Cathy Capozzoli has dreamt vividly and copiously since she was a child. The dramatic images, evocative symbols and convoluted stories of her nighttime dreaming fill many journals. From the remarkable combinations of imagery, unexpected connections and mysterious fragments of her everyday dreams, she has written children’s books, poetry, essays and other creative works. The following poems and essays came partly or entirely from dreams.
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Tiny Messengers
I stop at the edge of my dim kitchen that morning, eyes slowly focusing on something unusual in an otherwise familiar scene. The pattern on the linoleum seems darker and more finely detailed. Suddenly I remember an exterminator’s van parked outside the house next door—which shares a common wall with mine—the day before. I am witness to hundreds of escaping ants taking up residence with me, covering the kitchen floor, embroidery in motion.
I am unprepared for this. I silently recant my “no pesticides” vow and wish for a can of Raid. But it is six in the morning, snowing, and I need to get to my desk in the extra bedroom. I step around the tiny, deliberate creatures to make tea. I’ll work on this later.
By mid afternoon, the kitchen floor is teeming, and I am ready to act. I reach for the Dustbuster, turn it on and point nozzle toward linoleum, vacuuming a swath of ants about three feet long and three inches wide. Remembering when thousands of chickens were destroyed in Hong Kong because of an avian flu and Buddhist monks gathered to pray for the birds, I figure I vacuumed about 100 ants, so I say “I’m sorry” one hundred times, and try to really mean it.
The remaining ants move in quickly to fill the void. I pull the nozzle off the Dustbuster to see ant bodies curled on themselves and tangled in the dust. I return to work at my desk, reaffirming “no pesticides” and adding a postscript: to live with the ants in peaceful coexistence as sentient beings, using the Dustbuster only to clear the kitchen floor of any crumbs, so as not to encourage them.
But my tolerance for my refugee roommates wanes as the ants begin to fan out through the house. On white bathroom tile, even one tiny ant stands out like a boulder. He ambles across the floor, and I meet him head on with a tissue, which I crumple and drop in the bowl.
A full two hours later, I return and look down to find the ant still swimming. I rescue him and marvel at the strength of the will to live. But that night, all night, I toss and turn, my skin crawls. I dream of ants everywhere: in my cereal bowl, in the dryer, in my underwear drawer.
Next morning, a dream interpretation book tells me that ants are ancient symbols of the sacred. In living both under and above ground, they know the secrets of both worlds. OK, so they can stay.
Over time, I begin to welcome their presence. I greet them in the mornings. I learn their preferences for location, activity and food. These tiny messengers who remind me to stay calm and stick to my values are teaching me a new respect for all creatures, and our mutual need to exist in a toxin-free world.
I think of them as “my” ants. But come spring, as quickly as they came that one snowy morning, they are gone. And in their going, another lesson: in holding on, whether to old doubts or new friends, I need to let go. Will I remember that next time?
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Come Away With
Your dad died
and you dreamt
of railroads over mountains.
The dog fell in snow.
Mint green leaves that spring.
Robins nested
outside our door.
You dreamt of columbine, keys,
seashells, broken glass.
But lilies wouldn’t bloom,
washer wouldn’t spin—
our years stopped in the patches
of an army jacket
outside, on the line,
stiff with sun-salt wind.
That summer, you rolled
in broken grasses.
Birds cried themselves silent.
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Her Father
My father came home at the time of year when you see dust in the rays of the sunset. I squatted in the garden. He said nothing. I kept my eyes on red, and the green. My hands filled a basket. The moon rose full over both of us. I stood, and walked into the house. He followed me far enough behind that the door closed between us.
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The following passage came from a series of dreams the nights of October 27 through December 31, 2002. Each line is recorded here, in order, just as it was dreamt.
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Dream Conversation: Advice to the Dreamer
And these were said loudly and clearly:
Choose balance.
Meet your basic needs.
Release emotions.
Slow, slow down.
Integrate new ways of living into your daily life.
Celebrate your inner life.
But I fear it. I feel insecure. I feel isolated.
Ok. So you will transition into it.
There will be discomfort.
But it will lead to restoration and greater freedom.
And the sharing of wisdom.
Nurturing yourself will lead to rebirth.
Mundane activities will show the way to great creativity.
You will see things others cannot.
You will become integrated.
You may feel inadequate along the way.
But your being is under new construction.
This is one of those times in my life when I feel like I am suspended in mid-air. Floating.
Yes, and the time will come, as it has before, when you will zoom off in the right direction.
I will wait.
Be warm and graceful with yourself and others.
Wisdom will come from surprising places.
Avoid becoming too involved with anyone or in anything.
There will be much preparation.
You may get tired.
You need to comfort yourself, and gently support yourself.
You may be afraid.
But keep going, day by day.
You will fulfill your potential.
First, build a foundation of silence, a retreat from activity.
Harmony will come.
If you seek recognition, you must then use the integrated self
to find new possibilities and make new connections.
Continue always to choose the tunnel to the inner space.
Seek spiritual strength and clarity. Value yourself.
Enjoy the way.
I welcome the quiet, and I also fear it.
Be receptive and patient, and your unconscious will reveal all that you need.
Call on it.
You will heal.
You will grow.
You will draw on deep, familiar, “old” parts of yourself.
As you integrate assertiveness and receptivity,
you must forgive yourself and others.
What are you willing to see?
Actively seek your own colorful flying fish.
Don’t hold back.
But take care not to expect too much too soon.
You will create.
I fear the obstacles.
Confront them quietly, and they will dissolve.
Guard against taking on something because its space seems appealing.
If you do this, and put in worldly effort, you will find new energy.
You will fly—the joyous combination of control and power.
I fear setbacks.
Yes. Some things will take more effort than you originally thought.
Protect your power, and give it more space.
Be open.
This will lead to activity that comes from true, harmonious integration.
Choose balance.
Meet basic needs.
Release emotions.
Slow, slow down.
Celebrate your inner life.
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Searching for PONI
Are you PONI? Did you create the artwork at the top of this page? If so, please
contact Cathy Capozzoli at info AT cathycapozzoli DOT com. Please!
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