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Dream Work as Shamanic Archeology of the Mind

By

Whoever makes us, makes our dreams. Call our source whatever you like, it is also the source of our dreams. For that reason there is no limit to what we can learn from our dreams; the list of dream-inspired art, inventions, and spiritual guidance is endless. One thread in the tapestry of dreams tracks our heritage and family history. We each contain the best gifts and worst faults of our “biological team” as part of our unconscious starting point in life. Scientists pass along their best discoveries, failed experiments and unresolved dilemmas in technical journals. Families bequeath this same information through biology instead of books.

Barbara had a dream called “Charlie-Brave Boy” in which a puppy named Charlie returned to her and she “took it up into her arms” feeling filled with love. This marked the return of a lost part of her mind-body energy that disappeared during a trauma shortly after her birth. While her father, a naval officer, held his beloved infant in his arms a doctor used dry ice to burn a large birthmark from her upper arm. The burning or “singeing” of the skin (which appeared in the dream as people “singing” in church) and the smell of her burning flesh (in the dream she was surrounded by “pews”) activated traumas he had acquired in witnessing the violent death and burning flesh of his sailors during enemy attacks. He passed out cold. You might have too.

In primal cultures around the world, traditional shamans travel to the invisible realms, often using the drum beat as the vehicle of vibratory travel, to retrieve lost parts of a person’s soul. Dreams perform this function for all of us, whenever we are ready for the reintegration. The consciousness that Barbara had lost during this traumatic medical procedure returned to her six decades later in the form of a puppy in the present dream. She felt great love (for her own prodigal self now returning) and while the energy returned and she “took it up into her arms,” she cradled her dream puppy in those same arms. At the very moment that Barbara was initially being traumatized as an infant–her father’s already-existing war trauma was being re-activated. The old shamans would say soul fragments of both made the journey together to the invisible realms.

The next time Barbara’s father was singed was at his own cremation only a handful of years later. Barbara witnessed the spreading of his ashes from a rooftop and suffered a second undigestible, or traumatic, experience in her young life. Both father-linked traumas were being healed by the same modern dream. “Every dream comes in the interest of health and wholeness” says dream worker Jeremy Taylor.

But were those the only traumas involved? Barbara’s family line has included naval captains and war heroes for many generations. This same dream triggered her memory (or association) of a beloved family story: her great grandfather was once taken too ill to captain his own ship through a terrible storm, so he put his first mate in charge. The interim captain, had to lash Barbara’s willful-child of a grandmother to the mast to keep her from falling overboard while he guided the ship through troubled waters. The story lived on since grandmother remained “a real piece of work,” (in Barbara’s words) and quite a handful all her life; the grandchildren cherished this image of grandma lashed to the mast.

Dream symbols are multidimensional vessels of condensed meaning; each image carries many layers of meaning. This story from Barbara’s outer life–which can also be interpreted as if a “waking dream”– evokes ancient mythic themes and also hints at the terror and trauma that may have continued for many generations within this one family… possibly part of why grandma was such a handful. The mythic component in this story re-images Ulysses having himself lashed to the mast so he could hear the Sirens’ call but be restrained from being able to follow it. His crew, with wax in their ears navigated past the danger without his help.

This is essentially what trauma does for us. indigestible or destabilizing experience which would misdirect and endanger the ship of the psyche, can be lashed to the mast of the unconscious where it can no longer directly influence our waking choices and behavior. This is done by the psyche at considerable cost, as losing the guidance of a ship’s captain suggests, but it helps us avoid madness from hearing our own Sirens’ call.

Barbara’s father experienced a reactivation of his existing war-time trauma while Barbara was receiving her first medical trauma in his arms. Like the passing of a baton in a relay race, the undigested burdens of the father may be passed to the next generation. How many generations has this baton been passed within this one family? History, said Shakespeare, is the story of the death of fathers. What ancient forces still operate beneath our “modern” consciousness?

