I’m on a large white ship, the kind of ship you board with a ticket. I’m standing in a wide open room on the ship. Suddenly this prim, skinny white lady in her mid-30s hurries on board. She pushes her luggage toward a plump, chocolate-colored woman, around the same age. This black woman has on a uniform that makes it obvious she is an on-crew staff member, kind of like the uniform worn by the cleaning staff of a hotel. The white lady walks directly up to this woman and demands that her luggage be checked and stored elsewhere. But the chocolate-colored figure informs her that it’s too late. Everyone’s boarded already and it’s simply not possible. The dark woman speaks casually but cordially to the white lady, and she is not the least bit frazzled by her bossy attitude. Well, the white lady is NOT having it. She starts yelling at the black woman, cursing at her and throwing a fit. Finally, she shoots a nasty insult toward the black woman about her boyfriend. (For the life of me I can’t remember exactly what she said, but I know it involved profanity.) The chocolate-colored woman turns to her with eyes of fire, and says (I kid you not), “Oh, no you DIDN’T just say that about my man!” Then she smacks the white lady powerfully on the side of the head and starts wrestling her to the ground. At this, I spin my body around in a kind of horror tinged by a righteous alliance with the dark woman. As I turn to cover my face, my eyes meet with another woman on board, and I share a shocked look with her, like, “Oh my gosh, this is crazy.” It’s difficult for me to bear the violence of the fight, but at the same time, I feel excitement…and justice.
This was my dream of the chocolate-colored woman.
The dream came to me in 2013, following a period of mild obsession with Marion Woodman, reading every interview and article by her that Google could dig up for me. Woodman is a Jungian analyst, now in her 80’s, whose work is largely concerned with bringing feminine consciousness back into our culture.
In my reading, I repeatedly found Woodman speaking about the “Black Madonna” and the “Dark Goddess.” She described how in her practice she began to observe many patients having dreams “with a dark female figure, often bigger than lifesize, and chocolate-coloured.”
As I read, I found myself softly wishing I might have a dream of such a woman too. The very same night, I did.
Why did I yearn for this dream? What does this chocolate-colored figure represent?
Check out this video of me sharing about dreams, growing into womanhood, and the return of the Dark Feminine:
The following are Woodman’s words in 1990:
“For some time now I have been seeing dreams, hundreds of dreams, from both sexes about big dark women. They appear as dancers, magnificent gypsies, a Portuguese cook or people they met in the Bahamas. These great wonderful black women are a redeeming symbol. They are a saving image because they have contact with the body, and they also have a love for it. They are reminiscent of the Black Madonna, the dark earthy virgin who was worshiped in the Middle Ages and is still worshiped in many European countries today.”
Woodman, who has written an entire book on the subject, describes the Dark Goddess as a “deeply transformative energy,” representing earth, the feminine, the body. This energy is able to honor matter, to love the Earth, including the Earth that our bodies are comprised of. The Dark Goddess is the universal feminine that is able to see the “beingness” of people, and not simply their persona or actions. She symbolizes the consciousness that “holds presence” and is the “recognition and acceptance of the total individual.”
And why such violence in my dream?
I see the dream battle between the condescending white lady and the fierce black woman as symbolizing a struggle within me, between opposing energies — one that values purity and perfection, and one that embraces our human nature.
Woodman explains in a 1999 interview:
“What did those Dark Goddesses mean in the medieval period, especially in contrast with the chaste, pure White Goddess up on the pedestal — what is the difference in the energy represented by those two images? The Dark Goddess has to do with the Earth, the humus, the humility, the human. She has to do with sexuality, with the sheer joy of the body, with fecundity and the lusciousness of the Earth and with the love that can honour the imperfections in the human being.
Whereas the White Goddess tends to make people idealize themselves and therefore develop a huge shadow, the Black Goddess, through her sense of humour and immense love for humanity, helps us to accept our imperfections. Not only that, she helps us to see that a lot of things that we may have considered shameful in ourselves are not shameful at all.”
It is not that the White Goddess is an inferior or inherently harmful symbol, but simply that our society’s rigid religious institutions, fantastical media, and success-driven culture has allowed her unyielding energy to completely overtake that of the Dark Goddess. (I’ll save for a later time my thoughts on our present ruling systems, which have worked hand in hand with an extreme White Goddess energy: patriarchy and materialism, both of which seem to be born from masculine energy gone awry.)
The disappearance of the energy of the Dark Goddess, or feminine consciousness, has invited a denial of our embodied nature and the rapid destruction of our Earth. Moreover, it has become difficult for many of us to accept anything less than “perfect,” setting up a breeding ground for hidden feelings of shame and unworthiness. These are feelings which I myself began to uncover in 2013, and am still unwinding and learning to tend to with love.
Brene Brown speaks so powerfully about this culture of shame in America in her hugely popular TED talk and on recent episodes of Oprah’s Super Soul Sunday. She observes, “We think if we’re perfect at everything we wont have to feel shame, blame, and judgement. It’s fear. But by trying to be perfect, we are not seen.”
To me, the Dark Goddess, my chocolate-covered woman, symbolizes a powerful, embracing feminine energy that is able to truly see and be seen.
Stephanie says
Haha! I thought I had caught all my “chocolate-COVERED woman” typos, but guess I missed that last one. Too funny.
Wanda says
This was a delightful read! I love the way that you told us a story — a very powerful one and then went on to explain on how this is applicable in where you are in your spiritual journey.
I want to thank you for pointing me in the direction of Marion Woodman! I have been having some serious dreams and I’m looking for more Jungian analysts! I am thrilled to look at her work. I’ve been using/reading “The Dream Book: Symbols for Self-Understanding” by Betty Bethards and have also been keeping a dream journal, so I can begin to understand my dream symbols and what they mean to me.
I also love Brene Brown!
Marvelous post — I very much enjoyed it.
Stephanie says
Awesome. I’ve had Robert Moss’ “Conscious Dreaming” on my night table for a while now, and interestingly enough started getting back into it today. I’ve been having vivid dreams lately, as well, and have been recording them without even feeling like I have a choice in the matter. Dream on!
Jennifer @ FlowtationDevices.com says
This was a fascinating read, Stephanie, particularly because Black women often make appearances in my dream. In fact, just a few weeks ago I dreamed that I was waiting to be seated at a diner, and in that time a group of Black women set up an impromptu jazz band in the waiting area, the music so compelling that I couldn’t stand still and began dancing along. More Black women came to join me, and I remember moving so effortlessly with the music, as though my body and the music were one. The women praised my movement, encouraging me to continue dancing.
I’ve admired Black women since I was a teenager. I’ve always been fascinated by the way they carry themselves, especially when dancing. I grew up a pale White skinny thing who had rhythm but had difficulty feeling authentic in movement due to my gangly appearance. I think that is why I dream so often of Black women; it is the Dark Goddess in me longing to emerge.
This post helps a lot with some of my most recent ponderings and ruminations. Thank you!
Stephanie says
Thanks for sharing that awesome dream, Jennifer. The visual of the Dark Goddess in my mind right now is so alluring, gonna go google up some images. Looking forward to dancing with you in the future!
Vera Jackson says
Thank you for visiting my blog and the like. I enjoyed reading this post. It was a fasinating story.