into the street. My first reaction was that I needed help because I would never find it again. However, it was not that bad. In the distance, someone picks up the stone from the gutter. Quickly I put my hand up to make it clear to the man that I am the owner and walk toward him. He hands me the stone.”

“Bravo!” Vidar smiles and adds with a bit of mischief, “Castaneda took considerably longer. But I won’t compare the two of you.” He tells me once more that you cannot compare the training of the various traditions. “He was educated in the first line of knowledge and you are being educated in the second. Besides beauty, another important characteristic of our line is that everything comes to you in pairs. You will see.”


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Before I get up to leave, Vidar emphasizes once more that I need to record in detail my surroundings both in a state of waking as well as in dreaming. “Be as conscious as possible and tell yourself you are dreaming in the first reality. Be impeccable both in the first reality and in the dream reality. This trains your attention which has to be perfect. Through attention you shall build up your intent because with that you travel into the second reality.”

Of the daily activities – even the simplest acts that I usually do without thinking – I need to be conscious. I also need to pay attention to the signs people give me, both in reality as in dreaming.

“It’s possible that someone points two fingers in the sky or writes the number two in the air, which is the sign of the second attention. In waking you should also look closely for clues,” Vidar says. “You might meet people that look at you for an instant and then show you the way, pay attention; it is the signpost toward your totality.”

“Does that just happen?” I ask with the necessary reserve in case he is joking with me.

“Certainly,” he says decidedly, “Pay attention to where they direct you.” I suspect he will not want to waste his precious time on girls without faith. Besides, I am in a hurry, although I do not know why. One more question then.

“But Vidar, I lack any sense of direction, how do I know if someone points to the north, the east, the south or the west? I never know such things.” As I utter the last words, it really dawns on me that I can leave my compass at home.

Attention is at the top of my list. I make a habit of observing my surroundings in detail and try to do actions, which I usually do on autopilot, being as conscious as possible and imagine I am dreaming. I add another exercise. Before going to sleep, I rewind all the images of the previous day from


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the evening back to the morning. Gradually, I notice these exercises have an effect on my dreaming and I literally have a retrospective view of those daytime images in my dreaming. Not long after, even in my dreaming, I observe every little detail in my surroundings thoroughly. One fine day in a dream flash a man puts up both his index finger and his middle finger and then I know I am on the right track.

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Chapter 3 Totems

It is cold outside but the autumn sun, shining in the pale

blue sky, gives the morning a touch of spring. I register the monumental buildings in the Warmoesstraat from top to bottom as though filming with a camera on my shoulder. The Warmoesstraat is a lively place from the early morning until late at night because it is a side street of the famous red light district. Tourists can enjoy the variety of shops, restaurants, cafés and coffee shops to their heart’s content.

I control my usual quick pace and try not to miss a thing. There are only a few hundred meters to go when I see the stumbling old man and a younger one supporting him at the end of the street, before they turn left in the direction of the Central Station. The conscious attention for the energetic heart of Amsterdam intensifies everything causing me to notice things more easily, including the colors which become intense and vivid. I look to my right and to my left. The façades seem to expand because of the attention I give them. I start to feel dizzy and manage to avoid an Amsterdam (street) post.

At the end of the street, there is a substantially smaller number of shops and to my left where the two men were walking, I see a sign in blue neon letters saying Conscious Dreaming. Wow! The sign belongs to a smart shop where they sell hallucinogens, also known as magic mushrooms. My feet seem to be nailed to the ground as if there is a punishment for coming closer and I stand on my toes to peep through the window from a distance, before walking back along the same road. It is only then that I notice many more smart shops in this part of the street.


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“Your dream body has gone on a journey and picked up this information,” says Vidar after I share my account. “This is an indication that you will learn more about the spirit of these plants or mushrooms,” he says with a serious look on his face.

“Are we going to try magic mushrooms?” I ask merrily in an attempt to break through the seriousness. I would like the atmosphere to be more casual, less formal. Vidar gets up and walks toward the deerskin a few meters behind me.

“Are you ready?” he asks as he picks up his drum. I seat myself in a lotus position on the deerskin and Vidar hands me a green cushion to sit on. I look forward to meeting my totems.

