I was in Australia looking at a beautiful tree that was blooming with bright pink flowers. Everything looked to be moving, all the colors and light sort of swirling together making the tree and its surrounding environment seem very connected and very alive. I understood that this type of seeing is what caused the Impressionists to paint the way they did.
I walked down a road and looked at a field of grass and wildflowers. Sometimes when I looked the landscape seemed normal, but I would look again and see it full of mythical creatures... things that aren't supposed to be "real" such as unicorns and dragons. Then the scene would shift again and I would see only a meadow full of flowers.
I was told that these two worlds exist simultaneously in the same place but one is invisible and requires a different way of seeing.
To dream that you are invisible, signifies feelings of not being noticed or recognized for what is important to you. You feel you are being overlooked. Alternatively, the dream indicates that you are trying to withdraw from the realities of life.
Dreaming that you are invisible means feelings of not being noticed or recognized for what is important to you. Alternatively, you may be trying to withdraw from the realities of life.
The tree is one of the most essential of traditional symbols. Very often
the symbolic tree is of no particular genus, although some peoples have singled
out one species as exemplifying par excellence the generic qualities. Thus, the oak
was sacred to the Celts; the ash to the Scandinavian peoples; the lime-tree in Germany; the fig-tree in India. Mythological associations between gods and trees
are extremely frequent: so, Attis and the pine; Osiris and the cedar; Jupiter and
the oak; Apollo and the laurel, etc. They express a kind of ‘elective correspondence’ (26, 17). In its most general sense, the symbolism of the tree denotes the
life of the cosmos: its consistence, growth, proliferation, generative and regenerative processes. It stands for inexhaustible life, and is therefore equivalent to a
symbol of immortality. According to Eliade, the concept of ‘life without death’
stands, ontologically speaking, for ‘absolute reality’ and, consequently, the tree
becomes a symbol of this absolute reality, that is, of the centre of the world.
Because a tree has a long, vertical shape, the centre-of-the-world symbolism is
expressed in terms of a world-axis (17). The tree, with its roots underground and
its branches rising to the sky, symbolizes an upward trend (3) and is therefore
related to other symbols, such as the ladder and the mountain, which stand for the
general relationship between the ‘three worlds’ (the lower world: the underworld,
hell; the middle world: earth; the upper world: heaven). Christian symbolism—
and especially Romanesque art—is fully aware of the primary significance of the
tree as an axis linking different worlds (14). According to Rabanus Maurus,
however, in his Allegoriae in Sacram Scripturam (46), it also symbolizes human
nature (which follows from the equation of the macrocosm with the microcosm).
The tree also corresponds to the Cross of Redemption and the Cross is often
depicted, in Christian iconography, as the Tree of Life (17). It is, of course, the
vertical arm of the Cross which is identified with the tree, and hence with the
‘world-axis’. The world-axis symbolism (which goes back to pre-Neolithic times)
has a further symbolic implication: that of the central point in the cosmos. Clearly,
the tree (or the cross) can only be the axis linking the three worlds if it stands in
the centre of the cosmos they constitute. It is interesting to note that the three
worlds of tree-symbolism reflect the three main portions of the structure of the
tree: roots, trunk and foliage. Within the general significance of the tree as worldaxis and as a symbol of the inexhaustible life-process (growth and development),
different mythologies and folklores distinguish three or four different shades of
meaning. Some of these are merely aspects of the basic symbolism, but others are
of a subtlety which gives further enrichment to the symbol. At the most primitive
level, there are the ‘Tree of Life’ and the ‘Tree of Death’ (35), rather than, as in
later stages, the cosmic tree and the tree of the knowledge of Good and Evil; but
the two trees are merely two different representations of the same idea. The
arbor vitae is found frequently, in a variety of forms, in Eastern art. The—
apparently purely decorative—motif of hom (the central tree), placed between
two fabulous beings or two animals facing each other, is a theme of Mesopotamian origin, brought both to the West and to the Far East by Persians, Arabs and
Byzantines (6). In Romanesque decoration it is the labyrinthine foliage of the
Tree of Life which receives most emphasis (the symbolic meaning remaining
unchanged, but with the addition of the theme of Entanglement) (46). An important point in connexion with the ‘cosmic tree’ symbol is that it often appears
upside down, with its roots in heaven and its foliage on earth; here, the natural
symbolism based on the analogy with actual trees has been displaced by a meaning expressing the idea of involution, as derived from the doctrines of emanation:
namely, that every process of physical growth is a spiritual opus in reverse.