I once worked with a delightful, educated, mother of three who suffered terrible waves of negative thoughts and images. At that time I was practicing mind/body treatments that involved two or three of my staff palm-healing the client (akin to Reike or Therapeutic Touch) while we all worked on their dream’s interpretation. Much of everyone’s unconscious content is mapped across the physical body and the results of this mind/body double intervention were as dramatic in this case as in most others. Almost invariably, the client attained profound insights and also got up from the massage table looking genuinely transformed, enriched and tranquil. We even installed a mirror so clients could witness the visible transformation in themselves. In this case, the results were the same, except, each session she returned buzzing with invisible energies and dark thoughts. We accelerated to two and then, briefly, three sessions a week with no resolution.

Her condition was so atypical that I finally asked her if there was some terrible secret we really ought to know about. Did she have a drug or drinking problem? Was she engaging in some dangerous or high stress activity that could account for her uniquely rapid recurrence of symptoms. Since she knew of no such source of stress and negativity, I asked her to request a dream to explore the topic. The next session she brought the following dream:

“I am the caretaker of an old stone church (she was an actively religious person). As I am weeding the lawn things begin looking better and better. However, when I begin watering the flower beds next to the building the water washes away the earth to reveal a growing pit or cavern which has been concealing a 14th century grave yard with corpses strewn all about.”

We lowered the intensity and frequency of the sessions lest the energy flow of the dream work plus group palm healing (the water in the dream that helps most people to flower?) too rapidly unearth ancient destructive forces. We proceeded with a measured “weeding” of her present life issues and carefully avoided digging up too many old skeletons: her treatment progressed much more successfully.

There are many possible interpretations for any dream, many of which simultaneously true. If you believe in reincarnation, you might conclude that she had a past life issue and depth work was permeating a psychic boundary that was the interface between two lives of a single soul. Alternatively, you might wonder if she was still wrestling with some dark issues and “death energies” that had originated in the 14th century? Was this the result of her personal family inheritance, passed down through so many generations? Or was her current church involvement touching upon some ancient collective shadow accruing to the institution?

Whether our dreams lead to the healing joy of soul retrieval as imaged by Barbara’s prodigal puppy–or to ominous warnings when to step lightly and avoid trespassing where even angels dare not tread… our dreams are the witness to and the archival record of our psychic inheritance. This makes dreams the ideal map for exploring the archaic strata of the psyche.

 

Filed Under: Dreams, Shamanism

Shaman Harvey – My Shocking First Encounter With a Modern American Shaman

By

Harvey Bevier was a visionary healer who worked in Denver, CO. For over forty years, he treated hundreds of people each month, sometimes seeing more than a hundred people in a single day. I first met him when I was a visiting professor at Boulder College, which offered graduate degrees in spiritual education and alternative healing.

I was teaching Jungian psychotherapy, group dynamics and the I Ching. I can only imagine what my professors from U.C.L.A. and the University of Michigan (where I earned a Ph.D. in Psychology and in Social Work) would have thought. Pretty far out stuff,this mystical psychology, but my personal journey had barely begun.

The grueling, six year, double Ph.D. program at Michigan had cost every participant their health and/or marriage. Barely half the doctoral students even completed the program. I graduated with disabling back pain and a severe aggravation of post traumatic stress disorder that originated in childhood abuse.

One day, Sandy, one of my Boulder college graduate students told me I should visit the alternative healer she had been seeing for several years. He was “really unorthodox” and the treatments could seem pretty scary, she informed me, but he was a real magician. After weeks of internal debate, and unremitting physical pain, I decided to consult the unfailingly wise guidance of the I Ching. I decided to give this Harvey person a try when the I Ching assured me that it was a great opportunity.

Sandy drove me the 30+ miles to an unimpressive little two bedroom house on Hooker street in Denver. The yard-less house was surrounded by a blacktop parking lot on a commercial side street. We entered the front door where the former “living room” was nearly vacant. Ahead we saw in the small dining room area, the man I had–with apprehension and doubt–come to see.

The former “dining area” had folding chairs around the walls and two stools at one end for Harvey and the client to sit on during treatments, but from the front door, only the small reception desk was visible. Then came my first glimpse of the storied Harvey, a trim, fierce-looking, impeccably-dressed gentleman near 70 years of age who was just starting to get up from the desk.