Vidar kneels beside me, “Just like the last time, first, direct yourself to the north to see what animal is coming toward you. It is even possible that several totems come toward you from one direction – just wait and see. They introduce themselves to you by turning around and they make a show of it,” he grins. “Then look the totem right in the eye and he will transform into his spirit form.”

I ask him what he means by ‘spirit form.’ “This is so you can see their spirit and perceive it as a creature of light. The spirit touches you gently at the centre of your chest. Try to perceive this assemblage point: a concentration of light from where fine lines radiate into the cosmos. Then you change the totem with your intention back into its fundamental form.” Vidar calls this an exercise in seeing, “it trains your perception. Shamans learn this technique to perceive the energetic field of humans and animals to heal disturbances in the energy field.” Vidar explains that the spirits of totems enlighten your potential. For example, “Except for being your guide to totality, the totems represent a certain cosmic knowledge which gives insight into your gifts and which you can perceive in your energy field even after the ritual.”


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He takes a piece of paper, starts to sketch and says, “This is my favorite shape.” The outline of an oval appears. “The human field of energy has an oval shape,” and he adds five dots in the oval from where he draws stripes that extend outside the shape. “Your gifts are concentrations of energy, small cosmic assemblage points connected with all that is living. When you live according to your gifts then you will be very fortunate.”

I hope to live that day. I just quit my job to start an uncertain freelance-existence. It is a dream come true because I have always had the desire for as much freedom as possible in my work, but I am beginning to wonder whether it will truly make me happy.

With rhythmical movements Vidar starts beating the drum, slow at first and then increasingly faster. It relaxes me and takes me to an exotic beach surrounded by jungle and a fox trudges from the jungle to the beach. He has difficulty walking but that does not stop him from turning a devoted round of acquaintance. As we agreed, I briefly look deep into his eyes and to my confusion, he transforms into Sleeping Beauty. The wind gives me a subtle push in the back and does not allow me to dwell on the surprising transformation.

After catching a quick glimpse of a tangle of clotted light threads at the height of Sleeping Beauty’s chest, I welcome two red-blue parrots observing the matter from a branch and believing it to be high time to make their acquaintance. According to the script, they make a fitting pirouette and show their red and blue feathered jacket. Suddenly a black vulture appears in my field of vision. Looking rigid and hurried as though he arrived just in time for the ceremony, he flies directly toward me and he spins around dutifully.

The rhythm of the drum continues to beat at a slower speed, which prompts me to travel to the east where an eagle meets me with the patience of someone who has been confidently waiting


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eternally for this moment. Vidar reminds me to look the eagle in the eye and then I see a vague masculine figure of white light. The drums lead me further to the south where a hedgehog waddles toward me. I am rather disappointed when I look into his soft dark brown eyes and he transforms into a shapeless masculine figure as well. Precisely as with the other spirits, I concentrate on the assemblage point and see an energy ball of white light near the chest from where fine lines of energy stretch outward.

From the west, I see a tiger running toward me at high speed. He stops in his tracks leaving deep marks in the sand. Then he rolls around exhaustively in the sand just before my feet. As a proficient circus tiger, he swirls around and as I look into his eyes, he transforms into an elf.

“It’s a nice portrait of your gifts,” says Vidar as he starts to explain the images.

“The fox and the vulture possess the knowledge of healing.”

I tell him I noticed the fox limping. “I think he must be crippled, that’s a powerful medicine. It

means he has witnessed a great deal, has been wounded but has turned this life experience into something positive.”

“It’s remarkable that the fox and the tiger change into fairytale figures,” I tell him aloud.

“Animals are surrounded by mythology and are linked to the realm of fantasy. It’s possible that the human shape is the most recognizable to you.” He pauses an instant, gives me a satisfied look and says, “Sleeping Beauty represents your inner beauty.”

Suddenly, I feel very uncomfortable. Help! His words cut through my armor of indifference. I quickly lower my head and look at my notes to hide my bright red cheeks. When most of


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the red has vanished, I clear my throat and try to regain my composure and ask about the cosmic knowledge of the parrot.

