Behind the Scenes of Dreams

The theatre of Jungian archetypes

“I am large, I contain multitudes.” ~ Walt Whitman

Dear Reader,

Dreams are the theatre of the soul, where our unconscious minds stage their quirkiest and most captivating plays. Whether it’s the anima, animus, shadow or persona hamming it up like divas, each archetype creates gripping dramas that reflect our inner struggles and desires.

Emerging from the collective unconscious with artistic flair, these dream characters reveal hidden aspects of our psyche. They offer glimpses into the potential that lies within us, both light and shadow.

The poem you’re about to read explores this backstage world, shining a light on the archetypes at work. It reveals their grand, theatrical dance and reminds us that dreams aren’t just fleeting scenes but windows into our deepest selves.

Behind the Scenes of Dreams

As the poet drifts off to sleep, 
the mercurial archetypes
below are busy sorting out 
their light and dark sides, 
together with which typology
will go with each character. 

Seamlessly, like a dream
or well-choreographed dance,
they swirl into costumes,
placing clues in the scenery 
of sacred images and symbols
for the dreamer to follow.

Only everyone’s ignoring 
the Self’s handwritten note,
pinned to the poet’s heart,
saying don’t forget the tomcat
with his silver tinkling bell,
needed for tonight’s lysis.

Why? Because they’re busy 
fighting over the leading role,
caught in a power complex
amid theatrical, raised voices,
hence the five minute call
isn’t heard above the noise.

With order and strength 
of purpose, the goal-seeking 
animus is using his power 
to push the spiralling anima,
vast ocean of eternal being,
out of the twin dressing room.

Telling her he can’t think 
straight while she’s around,
go chant in another room,
I want to focus and integrate
my fantasy football team 
before we help the poet out.

I’m thinking twenty tonight, 
handsome and godlike,
I’ll appear like her first crush,
the dazzling David Cassidy,
to show her how far she’s got 
with her lesbian malarkey!

Anima beams brightly at him,
why would I ever leave you,
instead of performing solo,
let’s merge in the green room
and reveal ourselves to all
as the Divine Hermaphrodite. 

Come meet Jung’s archetypes
behind the scenes of dreams,
who go all-out to come together,  
whilst forever turning tables
on each other, in melodramatic 
plots, to find inner balance.

Perhaps not as glamorous 
as front of house, but backstage
they do the important jobs
in the production of all of us, 
for without these archetypes
our show wouldn’t go on.

On cue, out of the dark closet,
the shadow slams the door, 
maddening the set designer,
to hiss in the animus’s ear,
what a joke, let’s trade her in
for a quick lust over the ex!

That’ll put her out of the room
so to speak, where she belongs,
rolled up inside a yoga mat!
Hell no, the animus laughs,
who would I watch Strictly with
and dance with afterwards!

On the warpath, the shadow
pulls out her father’s gun
from underneath the pillow,
whilst hardening her heart,
as she plots to murder the soul
of this slumbering poet.

I mean look at her snoring, 
getting fatter and fatter,
she’s lost her looks for good,
hardly worth … hey why
are you all side-stepping me 
like I’ve got the plague?! 

Meanwhile, backstage, 
the sound crew press mute
to make sure the shadow 
doesn’t steal any more lines,
ensuring the poet’s heart
rises and falls rhythmically.   

As each metaphor slips past 
her innermost defences, 
the poet glimpses through 
the soul’s eyes, up into
vaults of stars, searching
for the lost pieces of herself.

Applying a new coat of lippy,
the persona joins the fray,
you think you’ve got it bad,
try faking it all day long,
I mean, fuck knows who I am
behind this painted façade.

C’mon, let’s sort it out,
if we pull together collectively 
here in this sacred house,
enact the great cosmic drama,
the poet will finally learn
how to relate to herself better.

Not beaten by a long shot,
the shadow turns to everyone,
well, your masks off first, 
show me who you really are
and while the poet sleeps
I’ll shoot her in her warm bed.

On cue, anima and animus,
twin souls of the psyche,
whistle to the Dream Maker,
as guardians arrive to take
the shadow back to the closet 
from whence she came.

The final curtain call is given, 
the archetypes gather then
in a prayer circle and chant, 
holding out for harmony 
as they encourage each other 
to break a theatrical leg.

As the dream ego approaches,
uniting above and below,
fearful of knowing what will
happen next, a bodyguard 
appears behind the scenes hastily
bullet-proofing her bed.

In the distance the Self 
can be heard laughing loudly 
as this one-off performance 
in the theatre of the soul begins, 
where the poet meets herself
in disguise, time and time again. 

A hush falls over the outer 
circle of a circle within a circle, 
the house lights brighten
while the dream curtains part
and a tomcat with silver bell, 
wanders onto the stage. 

---

Thank you for reading and giving me such a warm welcome here on Substack. I arrived two months ago, seeking kindred spirits, and I’m delighted to have found some. For those interested, this poem sleeps and dreams deeply in my third book, Soror Mystica: Balancing the Divine Feminine and Divine Masculine, starting page 92.

With endless gratitude, always.

Yours in words, Deborah

If my words strike a chord and you feel inspired to dive deeper into my poetry or explore my essays on Jungian thought, I invite you to visit: The Liberated Sheep