He was holding his back and groaning as he very slowly stood up from the desk. Sandy rushed over to help him as the thought flashed through my head, “This is what you might expect from someone his age…” followed by: “This is the guy who’s supposed to heal me?” He looked like he had exact same problem I did! Except that half way through this little drama of painful arising–and to my total amazement–Harvey suddenly leaped high into the air and came down laughing like a madman. He glanced briefly over at me and then went about his business. Being as bright and educated as I am, it only took me about six months to realize that this had been my first Harvey lesson.

Somehow he knew all about my ailment, and he had perfectly imitated my behavior, which admittedly may have been understandable for some seventy-year-olds. The problem was that I was only in my forties at the time, while the 70-year-old was the one laughing and leaping for joy. I now know his message made it clear that one can be free of pain at any age, or disabled by it at any age and it also demonstrated that he knew me before he even met me.

His tricksterish stunt capsulized my secret goal of many years: to progress from how he started to get up to how he finished that movement. He had visually enacted a the transcendence of disability in a way I can still see to this day. Holy cow, I thought, who the hell is this guy?!

I have since had dreams of being fined for parking my car in a disabled parking spot (since I didn’t really qualify as disabled) and there are many dreams in which I joyfully run and suddenly realize I can jump over objects. Harvey acted out the eventual wisdom of my dreams in the very first minute of our first encounter. He was planting seeds of healing years before those same messages began appearing in my dreams. I took a seat on a metal folding chair and watched this suspicious character like a hawk.

Standing at one end of the room by the two treatment stools, Harvey would often just look around the room and point wordlessly at whoever was next. The client (or was it victim?) would sit on the black stool and Harvey sat on a white stool right behind them. I couldn’t help thinking about the color of the hats worn worn by the good and bad guys in old cowboy movies.

He generally started by taking the person’s neck in his vise-like grip and cranking it one way and then the other. He would often close his eyes a moment as if receiving instructions from some other realm or maybe looking right into the person with x-ray vision (both later proved to be the case) and then he would spring back into action.

Harvey moved with a fierce and absolute certainty. Sitting or standing behind you, he often, told stories or jokes, generally to someone else in the room or to the whole group. I later discovered that these tales were multi-layered instructions that often had very different meanings to each person in the room. Dreams have this same universal quality, carrying unique messages to all who hear them. Harvey created stories with the profound complexity of dream wisdom, stories which I still continue to decode and learn from, many years later.

Occasionally, Harvey would describe the problem he was working on and how it had originated as if we were all young interns doing medical rounds. Next he would sit behind them and put one knee in their low back and pull their entire body back against it, realigning the vertebrae and blasting chi (or palm healing energy) from his knee right into the regions along the spine. Soon his other knee went to the other side of their spine and another fierce yank would pull them back against it. Slowly vertebra by vertebra he worked his way up the spine.

Often, he would then work on the neck again, cranking it varying degrees in either or both directions. Finally, mercifully, he would be nearly finished. For his finale, he would signal you to stand up, he would step behind you and take you in a full nelson head lock, tell you to relax and then yank you completely off the ground (including many 300 pounders). This blasts the loosened energies and broken-up obstructions up through the crown chakra and upward away from the planet (he once explained to me). I believe it did just that, not to mention terrifying the newcomer.

The huge woman whose Harvey “treatment” came just before mine, was an accomplished screamer. She yelled and wailed and begged for mercy while shrieking repeatedly: “Oh Harvey you’re killing me” after every jarring blast of his special blend of karate chiropractic. (It turned out she did this every week and was deeply loyal to Harvey!)

It was no coincidence that Harvey’s unmarked business establishment–called unobtrusively the “Herb Shop”–was located right behind a Karate school. Harvey even made sharp chi exhalations of his breath that resembled karate sounds with every healing blow he delivered. He later told me that the violent blows at the karate school provided cover in the invisible realms for his activities. He also said that the sounds he made provided a kind of overflow or release valve that kept him from delivering too much force and breaking something (you have no idea how much I grew to appreciate those strange sounds).

It did not surprise me even slightly when I learned that Harvey had been a bomber pilot in WW II and was often the spotter for enemy targets. He was now using his knees to deliver a bomb-like explosion of the energy that is normally applied ever so gently in the healing arts called palm healing (or Reiki or Therapeutic Touch) to blast regions of impacted energy along the spine.