“The parrot is a master in dividing the two realities; they are your helpers to the second reality and guide you to the unknown.” He looks down with a smile on his face.

“What about the eagle?” I ask. Vidar asks me to describe the eagle. Inconspicuously I wipe

a few drops of sweat off my forehead and try to remember. “He had brown white spots and a white breast.”

“Aha, you found the spotted eagle.” Vidar recognizes him immediately as the symbol of his tribe. “It’s also my totem of the eastern wind direction,” he says. That is probably no coincidence.

Vidar announces that I will serve my apprenticeship with the eagle. “He helps you in dreaming, teaches you about healing plants and guides you to assemble sufficient medicine (strength) to undertake splitting reality. You need to be physically strong and healthy for this undertaking.”

My teacher says the eagle is the companion of cosmic energy. “He will bring you in touch with the source of light to teach you there is a second reality. If you call the eagle and ask for it, he will charge your field of energy for dreaming, because on an earthly level you don’t have enough energy.”

I race to the tiger, according to my teacher he is blessed with chameleonic abilities, including an invisible power, and he is a master in qi. He explains, “That’s another translation for energy flow, it’s a power that Indians master.”

“What about the hedgehog?” “Inviolable.” He adds somberly, “Although they can be

stupid too,” and sighing, “If you see how often they get run over…”

Filled with admiration Vidar ascertains, “You have seen only beautiful images. This means you’re a positive person.” I


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would love to identify myself with the compliment, if only he knew how often I see obstacles in my way. On the other hand, I try to justify, I usually see the positive side of any situation. Even when I ought to know better.

“What else will I meet?” I suddenly ask.. “Terrible and shocking images. I’ve encountered them

myself.” He warns me once more, “If you see them, fixate them, stop them and they will turn into images of beauty.”

Evidently, this coming period has something in store for me, but should I worry about it? How can I be frightened off by a couple of dream images?

Vidar is not yet finished with the subject. “At rapid speed you will have to put up with a great deal of unusual and frightening situations which will help you work through your fears. The eagle will help you through the difficult situations. Don’t forget that by facing all these shocking images and terrible situations you will reach the totality and try not to be frightened.” I look up desperately. What direction does the stalker move when the invisible enemy lies in waiting?

Vidar gives me the assignment to be further acquainted with my totems by consciously activating my dream sense and setting up a dream. “Call the eagle and visualize him the same way you did with finding the dream stone within your inner eye, in between your eyebrows. Invite him to come to your dreaming and he will automatically take you to the other totems.”

~*~

That same night, in my dreaming, I am driving my car on a road with an unexpected sharp turn. At the last moment, I turn the steering wheel and I land in an alley. Fallen trees obstruct the passage, but that does not keep me from driving straight through. I end up on a wood path leading up to an enormous fallen tree and a huge fence behind it. Every other person would


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turn straight back, but I must continue, with or without an armored vehicle. If necessary, I will maneuver inch by inch on the thick tree trunk like a ladybug on a fallen branch.

The next morning it feels like the eagle’s head is on my forehead. The eagle wants to take me on his journey, but I explain to him that I have some other plans first and ask him politely to wait until the afternoon. He silently submits but sticks to me the whole morning. Around noon, I cannot avoid him any longer. I close my eyes and fly to his nest in a tree on the edge of a large lake that is surrounded by a landscape of colorful hills. The silence is outstanding. The only sound you hear in this area is the whistling of birds.

For a while, the eagle sails above the lake and catches fish for his two chicks. They swallow the fish and he restlessly hovers above his nest for a while and flies away abruptly, as though someone discharged the starting shot, toward the west where I follow him ruthlessly. We fly across the lake straight toward the mountaintops and land on the highest point. With his beak, the eagle picks a diamond from the ground and as he digs deeper, he produces a pouch of precious stones. One of them is transparent and the others are purple, blue and red. They are for me.

He flies toward the orange-red horizon in the south where another similar ritual follows, and afterward we fly to the north where we settle on a golden sandy beach, which passes into a dry sandy plain. From a bare tree branch at the foot of the lake, the eagle observes his surroundings attentively. I follow his example.

