I dream it’s the 14th of July. I’m in a vast domain where some kind of festival is taking place. I’m sitting by the window of a mansion with Baard and Alfie when, suddenly, I see a massive green serpent outside—enormous, like the Loch Ness Monster—gliding through the air with large, unblinking eyes. It hovers right outside our window. Instinctively, I pull Alfie aside to hide her. Baard stays seated. I tell him not to look the creature in the eyes. I'm terrified it might strike the window and break in. Holding Alfie close, I prepare to signal her to run.
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It has been a while since I dreamt a shamanic dream. Lately my dreams are more mundane and do not carry such clear and visual messages. I was too tired and probably tight. Not letting the admirable come in.
But this one feels different—it is mythic, archetypal. This is no ordinary snake. It’s a serpent of immense power, appearing during a day of revolution and liberty—July 14th, Bastille Day for us in France. It fixes its gaze on my inner sanctum. This feels strong and the dream is still vivid. I feel it on my skin.
The serpent is colossal, ancient, and green—the color of vitality, growth, and latent danger. It’s not simply a symbol of fear. It’s a messenger from the deep unconscious: the earth-bound soul, the life force, the kundalini energy coiled at the base of the spine, ready to awaken and transform.
Its arrival on a revolutionary date intensifies the dream: this isn’t just about fear—it’s a confrontation with change.
My reaction is telling: I’m the only one moved by it. I see it first. I instantly understand the threat, and my first instinct is to protect Alfie, my daughter, and to warn Baard, my husband. I’m the seer—the one who senses deeper danger. But I’m also the one who feels the most fear.
Baard doesn’t move. He stays where he is. He looks, but he’s not paralyzed. A Jungian might say he represents the masculine aspect of my psyche—but I don’t think so. This is just Baard: grounded, present, and unshaken. He rarely shows fear.
Alfie is hidden—or rather, I hide her—protecting her in my arms. I’m ready to run with her. I place her safety above all else. She doesn’t choose; I choose for her.
In mythology, looking into a serpent’s eyes—like those of Medusa or the Basilisk—can mean transformation, petrification, or surrender to unconscious forces. But what if the gaze is not a curse, but a rite of passage? What if the serpent has come not to destroy, but to awaken? My fear feels sacred—but could it be masking resistance to deep inner change?
I am sitting with the dream and letting it talk to me. I feel there a sort of a primal force awakening, a revolution of the soul tied to my roles as mother, partner, protector.
A call to face the serpent, not flee from it?
Most likely.
And the mother in me still dominates—always placing Alfie’s safety before my own freedom.
I cannot let go.
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At this point, I thought it might be cool to imagine a short dialogue between myself and the serpent. I'm intentionally naive here; I wanted to focus on what the serpent might say. It would go like this:
Me: Why do you come to my window? Why now?
Serpent: I rise when the old ways no longer hold.
You build safety in walls, but your soul calls for wind and wildness.
I do not come to harm your daughter—
I come to see you.
Me: But I fear your gaze. It feels like death.
Serpent: Yes. Death of what must end.
Of the mother who holds too tightly.
Of the silence you use to keep peace.
Of the fear that you are too much.
Me: Why now?
Serpent: Because she is leaving.
Because you are free.
Because your fire is unclaimed.
Me: If I look you in the eyes… what will happen?
Serpent: You will remember.
You will feel your strength coil—not around her, but within you.
You will no longer protect to the point of self-erasure.
You will choose your own life.
Me: And Alfie?
Serpent: She does not need escape.
She needs a mother who walks her own wild path—
So that she knows she can, too.
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Cool?
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After waking from the dream—after writing it down, analyzing it, tasting it, and sitting with it—I feel called to write one more thing. A kind of invocation. Something for anyone reading this who feels afraid or uncertain of the future...
I do not fear the old ones who rise.
I do not turn from the eyes of change.
I am the watcher who now dares to be seen.
Let the child be strong.
Let the man be still.
Let the serpent be my mirror.
I will not run.
I will not hide.
I will stay by the window,
Open to the breath of the wild.
This is not danger.
This is the awakening of my soul.
So be it.
🦎🦖
Thank you for sharing this. I am the watcher at the window too- protecting my loved ones. Today I watched a tornado form in the swirling clouds above our house, through the windows of my daughter's room. One eye on the winds, one eye on my daughter, dog and cats...just in case. It dissipated and the storm passed but there was a lesson there
This is fantastic. Thank you. Feels suspicious. Power and transformation.
Not just for you, for the collective as well!
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