Thus, Blavatsky says: ‘In the beginning, its roots were generated in Heaven, and
grew out of the Rootless Root of all-being. . . . Its trunk grew and developed,
crossing the plains of Pleroma, it shot out crossways its luxuriant branches, first
on the plane of hardly differentiated matter, and then downward till they touched
the terrestrial plane. Thus . . . (it) is said to grow with its roots above and its
branches below’ (9). This concept is already found in the Upanishads, where it is
said that the branches of the tree are: ether, air, fire, water and earth. In the Zohar
of Hebrew tradition it is also stated that ‘the Tree of Life spreads downwards
from above, and is entirely bathed in the light of the sun’. Dante, too, portrays the
pattern of the celestial spheres as the foliage of a tree whose roots (i.e. origin)
spread upwards (Uranus). In other traditions, on the other hand, no such inversion occurs, and this symbolic aspect gives way to the symbolism of vertical
upward growth. In Nordic mythology, the cosmic tree, called Yggdrasil, sends its
roots down into the very core of the earth, where hell lies (Völuspâ, 19;
Grimnismâl, 31) (17).
We can next consider the two-tree symbolism in the Bible. In Paradise there
were the Tree of Life and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. Both were
centrally placed in the Garden of Eden. In this connexion, Schneider says (50):
‘Why does God not mention the Tree of Life to Adam? Is it because it was a
second tree of knowledge or is it because it was hidden from the sight of Adam
until he came to recognize it with his new-found knowledge of good and evil—of
wisdom? We prefer the latter hypothesis. The Tree of Life, once discovered, can
confer immortality; but to discover it is not easy. It is “hidden”, like the herb of
immortality which Gilgamesh seeks at the bottom of the sea, or is guarded by
monsters, like the golden apples of the Hesperides. The two trees occur more
frequently than might be expected. At the East gate of the Babylonian heaven, for
instance, there grew the Tree of Truth and the Tree of Life.’ The doubling of the
tree does not modify the symbol’s fundamental significance, but it does add
further symbolic implications connected with the dual nature of the Gemini: the tree, under the influence of the symbolism of the number two, then reflects the
parallel worlds of living and knowing (the Tree of Life and the Tree of Knowledge). As is often the case with symbols, many more specialized meanings have
been developed on the basis of the general tree-symbolism already outlined. Here
are a few: firstly, the triple tree. According to Schneider, the Tree of Life, when it
rises no higher than the mountain of Mars (the world of phenomena) is regarded
as a pillar supporting heaven. It is made up of three roots and three trunks—or
rather one central trunk with two large boughs corresponding to the two peaks of
the mountain of Mars (the two faces of Janus). Here the central trunk or axis
unifies the dualism expressed in the two-tree symbolism. In its lunar aspect, it is
the Tree of Life and emphasizes the moon’s identification with the realm of
phenomena; in its solar aspect it relates to knowledge and death (which, in symbolism, are often associated). In iconography, the Tree of Life (or the lunar side of
a double or triple tree) is depicted in bloom; the tree of death or knowledge (or the
solar side of a double or triple tree) is dry, and shows signs of fire (50). Psychology has interpreted this symbolic duality in sexual terms, Jung affirming that the
tree has a symbolic, bisexual nature, as can also be seen in the fact that, in Latin,
the endings of the names of trees are masculine even though their gender is
feminine (31). This conjunctio confirms the unifying significance of the cosmic
tree. Other symbols are often brought into association with the tree, sometimes
by analogy with real situations, sometimes through the juxtaposition of psychic
images and projections. The resulting composite symbolism is, of course, richer
and more complex, but also more specific, and consequently less spontaneous
and of less scope. The tree is frequently related to the rock or the mountain on
which it grows. On the other hand, the Tree of Life, as found in the celestial
Jerusalem, bears twelve fruits, or sun-shapes (symbols of the Zodiac, perhaps).