After a while, the vulture approaches us. I wonder what he is doing here, for he is a day too early and Vidar had said I would become better acquainted with one of my totems every day. When the eagle prepares to fly away I obviously want to dive after him, but he points with his beak to the vulture to


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make it clear that I should stay. Not long after, two parrots and the fox appear on the waterfront.

I have almost fallen asleep when a voice says; “Toward reality.” I do not hesitate and visualize the eagle’s head within my inner eye. At that moment a light switches on, I feel light as never before and the lightness stretches out to an unprecedented broad vision, and I fall asleep. The vulture impatiently wakes me from my afternoon nap. Apparently, he is in a hurry. We fly across the dry plain and for a while, we circle above the corpse of a hippopotamus where a herd of vultures fights for supremacy.

My guide makes a well considered landing and parades prominently with his head arrogantly in the air between the quarrelling vultures, impudently sliding in front. I am surprised he does not get any resistance. I hear he is a king vulture and he clearly presumes on that title. When he has claimed his share, he flies away and lands further on the edge of the desert land. He searches and browses in the ground, before he takes out a red gem with his beak.

After digging deeper in the ground, he points to a golden chest with a Roman numeral II on the lid. I pull the chest out of the ground, open the lid and after admiring it all over, I see it is full of copper coins. I drop the lid and look up to thank him but have to conclude that he has flown away and I quickly follow him. Without looking behind, he takes me back to the west where the tiger stretches out before me on the hilltop and starts to roll around in front of my feet. Then he gets up, shakes off the sand and with shrewd movements he digs up a red gem from further down in the ground. He continues digging until he reaches a similar golden chest.

Unexpectedly the tiger shows his bloodthirsty teeth and I step back at the sight of his bloodshot eyes, which make him even more frightening. I tell myself I am only dreaming.


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Dreaming or not dreaming, I know I need to act and look him straight in the eyes, and he transforms as if by magic into an innocent elf. When I cautiously transform him back into his former appearance, he bows respectfully, I conclude the danger has past and I withstood the test.

The tiger races to the hilltop and points his head toward the south where the hedgehog appears from his hole. As soon as he looks at me, he immediately extends his thorns and remains motionless for a while before crawling away frightened. I easily transform myself into an elf, which is sufficient to calm him as he lowers his thorns one by one. He wiggles into his hole only to return a short time later with a red round gem in his snout. In front of his hole, he starts to dig up a blue chest with another Roman II on the lid. As I open the lid, transparent crystals pour down the mountain slope. They fill both the chest and cover the whole surrounding area in a shower of crystals.

Suddenly the earth tears apart, literally. I can barely comprehend the shock and try to repair the dream which has gone out of control. I try to rewind or twist it but I am incapable of succeeding. I dangle over the abyss and am barely capable of holding on with one hand until I realize I can fly. As I spread my wings, the eagle flies toward me. I look back, concerned about the hedgehog and wonder if he will make it. Rolled up into a ball he rolls into the abyss and suddenly he reminds me of Vidar, perhaps because of his kind brown eyes. I comfort myself thinking his spirit can fly and that seems accurate because Vidar joins us, we fly back to the nest where the eagle lovingly feeds us fish.

Vidar smiles amused, when he hears my story and says, “A diamond? That’s an expensive business.”

“A diamond is the symbol of totality,” he continues and I have faith that I am on the right track. “The red stone occurs


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very often, it would be good to carry one with you.” I understand the diamond can wait until my birthday.

Pleasantly Vidar, who has just returned from a week away, says, “In Colorado I walked into a store where they sell gems, I looked around, ran my hand through a dish filled with red gem stones,” and he beams “I saw your face in it!”

I am cautiously starting to believe he likes seeing me as much as I enjoy seeing him.

In my mind I traveled along with him during our first mug of tea when he gave an account of his three-week trip through Colorado, covering many miles to visit family and friends, distracting me from my own problems. Despite the heavy feeling, my desire to see him again won from my resistance and the doubts that keep showing up.

“But tell me, how are you doing?” he asked me when he took my coat in the hall.

