Dear Toko-pa; what is the significance of the moon, stars and constellating night skies in dreams? — Astrodreamer
Dear Astrodreamer; This past spring I was invited to go caving with a friend of mine who is a seasoned spelunker. Naturally, I was terrified at the thought of going underground into total darkness to squeeze though cold, wet and tight spots.
“Where’s the appeal?” I asked him.
His face lit up like a ten year old’s and said; “Only 20-some-odd humans have ever set foot in this part of the cave, which we just discovered last season. The stalactites are over 6 million years old! The landscape is nothing you’ve ever experienced before; it’s like being on the moon.”
It was a pretty convincing argument.
Geared up with rubber boots, hard hats and rain gear, we climbed and maneuvered and shimmied down 30 foot long body-sized channels, all by the light of our headlamps. It was exhilarating. My downward-dog practice came in handy when we had to get under a narrow opening through which a freezing current was rushing through the caves.
Then, soaking wet in the subzero temperatures, scraped up, and very nearly wanting to turn back, it opened up into a cathedral of caves with 40 foot ceilings. We were somewhere, nowhere under the ground, and you could feel the ancient. That was when we decided to turn off our headlamps.
You expect your eyes to adjust, but it’s your mind playing tricks on you since there is a complete absence of light in these caves. The only adjusting one can do is to find some sliver of trust in utter darkness. After a long while in the silence, we began to sing.
It was a revelation to me to realise that when you are in darkness your inner light automatically comes on. Psychically speaking, we think of the shadow as possessing you entirely when it rears up. But what if the fear we feel can be flipped? If we cultivate the sensitivity of cats and owls, we may discover an ability to navigate the dark with our third eyes and ears.
In the dark, logic and plain sight are useless. The stars and moon don’t shed direct light, like the sun does. Their light is diffuse and reflective instead. Like the wisdom of Sophia, it is the deep knowing that lives in our bones, our wombs and in the earth itself. When you turn inward, it is what lights the way, even if distantly and dimly at first.
By moon and starlight, abilities you don’t use during the day come alive. Fear flips into instinct and the mystical pull of your feeling leads your way. You can sense the density of objects around you, hear the songs of stones and know things are coming even before they’ve left.
Your dreams are born by starlight and their stories are the constellations of your psyche. The ancient archetypes we live out today were written into myths under the very same stars by which we weave our dreams.
Despite all the convincing trappings of consensus reality, the lights of the night are remembering. They are sacred memory, distant visions across billions of light years making their way to you. And if you turn off your headlamp, you may just find your song.