In many images, the sun, the moon and the stars are associated with the tree, thus
stressing its cosmic and astral character. In India we find a triple tree, with three
suns, the image of the Trimurti; and in China a tree with the twelve suns of the
Zodiac (25). In alchemy, a tree with moons denotes the lunar opus (the Lesser
Work) and the tree with suns the solar opus (the Great Work). The tree with the
signs of the seven planets (or metals) stands for prime matter (protohyle), from
which all differentiations emerge. Again, in alchemy, the Tree of Knowledge is
called arbor philosophica (a symbol of evolution, or of the growth of an idea, a
vocation or a force). ‘To plant the philosophers’ tree’ is tantamount to stimulating the creative imagination (32). Another interesting symbol is that of the ‘seatree’ or coral, related to the mythic sea king. The fountain, the dragon and the
snake are also frequently related to the tree. Symbol LVII of Bosch’s Ars Symbolica shows the dragon beside the tree of the Hesperides. As regards the symbolism of
levels, it is possible to establish a vertical scale of analogies: dragons and snakes
(primal forces) are associated with the roots; the lion, the unicorn, the stag and
other animals expressing the ideas of elevation, aggression and penetration, correspond to the trunk; and birds and heavenly bodies are brought into relation with
the foliage. Colour correspondences, are: roots/black; trunk/white; foliage/red.
The snake coiled round the tree introduces another symbol, that of the spiral. The
tree as world-axis is surrounded by the sequence of cycles which characterizes
the revealed world. This is an interpretation applicable to the serpent watching at
the foot of the tree on which the Golden Fleece is suspended (25). Endless
instances could be quoted of such associations of symbols, full of psychological
implications. Another typical combination of symbols, extremely frequent in
folktales, is that of the ‘singing tree’. In the Passio S. Perpetuae XI (Cambridge,
1891) we read that St. Saturius, a martyr alongside St. Perpetua, dreamed on the
eve of his martyrdom ‘that, having shed his mortal flesh, he was carried eastward
by four angels. Going up a gentle slope, they reached a spot bathed in the most
beautiful light: it was Paradise opening before us’, he adds, ‘like a garden, with
trees bearing roses and many other flower-blooms; trees tall as cypresses, singing
the while’ (46). The sacrificial stake, the harp-lyre, the ship-of-death and the
drum are all symbols derived from the tree seen as the path leading to the other
world (50) (Plate XXIX). Gershom G. Scholem, in Les Origines de la Kabbale,
speaks of the symbolism of the tree in connexion with hierarchical, vertical structures (such as the ‘sefirothic tree’ of the Cabbala, a theme that we cannot develop
here). He asks himself whether the ‘tree of Porphyry’, which was a widespread
symbol during the Middle Ages, was of a similar nature. In any case, it is reminiscent of the Arbor elementalis of Raymond Lull (1295), whose trunk symbolizes
the primordial substance of Creation, or hyle, and whose branches and leaves
represent its nine accidents. The figure ten has the same connotation as in the
sefiroth, the ‘sum of all the real which can be determined by numbers’.
The tree in your dream is you. The health, size and overall quality of the tree is indicative of how you feel about yourself. This interpretation is to be made only when the tree is the focal point of the dream. Also, consider whether the tree is alive with leaves, flowers or fruit, or if it's barren. You may see trees in your dream as a part of a landscape or as a secondary symbol. At those times, consider all of the details as they may have different interpretations than the one just given.
Gathering beautiful flowers is an indication of prosperity. You will be very
fortunate in all your undertakings.
To see a faceless creature in your dream, indicates a situation you are refusing to see or confront, but are aware of it in some passive way. This dream also suggests that something in your life is bringing up feelings of fear and insecurities.
Logically speaking it may be deduced that the countryside—
landscapes of all kinds—is the mundane manifestation of a dynamic complex
which in origin was non-spatial. Inner forces are liberated to unfold as forms
which disclose in themselves the qualitative and quantitative order of their inner
tensions. Thus a mountain crest becomes a graphic sign. Let us take, by way of
illustration, landscapes as they appear in dreams. Leaving aside the phenomenon
of memory, reminiscence, or the complex association of various sense-data, the
scenes and towns which figure in dreams are neither arbitrary and indeterminate
nor objective: they are symbolic—that is, they well up in order to illuminate
certain momentary experiences called forth by varying combinations of influences in varying degrees of intensity. Landscape-scenes arising in the imagination
in this way are sustained solely by the validity, duration and intensity of the
feelings which aroused them. Form—just as in physical morphology—is the
diagram of force. Now, what we have said about landscapes in dreams can be
applied also to an actual landscape, seen and selected by an automatic response of
the unconscious, which detects in it an affinity that gives us pause and makes us
return to it again and again. This, then, is a question not of a projection of the mind
but of an analogy whereby the landscape is adopted by the spirit in consequence
of the inner bond linking the character of the scene with the spirit of the observer
himself. Subjectivism concerns only the act of choosing. The intellection of the
significance of a landscape is, then, wholly objective, as is the grasping of the
symbolic values of colours and numbers. The Chinese saw this with the utmost
clarity: as Luc Benoist has observed, Chinese art has always placed more emphasis upon landscape than upon man (as a figure, that is to say), and upon the
macrocosm rather than the microcosm. ‘If the superior man loves the countryside,’ to quote the words of Kuo Hsi, ‘why is this so? Hills and gardens will
always be the haunts of him who seeks to cultivate his original nature; fountains
and rocks are a constant joy to him who wanders whistling among them. . .’ (6).
