Why am I more at home in dreams than in waking life? It has been like this always. Dreams are at once art, religion, philosophy, theater, poetry, therapy, time travel, redemption, death, rebirth - a constant return to the primordial self. Despite all this I inescapably wrestle with dreams through the Western lens. Even as a follower of C. G. Jung’s theory, which emphasizes the supernatural character of dreaming, I find it nearly impossible to break free of reacting to dreams as solely personal, subjective material that needs to be analyzed, not felt, in order to be understood. To derive their spiritual meaning I have to rely on the literature of various traditional cultures. The reality is up until my first trip to South Africa, I was far from any kind of breakthrough of a spiritual nature, which I felt was necessary to bridge my dreaming and waking psyche. Perhaps this is why Jung himself had to travel to Africa, to finally concede to his own spirituality.
Our first trip to Johannesburg began in blind faith, as Viktor Kossakovsky, one of my favorite filmmakers, put it: “Don’t make a documentary if you know what it will be about.” And also, despite what I stated above, I knew in advance that dreams would not deny me the right of passage.
And so, along with Swiss filmmaker Antoine Cattin and US anthropologist Brittany Birberek, who had written an extensive paper on the phenomena, we infiltrated the dream-betting game called Fafi(1), played in the streets of various townships in South Africa. We began by interviewing players about their dreams and how they used them to bet or win. Fafi was brought to South Africa by Chinese refugees during World War II. Even though the dreams are being sublimated into this unique lottery, (which we reveal in the film,) we were ieventually invited to go deeper into the meaning of dreams and the culture of traditional healing. This is inevitable as it touches on all aspects of life in South Africa, where the gift of intense dreaming is considered a calling to become a healer. If one answers the call and begins their studies, he or she will eventually use their gift not only to heal themselves but to undertake a lifelong reckoning with the ancestral realm, and to humble themselves before it. It is the ancestors (one can imagine them as the dead elders who have become spirits which mediate and guide the healer through the spirit realm) and deliver the healer to the source, much of the tradition varies depending on if the healer is also Christian.
It is to the ancestors that offerings will be made using ceremonies, rituals and alters. In these processes, healing radiates not only into the future but throughout the past. Healing happens not only within the healer, who is often wounded (as the calling itself often involves a near-psychotic break), but within families and tribes. As my teacher and Xhosa faith healer, Dr. Nomfudo Mlisa, Ph.D. says, “When we heal others, we heal ourselves.” it is to her. I am indebted for my recent knowledge and spiritual guidance.
The most applicable wisdom I have gained along this research film journey is to use not only my accumulated literary knowledge but to incorporate rituals when interacting with the dreamscape. Of course it would be inauthentic for me to take on Zulu or Xhosa customs in my communication with the spiritual world, as I am neither of these, but the knowledge of certain rituals helps me in my original intent, which is to solidify my conviction in dreams and their purpose, and develop a way to communicate with my own ancestors, who for decades have been visiting me in dreams.
Early on, during our first trip to Johannesburg, in a very intense bone-throwing consultation with a Zulu Sangoma, Damascus, the nephew and student of Vusamazulu Credo Mutwa(2), it was determined that my creating an altar is vital. This altar is for communicating with my psychic twin. This twin can be viewed as an intuitive guide responsible for shielding one from harm and illuminating the path through the ancestral realm. I am to burn twin flames at this altar while communicating with Him - as he is a male entity -either in the form of prayer or meditation. It was with these instructions that the first seed of my spiritual practice was sowed.
It has been liberating to realize that in honoring dreams, there is no one way of talking to the twin, the dead, or the unconscious forces.
This is not to say I get to reinvent what I am instructed to do; it means that within the confines of traditional healing, offerings, prayer, and speaking with the ancestral realm, the dead, and the unconscious are normal and expected.
This brings me to objects of divination which are offered to the ancestors using the altar. For me, being at the altar, especially when offering the ancestors my dreams for clarification free’s me to utilize intuitive instincts. When lighting the candles and incense, especially after a particularly intense dream — i.e., one in which I have witnessed an alchemical event such as fire, having encountered a body of water, or having attained an object which clearly means something— I may ask the ancestors to reveal the meaning of such while at the alter, during which I may offer them sweets, grains, spirits, or perhaps something that was made seen in the dream which I believe belongs to them. This act makes sense to me because this is the very language in which dreams communicate with us: objects that may have no substantial spiritual meaning in waking life attain meaning in the dream, and objects and situations, as Sigmund Freud put it, “condense” to disguise themselves.
When I asked Nomfudo and Damascus about the objects used for divination, I found some had been handed down and others were acquired through intuition. “Bones,” as they are called(3), can be collected through the years, and the meaning of the shell or finding depends on how it was acquired. Different colored candles represent an intention, and the number of them depends on the number of people involved in the ceremony. Therefore, I am extremely careful when using any material objects or even ascribing meaning to them unless I am certain of what it means to me in the conversation with the ancestors. The process is very minimal and my knowledge is measure in baby steps.
On our last trip to Johannesburg, when we filming Nomfudo at Faraday Market for traditional healers, I noticed a walking stick with a carved bird’s head resembling a crow — the kind of stick Sangoma’s and Prophets use for rituals. Of all the other sticks it spoke to me, maybe because it looked slightly comical. I was embarrassed to get it, thinking I would not know the first thing about what to do with it. Nomfudo said I should not worry: I can use it simply as a walking stick, or I can decide for myself what meaning it will have for me. I am not stealing anything from anyone’s tradition. The stick did not fit into any of my suitcases, so I had to take it with me on board. On the way, three airport security workers spoke to me about it - one was a young man who asked me what it was for and told me his grandfather, who lives in a small village, carves these walking sticks. Another said, “Mama! You better limp through that security gate or they will take it from you,” and the third and final security guard at the metal detectors asked as I limped by, “Sisi! What is wrong with your leg? What do you need this stick for?”
“To help me walk God’s green earth,” I said. He smiled and let me take my stick.
For those of us who are seeking to find what is in what C. G. Jung called the sub-basement of the unconscious, one must be ready to take the winding, often dark, and lonely path until dawn breaks. For this, one will need a good walking stick.
1. Fafi — a street betting game played in South African townships, often using numbers or symbols derived from dreams. ↩
2. Vusamazulu Credo Mutwa — a well-known South African traditional healer and author often referenced in discussions of indigenous spiritual practices. ↩
3.“Bones” — a general term for objects used in divination practices (stones, shells, carved bones, tokens) that are interpreted by traditional healers. ↩