I have never seen anything like it before or since and on my first visit I was truly terrified. (On all later visits I was only marginally terrified–as well as deeply grateful to him). I told Sandy, “This is so intense (by which I meant violent) that if he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing, he could cripple me for life!” I clearly had a huge decision to make, sitting nervously on my metal chair.

When Harvey finally turned and pointed at me, I knew with great certainty–in that moment–that he did know exactly what he was doing and I decided to risk my mobility and my health on that fact. I have always been an intuitive truth teller and I know instantly when certain things are true. It may have something to do with being born a double. I was born at 11:44 pm on 8-8-1947. I had two mother figures and two father figures during my childhood and grew up to get two masters degrees and two Ph.D’s, etc. etc.

I took my place on the stool in front of Harvey and said, “Do you want me to show you where my problem areas are?” After several years of chiropractic treatment with two different doctors we had pinpointed the specific vertebrae that were the source of trouble; I wanted to give Harvey the benefit of all that effort. Harvey said the weirdest thing in response: “You can talk if you want to.” Which I (eventually) would learn was his second lesson for me and it referred to my hyper-verbal doctoral-trained approach to everything. Harvey relied a great deal upon mind to mind communication and direct knowing, both of which worked all the better the less one spoke. But in that moment, I was so surprised I just sat totally quiet for a moment.

Before I could speak, Harvey put his finger exactly on the first trouble spot and said, “This is the lower one.” Putting his finger exactly on the second trouble spot, he said “this is the second one,” and perfectly pinpointing the third area he said “and this is the third one.” Then he pressed on a point on my upper neck from both sides and (just as soon as I finished shouting a bit), he said, “And that’s the one you don’t know about.” After a pause to digest all this I said, “Why don’t you just go ahead and work.”

During my wild and intense first treatment–with vertebrae leaping into new positions, stagnant energies getting blasted and clenched muscles being stretched, Harvey chattered happily away. He talked about a psychiatrist friend of his who had various problems and discussed how he was working to resolve some of them. It took me a year to realize that everything Harvey had said was actually about me! I told you I was bright.

Since I had recently earned doctorates in psychology and in social work, he knew that my professional prejudice against psychiatry as a profession was sufficient that all he had to do to hide the meaning of all his insights about me from my conscious mind, was to say that this imaginary person he was discussing was a psychiatrist. He knew I would never identify with “one of those people” and that he could then directly discuss my own case with me without me, having the slightest hint that I was the topic.

He proceeded to plant the seeds of my growth in my unconscious without my ego debating or resisting whatsoever! By the time I figured out this cheap trick, I had already come to see the truth of each of his points! How unprofessional: to have a case conference about the doctor with the doctor without telling the doctor. Talk about a trickster!

When the treatment was done, Harvey cranked my neck so hard that 5 vertebrae moved all at once; I was terrified I might never move again. However, I soon found that my neck now moved freely and painlessly for the first time in years. Then came the finale, the standing full-nelson in which I was jerked completely off the ground which stretched and decompressed every region of my spine. I was very, I mean very glad to be done with the process. I mumbled a stunned “Thanks” and headed back to the security of my folding chair.

Harvey waited for a moment or two, looked around the room, and then–to my shock and horror–he pointed straight at me for a second time! In all the years I would later go back to Harvey, I never again saw him give anyone two complete treatments in this way. I initially felt a wave of terror at having to go through the entire process a second time as if I had not just been treated (or was it mistreated?!). And at the same time a ray of hope was ignited deep within me: Harvey was the first person who had ever known at first glance that I was a double and would require two separate treatments.

When I was finished, (and boy was I finished!) I put the suggested $5 donation in the basket on the table (paying only once, thank you very much, for the double treatment) and left with a few simple instructions that he gave me. In the car heading back to Boulder, I felt remarkably pain free except for one place atop my left shoulder (at a meridian for chi energies). It felt like a chunk of the exact pain I know all too well from the low back. A “chunk” of “low back pain” was somehow “stuck in the channel” on my shoulder. The area felt “as sore as if it had been hit with a ball peen hammer,” I recall telling Sandy… but the pain was definitely low back pain.