“I’m all right,” I tell him cheerfully. I thought intensively about how I should sound after just losing my father and not wanting to pay too much attention to that. In addition, I wondered how one should look. Perhaps I do not want to be pitied, or perhaps I do but am not willing to admit this. I just do not know. I actually have no clue as to how I feel. A week ago, I told Vidar on the phone that my father suddenly died from a heart attack a week before and the funeral was coming up. I explained that I could hardly imagine his death, probably because I did not see him very often. Sometimes I did not see him for a couple of months and once I didn’t see him for two years.

~*~

In the car on my way to Vidar, I admitted I had not

analyzed my feelings and thoughts yet. Therefore, I decided to


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tell him that I was still in the process of figuring them out. That should be enough to get the topic off the table. Besides, we will talk about my father tonight as I had a lot of dreams about him.

My thoughts often return to the last time I saw him. Luckily those last couple of months we had a good understanding and we saw each other regularly. I wanted to do my utmost since my mother died a year before. Family ties were becoming more and more valuable. Three weeks before his death, we cooked mussels at my house, his favorite dish. Eating mussels made him cheerful, even happy.

Right before we started dinner, I took a couple of pictures of him, something I would never usually do but a voice inside my head repeated over and over again, “This could be the last time.” I placed my one-year-old daughter on his lap and took the picture. After eating the mussels, we watched a documentary about an old grumpy man leading a solitary life in the desert only a stone’s throw from Las Vegas. He could see the lights of “Tinsel Town” shimmer in the distance but he did not like it. I loved the documentary, but my father got bored with it and intentionally started to interrupt, which irritated me immensely.

Halfway through, he got up, pulled his pants below his big belly straight and suddenly said, “I’m leaving,” and then gave an absentminded sigh. It would take him an hour-and-a-half to drive to the Frisian countryside. “Bye sweetheart,” he said as he kissed me lovingly and stroked my cheek. “Bye daddy, see you soon!”

~*~

As we drove through the city on our way to the funeral, I

saw a prominent middle-aged woman further down the road to the right, just past a bus stop. She looks well-groomed with


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short cherry-blond hair and bright red lips. As we glance at each other in passing, she stretches a firm hand to the right. I look back dumbfounded as soon as we drive on. There was no doubt about it, she pointed in a direction.

“What direction did she point to?” Vidar asks. “To the right.” I tell him and at the same time, I feel like a

fool. “Call the eagle,” he proposes. “He will show you the wind

direction she pointed at. Look and see what you find there in your search for totality.” When he sees confusion in my eyes he says, “If she pointed to the west, then that’s where you can pick up your information.” I decide to see to it at once.

~*~

Vidar is visibly delighted when I reveal that my dreaming

becomes more and more conscious every day and that I have the feeling I can send them in any desirable direction. I need to be careful not to become too lyrical, but I just love this way of dreaming and long for more. They are addictive I know, without exaggerating. However, time is close on my heels, because I feel limited dream energy and I need to act quickly. I tell him it is easier for me to dream about a topic when I assign myself beforehand. After our last meeting, the reason presented itself automatically in a dream, but I do not tell him.

In dreaming, I sit in a circle with a couple of unknown sorcerers and fall asleep in my chair.

Vidar walks in, gives me a kiss and teases me, “That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

I wake up confused, first in dreaming, then in reality and sit up straight in bed. My first reaction is, who does the bragger think he is. In my second reaction, I call the female sorcerers without even knowing who they are and ask them if they want


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to help me play a nasty trick on him. I do not tell Vidar the reason of the dream, in fear of being laughed at or worse, being rejected. Instead, I tell him I instructed myself to dream about the sorceresses. In addition, that same night I am dragged to a bus stop by a handful of women pressing their exotic shadows against me. I feel no fear, rather excitement. I feel such a strong connection to them as if they are family. They brag about their line of dreamers saying, “Our line is much stronger than the line of stalkers. We are known for our strength.” Who am I to oppose them? They are proud of their arts and so am I, even without having accomplished anything.

“You have met your spiritual family,” Vidar believes. “They give you the strength and the energy for dreaming. You can call upon them to become better acquainted.” He finally points out that dreamers are not stronger than stalkers: “They are equally strong, but different.”

