I almost didn’t go.
I had the page open for weeks. “Monthly Dream Circle—no art experience required.” I hovered over the registration button a dozen times. But something in me hesitated. Maybe it was the fear of sharing too much. Or of not fitting in.
But something else—something quieter—said go.
So I did.
That first Dream Circle was unlike anything I’d ever experienced.
We began in silence. Candles flickered. We were invited to ground ourselves, to breathe, to arrive fully—not just with our minds, but with our bodies, our dreams, our stories. It felt like stepping into sacred space, even though we were all just boxes on a Zoom screen.
One by one, people shared dreams—not always polished, not always clear. Just fragments, feelings, images that had lingered. I was stunned by the honesty. The way people spoke of lions and staircases and forgotten childhood homes like they mattered. Like they were alive.
When it was my turn, I shared a dream I’d carried for months but never spoken aloud. In it, I was lost in a field of mirrors, seeing different versions of myself—older, younger, braver, softer. Saying the dream out loud felt like unlocking something. And no one tried to “fix” it. They simply listened. Reflected. Held it.
Then we did a ritual—something simple, with water, words, and breath. I don’t know how to explain what happened, only that something shifted. Not just in my mind, but in my heart. In how I saw myself. In how I felt in my skin.
Since that night, I’ve never missed a Dream Circle.
It’s not therapy. It’s not a typical art class. It’s something else.
It’s a space where dreams are honored, creativity is sacred, and being vulnerable feels safe.
It’s a place where strangers become witnesses, and silence becomes medicine.
Dream Ritual Art has become part of my life rhythm.
And that first circle?
It changed everything.