Sandy said to wiggle and stay loose so anything Harvey had “broken loose” could “flow out.” After a day this weird, I figured I would give anything a try. I knew from past experience that it would take several days for a pain of this level to go away, yet after a few minutes of wiggling, I felt it move up through and finally out of the shoulder suddenly and completely. I had never felt pain behave that way, but it was suddenly gone. How, I wondered, does low back pain get broken into chunks and then how does it flow up through the body and then how can it escape through your shoulder? Not that I was complaining about it being gone! Only about my fractured world view and the disruption of my doctoral-strength false certainty. What would be next, I wondered, and rightly so.

Back home in Boulder, I had Sandy drive us straight to Liquor Mart where I bought a bottle of champagne and we went to 4 mile creek and drank it all. I sat on the ground for the first time in 20 years and I felt no pain, no clenching, no discomfort… only the ecstasy of complete health. And any worrisome, negative attitudes had left along with the pain! I lost the pain in my neck and stopped being one at the same time! I was ecstatic. I falsely assumed (that didn’t take long did it?) that this single, well double, treatment had completely cured me, as I was to see happen to many other people that Harvey worked on in the years to come. But that was not Harvey’s purpose with me.

For the next three days, Harvey held all the negative forces affecting my body and mind at bay. I was mobile, flexible and intensely joyous for 3 full days. I awoke each morning thrilled to be alive, deeply grateful to be living in Colorado, and eager to leap into one constructive task after another all day long. I recall asking myself out loud, “Wow, who is this cheerful character I am waking up to each morning… and where has he been all my life?”

After the initial 3 days, my condition very gently and very gradually returned to a state one large step better than where I had begun, but I had been shown the goal state. I have been given the unforgettable and irrefutable, experiential evidence that I have carried with me ever since and which I will never forget: In this lifetime, in this body, I can be totally healthy and ecstatically joyful… not to mention deeply grateful. That extraordinary direct experience and the hope it instilled has sustained my efforts for these many years since, as I learn by my own efforts–with many crucial Harvey lessons and hints–how to heal myself and how to teach others what I learn.

I saw Harvey heal many others completely, sometimes in a single session or within a month or two. Some came in with crutches and walked out carrying them. He did all the work and they just had to show up. At first I felt cheated, when I compared myself with with these folks. Until I noticed that Harvey never compared. He gave each person whatever was for their highest good and it was never exactly the same for any two people.

I finally realized that Harvey was paying me an extraordinary compliment. He saw me not as a wounded expert, but as a beginning wounded healer. He expected me to activate and develop my own healing powers. He was refusing to do for me what he knew I could achieve myself. A warrior by nature, he would not weaken me by doing for me what I came here to learn to do myself. And for this respect, and for the unique help and guidance I received, I am forever grateful.

Filed Under: Shamanism

Shaman Harvey Foretells My Future and Ruins My Hard-Earned Scientific Arrogance

By

After I completed a double Ph.D. in social science at the University of Michigan (in 1981), a much broader form of education began. Having disabled my body while training my mind, I went to see a highly recommended healer in Denver, Colorado. He was known simply as Harvey (his little-used last name was Bevier). I was suffering from crippling back pain which endless graduate school had exacerbated. Harvey helped me with my spinal problems and also with my academic blinders; he provided me with a stunning spiritual and mystical education–all without ever mentioning it!

Harvey’s approach to instruction was unique. He rarely explained the extraordinary mystical laws he lived by as he worked on a hundred or more people a day, looking inside the mind and the body and the history of one client after another. His chosen method was to tell colorful, symbolic stories while treating the individual and allow all awaiting a session to witness the spiritual magic that followed. This left each person free to draw their own conclusions–with no debate required. Had he ever told me, for example, that he could see my future and prove it to me, I would have argued endlessly. Never a fan of argument, he made his point in ways that left me no room to object.

A Harvey “treatment” was a form of “karate chiropractic” with visionary elements. While awaiting my turn on the stool in front of his, Harvey told another of his endless stories to the dozen clients seated on folding chairs about the dining room of the little house on Hooker street.