Soon after that, my dream life becomes startled by my dead father, which makes me unhappy. Perhaps it is a naïve thought but I had hoped for a happier message from the hereafter. I tell Vidar that in dreaming my father walks up the stairs to the first floor as a gruesome monster. Gruesome because the largest part of his body is eaten away, apart from his head and torso. What horror. He moves around in a creepy way even though he has the mechanics of a hunchback with a wooden leg. I fear he is coming to claim me.

With a sense of shame, I admit to Vidar that it is an expansion of the possessiveness my father displayed, at least that is how it felt.

Without a touch of compassion, Vidar answers: “In all esoteric initiations you will have experiences like these. You come to realize the body no longer exists but the spirit is immortal. Emotions fall out because they are part of your body. It is as if your father is trying to say: look, I am still here. From


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our knowledge of totality, death does not exist. The spirit is constantly on its own journey and follows the road to his spiritual destiny.”

“But why are these gruesome images necessary?” I ask him still horrified. “It was a nightmare.”

“In this dream the human dignity is made ridiculous,” he starts. “The message goes beyond the laws of beauty in this world where other laws apply.”

~*~

In my next dream, my father stands opposite me on the first

floor. He looks years younger and above all a lot thinner. He still seems threatening to me. I suspect he is angry with me and I try to find out what I did wrong.

It strikes me that his appearance is brief, rather vibrating as though I watch him through a fog of inflamed sulfur. More and more I start to realize I am dreaming and feel clear and conscious just like in reality. I know my father past away and I know I am in touch with him now and feel the freedom and power to guide the situation in every desirable direction. I would like to take on the confrontation, take a step toward him and reach my hand out to him, but then suddenly I have no answers. I am really astonished by the enormous amount of possibilities now that the world is at my feet.

In dreaming that same night, I pay a visit to an unknown young man who is a frequent practitioner of the magical passes. He has a slender posture, flaxen dark blond hair and brown eyes and he makes a relaxed but vital impression. I tell him about the dream in which I met my father. He takes a seat to listen carefully and he asks which gesture I made toward my father. I remember curving my index finger and I show him how. On second thought I curved my index finger as though it is a


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crucifix to scare off Dracula. I used a rough remedy that is how scared I was. My father turned to the left, went to my bedroom and angrily shut the door behind him.

“It’s all about the second attention,” the man explains the gesture. In dreaming, everything seems extremely reasonable but the following morning it does not feel convincing at all.

“Do you think my father is angry with me?” I ask Vidar. “The recently deceased can be mad because their life has

all of a sudden ended, but it is not directed toward you, they are angry about the situation.” He continues, “The dead may be mad for not being able to complete something, however, do not be afraid, his anger can’t reach you since your level of vibration is way too high.” He pauses for a moment. “I expect you will meet him on a regular basis. When you do, look him straight in the eye and it will change into a positive image.”

Vidar tells me it is good to make the gesture with the index finger a couple of times a day, “It multiplies your strength in dreaming because it trains the purest form of attention and puts you under the spell of intention.” I remember making another gesture toward my father in dreaming. I am standing with my legs apart and my knees slightly bent. My left foot, one-step in front of my right foot and my right foot pointing slightly to the right. I turn my chest away from my father to the left and my left arm swings stretched out and horizontal at shoulder level to the back and my hand is also stretched out. My right arm is horizontally bent at shoulder level and my hand points to my left armpit. My thumb and index finger are stretched out and my middle, ring, and baby finger press against the palm of my hand. The man tells me it is about the first attention. I suspect he is a stalker but I am not sure why I think that. In dreaming, I think he could be suitable for our group; Vidar should get to know him.


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Vidar grins while he sits at the table. “That position comes from your spiritual ancestors.” He gets up and demonstrates in more detail the exercise that is known in his family. He adds that from the indicated position I should explore the “horizon” by slowly moving my head from left to right and back again. “Do the exercise a couple of times a day, it gives courage and energy,” he adds. “It also strengthens your material body and moderates your intellect, it teaches you to look with your spiritual senses, causing your fears to disappear.”