It is a well-established tradition of symbology that the different worlds (or zones)
are strictly only different states of being. Hence the fact that the ‘chosen site’ is
the enshrining image which arises out of it. The ‘trysting place’, when it truly
possesses that character, and is not merely arbitrary or fortuitous, signifies a
meeting or ‘conjoining’ in precisely this same sense—that is, transposed into topographical or spatial terms (26). However revolutionary these assertions may
seem, they are nevertheless confirmed by the findings of the psychology of form
and by isomorphism, since it has been shown that it is not possible to distinguish
between psychic and physical formal processes—other than externally. In support of all this, there is the comment of Mircea Eliade that ‘In point of fact, man
never chooses a site, he simply “discovers it”. . . . One of the means of discovering
one’s situation is by orientation’ (17). Now, in order to grasp the symbolic sense
of a landscape it is necessary to distinguish between the predominant elements
and the merely incidental, and between the character of the whole and the character of the component elements. When the predominant element is a cosmic one,
its effect is to bind all the other components together, and it is this cosmic
ingredient which makes its influence felt over and above that of the individual
features of the landscape. Instances of such cosmic features are the sea, the
desert, the icy wastes, the mountain-peak, clouds and sky. It is when the ingredients of landscape-symbolism are varied and evenly balanced that symbolic interpretation is most needed. The interpreter must, then, look for the following: (a)
a spatial pattern organized within particular limits which endow it with a structure after the manner of a building or a work of art. By spatial symbolism we
mean, in the first place, the symbolism of level, that is, the disposition of the
zones of the landscape according to the three levels of the normal, the lower and
the higher; and secondly the symbolism of orientation, that is, the position of the
accidental elements in relation to the north-south and the east-west axes. He must
then bear in mind (b) the form—the pattern or the shape of the terrain, whether
it is undulating or broken, steeply sloped or flat, soft or hard; (c) the positional
relationship of the particular area chosen to the region as a whole or to the zone
surrounding it—whether it is lower or higher, more open or more enclosed; and
finally (d) the natural and artificial elements which make up the organized pattern: trees, shrubs, plants, lakes, springs, wells, rocks, sandy shores, houses,
steps, benches, grottoes, gardens, fences, doors and gates. Also important is the
predominating colour, or the clash of colours, or the general feeling of fecundity or
barrenness, of brightness or gloom, of order or disorder. Roads and cross-roads
are of great significance, and so are streams. About the objective meaning of each
of the factors we have listed above there is much that we could say; however,
since the more important factors—such as the symbolism of level—are dealt
with under separate headings, we will here add no more than a few notes. Steepness indicates primitiveness and regression; flat country denotes the apocalyptic
end, the longing for power and for death. There is a Persian tradition that, when
the end of the world has come—when Ahriman is vanquished for ever, the mountains will be levelled and all the earth will become one great plain. Ideas cognate with this are to be found in certain traditions of Israel and France (35). It would
not be hard to point to the history of architecture and town-planning as evidence
of the subconscious application of these principles. Furthermore, there are some
aspects of landscapes which have a symbolic air about them that is very difficult
to analyse intellectually. For instance, the following descriptive passage from
Dante’s Commedia has always seemed to us to evoke an atmosphere of profound
mystery: ‘Around this little island, in its lowest reaches, there, where it is lashed
by the waves, reeds grow in the soft mud’ (Purgatorio I, 100). Independent of the
cosmic significance of landscape, there may also be a sexual implication. It is also
essential to bear in mind that this is not strictly a matter of symbols as such but
of complex, symbolic functions. For instance, in scenes depicting low-lying topographical features, the following factors may be at work: (a) depth in the sense
of what is base, comparable therefore with the wicked and infernal; (b) depth in
the sense of what is symbolically profound; (c) depth as it pertains to the material earth itself, implying a chthonian and maternal symbolism. Only the context
can help us to tell the essence from the accessory—as is true also of the vast
majority of symbols. Here we must bear in mind the primitive concept of the
archetypal ‘ideal countryside’. Schneider has observed that the fact of there being
so many identical names for rivers and mountains in different parts of the world,