“I had this friend…” Harvey began, “it was right after World War II and he had just bought himself four new tires for his old Packard sedan. Now, rubber was very dear after the war and he complained to the high heavens about the cost of those tires. On the third day after he’d had them installed at the tire shop, he came out to take a kind of victory stroll around his cherished vehicle, admiring every aspect, when he saw–and greatly to his distress, I might add–that his right rear tire was as flat as a pancake! Oh my, you should have heard some of the passionate vocabulary words he had saved up for such an occasion–he had quite a mouth on him for a deacon of the church. Now on that… you just have to keep your eyes open, you never know what destiny has in store for you.”

Harvey’s stories were always told with multiple layers of meaning and purpose hidden in them. They were as filled with symbolic metaphor and valid predictions as the dreams I interpreted for a living. I always spent the whole week after every Harvey visit deciphering any stories he told, and they never failed to teach me something immediately relevant and crucial. I didn’t have a clue what the lesson was in this latest story, but I knew there was one. Should I simply not take things for granted? What exactly was I taking for granted, I began to wonder. Or was his point that I might need to watch my vocabulary in moments of stress?

On the Saturday following that Monday’s Harvey visit, I was driving my Toyota Starlet across Boulder, CO on an errand when Harvey’s story popped into my mind for further reflection. After a few minutes, I realized–with a jolt–that I, myself, had just bought four new tires two days after his story; what a coincidence. I hadn’t even planned to buy them on Monday, how could he have known? And, I next recalled, I had, indeed, complained mightily to two different friends about the high cost of those four tires (even though I did not have the excuse of wartime rubber prices).

“When exactly did I get those tires?” I wondered. “Actually today would be the third day since the shop installed them… hmmmm,” I pondered, “Is there any way in hell that Harvey’s story could have something to do with me? Well, of course not!” my scientifically trained mind asserted. He can’t predict the future. No one can. (A fact I took completely for granted!) He couldn’t possibly know how my tires were going to function before I had even bought them. Why should I have to worry or bother to check up on my brand new tires?

Still, I felt such a strong compulsion to check that right rear tire–even though I would sound like a total fool if anyone were to ever hear of it: I pulled abruptly off the road near the downtown telephone company offices, jumped out of my car and ran directly around to the right rear tire. That’s the only one I was interested in… and indeed, it was almost totally flat! I was flabbergasted.

I felt so grateful that having caught the problem early, I could still drive to the shop with the air remaining in the tire. But my entire scientific, rationalist (know-it-all) understanding of the universe had been destabilized in the exchange! What a price to pay! (Or, what an amazing extra benefit to receive!) It was then that I heard, in my mind, the following thought: “Well, son, you don’t have to believe anything that doesn’t please you… but you will have to change your own damned tires!” Such language for a minister of the (metaphoric) “church” in which I was to become a (metaphoric) “deacon!”; another accurate prediction that was hidden in Harvey’s story.

This was just one of many lessons that Harvey taught me (and others) in his daily performance of the impossible. He taught us many facts of the shamanic realm that I would have argued against all day long, if I had ever been allowed to. But Harvey didn’t need the credit for his esoteric wisdom, and he didn’t allow the hassle. He continued to hide his lessons in stories that proved his point beyond any debate. He never called himself a shaman, but shamans are the “technicians of the sacred,” and that’s what Harvey was.

Harvey had such amazing knowledge that I began writing down my questions in a note pad to ask him at each weekly visit, and in his typical unorthodox style, he would answer my questions before I could ask them, by telling stories to other people in the room that directly answered my questions! He not only answered every question I brought, he would address them in the exact order I had written them down.

One week I paused in front of his office before entering and renumbered my list of five questions backward, clever trickster-student that I was… and that day he answered them all in reverse order. I had finally accepted that he could foresee the future and now I had to entertain mental telepathy too (which Harvey always called “mind to mind communication”). What would my professors at the University have said about that? I recalled, however, that they had taught me to trust observable, testable, repeatable facts over theories, no matter how established (or taken for granted) the theory might be. And that may be precisely why Harvey insisted on providing me with one mind blowing, observable, testable, and repeatable fact after another until he forced my entire theory of how reality works to change. And I do still watch my mouth, being a deacon and all.

 

Filed Under: Shamanism

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