I intend to practice daily and start to draw on paper the half moons I saw. The man showed me a piece of paper with several signs on it. It looked incredibly interesting but when I woke up I only remembered the row of half moons. When I woke up and drew them, I associated the symbol with the curved index finger.

“You see these signs a lot in the caves where our ancestors resided.” Vidar tells me. “They are the symbol of dwelling places.”

My thoughts wander to the man who granted me knowledge. I wonder whether he is Vidar’s apprentice. “You are spiritually related to him,” he answers my unspoken question.

I am constantly surprised by the way he reads my mind. I place an enormous amount of energy in trying to control my thoughts, which swing to and fro and distract me considerably from what he has to say. Vidar grabs pen and paper to picture my family lines. He places a dot in the middle from where he draws two skew geometric lines.

Pointing to the right line, he says “This is the line of ancestors like your parents and your grandparents” and pointing to the left line he says, “This is the line of those related spiritually; they are entities who make contact in dreaming. Most likely the man comes from there.”


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“How do you know that?” “I know, because he was intensely busy with the totality.

One of the unmistakable characteristics of a spiritual relative is that you are given clues or learn things which lead you to totality.”

I am excited about the idea of this whole new family giving me clues in dreaming. It could have been worse.

He connects the two lines with a horizontal line on the bottom, turning it into a triangle. “This is the symbol of the inviolable space of the mind which is created by the mind itself, but I will tell you more about that later.”

~*~

Halfway through the evening Vidar invites me to take a trip

on the spirit boat without taking a step outside, comparable with the medicine wheel ceremony. Vidar calls the spirit boat a tradition with many rituals and ceremonies, comparable to the medicine wheel ceremony. This night the spirit boat teaches me to observe my cosmic assemblage point, which is a crucial element in the shamanistic knowledge according to my teacher.

“You become conscious of your connection to the Earth and the universe and it gives you an image of your totality.” In the mean time, he clearly defines the trip to me. “Guided by shamanic drums you row along the river upstream in a heightened state of perception toward the dwelling place. The ritual always starts late in the afternoon. You navigate in the middle of the river to be able to see the reflection of the stars - a strong medicine for enlightenment - in the water. The river symbolizes the birth canal because you will be reborn during this ritual; it is the spiritual road to the light because you travel from semi-darkness into the sun.”

“Why do I need to row upstream first?”


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“That symbolizes the resistances in your life. In a ritual you let go of your resistances which means on the way back you go downstream.” He continues: “The spirit paddle absorbs the experience. You can compare it to the shield of medicine. In the beginning, you look at the symbolism. After the journey, you look at it again and discover it is liberally filled with personal medicine, colors and symbols. The spirit boat is a rich experience to release your resistances and stimulate you to continue on this path.”

Vidar directs me to the left side of the deerskin and places four large pebbles next to me. Then he goes to the other end of the deer. To visualize the outline of the spirit boat we both place four big pebbles along each side and we try to do this simultaneously. Vidar places a cushion in front and at the back of the boat and asks me to take the place in the front. At his cue, I take the paddle, which drifts up from the water.

I look at the paddle in detail; it is carved with heads and animal figures. At the top there is the head of a white man with a green hat who sticks his tongue out in a silly or funny way. Right below it, I see the head of a black man with his mouth wide open. The white and the black figureheads both remind me of the “Gaper,” an old-time pharmacy symbol (a colorful bust of a man with a pill on his tongue that was placed over the door of the old-time Dutch pharmacies and is still seen today). Below that, there is a snake curled around the oar, followed by the head of a tiger showing his teeth dangerously. Together with a crane, he is the last figure.

Vidar and I use our paddles to push away from the waterfront and start rowing upstream as fast as we can. There is reinforcement from an Indian paddling in the front of us to the left. He has long lank hair, short bangs, and a red band around his head and is dressed in a waistcloth. When I describe him afterward, my travel companion recognizes him as a Tlingit


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Indian. Vidar tells me they are the inventors of the totem pole, acting as a family weapon, comparable to the shield of medicine and the spirit paddle.