suggests that megalithic ways of thought must have led to the custom of naming
the topographical features of different regions after some ideal model. This model,
it may be argued, could be the product of the lasting impression made upon the
mind of Primitive Man by a particular environment endowed with such unity and
variety as to prevent him from ever wishing to leave it; but it could also be
explained as the projection of a psychic order founded upon laws comparable
with those governing quaternary patterns, or the mandala, etc. Man’s attention
was first drawn to the contraposition of heaven and earth by topographical
features, and he gave expression to this in the struggle between gods and Titans,
angels and demons, and in the opposition of mountain and valley. Next, he set out
to explain the earth’s surface by means of the laws of orientation, taking the four
points of the compass from the apparent orbit of the sun as well as from the
human anatomy, and identifying them as ambivalent forces—ambivalent because
they are at once hostile to things external and the defenders of their limits. As
Schneider adds: ‘To preserve cosmic order, the gods fought with the giants and
the monsters which had from the very beginning of creation sought to devour the
sun. They stationed the heroic lion on the celestial mountain. Four archers’—the
tetramorphs—’are continuously on guard day and night against anyone who
attempts to disrupt the order of the cosmos’ (50). The stockade, the wall or stone
enclosure, comments Eliade, are among the oldest known parts of the structure of temples, appearing as early as in proto-Indian civilizations such as that of MohenjoDaro and also in Crete (17). They owe their origins to the same basic, primordial
idea of the symbolism of landscape—its representation of cosmic order. The
mountain with one peak is symbolic of the One—of transcendent purpose; the
two-peaked Mountain of Mars stands for the Gemini, the world of appearances
and the dualism of all forms of life. Both these symbolic mountains find their
symbolic complement in the general pattern of archetypal landscape—also, incidentally, an image of the year; this pattern is composed of the river of life (denoting the positive phase) and the river of oblivion (the negative phase) which flow
through the sea of flames (expressing infirmity) and well up from a single source
(birth or the Origin). According to this scheme, every landscape has a disastrous
and a felicitous tendency, corresponding on the temporal plane with the selfevident distinction between ‘coming’ and ‘going’ which in turn is analogous to the
two halves of human existence. But, quite apart from all this, the symbolic
interpretation of a landscape may be determined according to the laws governing
diverse and individual correspondences, as well as the overall significance derived
from the complex of meanings afforded by its separate features. By way of an
illustration of the many possibilities of interpreting the significance of a landscape, we will conclude with some comments on Vallcarca with its characteristic
low-lying features. The gardens are at a lower level than the city proper, and
screened from it by the vegetation, which has something of the archaic and oriental about it. The main street leads north towards an open plain, signifying the
process of disintegration. On the other hand, those streets which lead towards the
mountain are on the favourable axis. In this case, the interpretation is obvious
enough, as it is in all instances of scenes where it is possible to identify the
essential features of archetypal landscape.
To dream of various landscapes in your dream, represent where you are in your life or in your relationships. How do you see yourself with respect to the rest of the world and those around you? Consider what is going on in the landscape and how it may parallel your own waking life. In particular, a barren or dry landscape depicts dissatisfaction in your love life. According to Freud, the dream landscape symbolizes the human body. A landscape with gentle contours symbolize the female body, while a rocky landscape represents the male body. Also consider the feelings that the landscape invokes.
To dream of ever changing landscapes, indicates psychological transitions or emotional progress. It represents the various stages in your life. Alternatively, it may be offering you various viewpoints in looking at the same idea or situation. Something may be slipping away from your grasp. Look at the symbolism of key elements in the landscape.
Dreaming of various landscapes in your dream, represents where you are in your life or in your relationships. How do you see yourself with respect to the rest of the world and those around you? According to Freud, the landscape symbolizes the human body. Dreaming of ever changing landscapes indicates psychological transitions or emotional progress. It represents the various stages in your life. Alternatively, it may be offering you various viewpoints in looking at the same idea or situation. Consider the symbolism of key elements in the landscape.