Many kilometers down the river, we pull the canoe onto the shore. I look out over the open plain with a hill in the distance where a row of trees stand. We climb the hilltop quickly. Vidar asks me to choose the tree that appeals to me most. I choose the one on the far right, a bare birch tree with branches that stick out questioningly toward the cloudless blue sky.

Vidar asks me to stand in the tree. Under his directions, my feet become merged in the tree’s roots, the rest of my legs and my torso become one with the trunk and my arms and hands automatically stretch out like the branches. Earth-energy runs from the roots and my feet upwards and cosmic energy enters my crown through the branches. The energies meet near my chest and together they form a cosmic assemblage point. I compress the energy into a ball increasing the pressure more, an explosion follows more until it, and a million enlightened parts of energy shoot out in every direction. Vidar tells me the released energy is used by Shamans for healing and promises to tell me more about it at a later stage.

When I finish my assignment, I step out of the tree satisfied. Vidar tells me that you remain in perfect health with the spirit tree by making medicine from the bark, the leaves and the fruit. We come down the hill, walk over the plain back to the river and push the boat from the waterfront. With the Indian in front, we navigate the river and effortlessly go downstream. Before we get out, I look at the paddle once more and notice a salamander has been added who studies all the other carved heads and figures up close. I turn the paddle around and discover the colors white-red-white beneath each other, a painted white, red and a black feather below that and the profile of a chief with an impressive headdress made of eagle feathers.


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Vidar listens attentively as always, nods once in a while and is silent. “What is exactly the meaning of those figures and symbols?” I finally ask.

“It is not about the meaning,” he replies. “It is an exercise in summoning the signs and symbols and tonight you made a start. You can use the strength or the healing vibration of the symbols by drawing spiritual objects on your own body or on someone else,” he concludes.

I put my pen down, rub the sleep from my eyes and look into the clear night. Vidar browses through the pile of papers next to him and takes out a small bag with postcards from Colorado. “They are yours,” he tells me. I am surprised by the generous gesture. I feel honored, but also shy and thank him with a soft voice.

On one of the postcards, there is an eagle - defying gravity with his wings backward - ready to catch his prey. On another one, there is an Indian meditatively holding his arms upwards and his eyes closed, dancing in the light of the Great Spirit. I look at it again in more detail. I am astonished at what he carries with him: satchels, bags and all kinds of objects I cannot identify.

Vidar pulls his chair closer to mine to look as well. He declares that the man is carrying medicine bags, animal skins, eagle feathers and medicine objects with him. Bending over to get a closer look, he determines he is wearing a weasel tail around his waist.

“That means he is a far advanced holy man,” and explains: “Indians say the weasel is the wisest animal because he is the first to preserve summer and winter medicine in his tail, witnessing the fact that there is a black dot at the tip of his tail.”

I am struck by the necklace hanging around his neck because Vidar wears one just like it. It consists of three rows of


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four elongated pipes of bison bone attached to one another by red and light blue beads.

“They represent the four dimensions of the medicine wheel,” Vidar explains. “The three dimensions of the Earth and the spirit world as the fourth dimension. The circle in front represents the sun and the elongated piece of bone attached to it symbolizes man. Our ancestors were proud people with exceptional knowledge,” he declares and emphasizes “Pride is something entirely different than arrogance!”

I look at a brown printed envelope with an informal scene of a group of warriors gathering around a fire. I suspect they are bragging to one another about the hunt. The man in the middle has a long, narrow pipe in his left hand. He prepares to light it and everyone looks forward to it. Meanwhile all eyes are fixed on the man sitting to the right of the man with the pipe. He is the oldest of the lot and exudes peace and wisdom. I fantasize that he must be the chief. The man wears his hair in two long ponytails covered with pieces of red fabric.

If it were possible, I would step into the scene without looking back and call it into existence. Would I be a spoilsport at this typical male get-together or would they welcome me as a visitor from the distant future.

The author describes her initiation into the sorcerer's world and mastering conscious dreaming. This book takes readers throughout the magic realms of the unknown, and gives a new approach to the traditional training of women sorcerers.

The Sorcerer's Dream

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