Katla's Dream & Psychedelics
Presentation at The Institute for Dream Studies
November 15th, 2024
The invitation that came to me so unexpectedly from IDS a month ago, felt like a gift dropping from the sky. The fact that it happened to be my birthday, made it doubly auspicious! – I hope you had a chance to look at Katla‘s Dream which will be the ground of our discussion today (see tale at the end of presentation).
It is November the 15th and we are at the Full Moon in Taurus, the Bull, which feels like an appropriate timing for the Dionysian streak in our topic. On the 5th, I woke up with the realization that I had to change my approach toward this presentation. „Why was I being so forcefully drawn to Katla‘s Dream at this stage in my life?“ I asked myself. I had written about it in my book Quest for the Mead of Poetry in 2016 and I thought I had it all figured out. I‘d sent the draft of my ideas to Justina and Linda in the evening of the 4th but upon awakening the following morning, I knew that I had to take a different route. As most things in my life it all started with a dream and that dream I‘d left out of my draft. It was a dream from the 25th of September 2023 and it goes as follows:
I have invited my dream group for lunch in my childhood home. I am in the kitchen putting the last touches on the refreshments when one of the group – let‘s call her Thea – comes in from the outside: „There is a tourist outside who needs to poop,“ she says. I halt for a moment… but then say that she is more than welcome (to use the bathroom). „And what is new with you, my dear Thea?“ I ask. She is going abroad, she says, but she cannot leave until a man who has abused her has been brought before a judge. Interrogation is pending. „Some news you are sharing!“ I say.
There is a change of scene: Thea has left but the tourist has now come into the kitchen and when she sees that I am having a glass white wine (which has mysteriously appeared on the countertop where I am working), she asks if she can have a glass of white wine. I am taken aback: „How can you ask for this!“ I say (in English as if emphasizing her foreign identity). I think she is being a little too rash but she apparently finds her frank demeanor quite natural. I pour what is left in the bottle into a glass and check if there is more in the fridge, which is not the case so I make it clear that she will have to make do with this.
I don‘t see her but I have the feeling that she is young. (Thea, the dream group member who announced her to me is my son‘s age. In reality our names, although different to the ear, have an identical meaning. From a mythological perspective, both have a connection to Freyja, goddess of love and fertility. As names play a key role in my dreams, I sense a certain kinship between Thea and me, as if she embodies a younger me in my dreams.)
Freyja
Just to emphasize the symbolic importance of the glass of wine that appears as if by magic in my dream and seems to point the way to both Katla, to whose lips Alvör lifted a cup of wine before she lay down with her son Kári, and to Dionysus, a deity of wine and ecstasy. In essence, it is a sacrament that at the time I did not recognize as such. In the 13 Moons that have gone by since this dream, transformation has taken place in me. To present my experience to you now, feels like an invitation from the Universe to integrate the mystery inherent in life itself.
As I stated, I had the dream on Sept. 25th. I am emphasizing the dates here, as this dream turned out to be in some curious way precognitive. On the 29th, four days later, the dream group actually came for lunch in my home after a hiatus of some years. On the 11th of October, Thea and I met for coffee at her invitation. When we have settled down at a table, I spot a book on top of her open purse with the title: Trust, Surrender, Receive. My curiosity is piqued. The book is about MDMA which turns out to be a medicine, a psychedelic really, with a difficult name. This is totally foreign to me. It comes to light that she has tried this substance and it helped her face a childhood trauma caused by the abuse of an older boy. We had not seen each other for over a year. I knew her as somone highly private but now I detected a change in her, she had become freer than the Thea I knew before.
Having heard her story, it seemed like a matter of course that I share with her my dream from September 25th, the dream in which she is telling me about having been abused by a man who is going to be interrogated and taken before a judge. We look at each other with incredulity. She offers to lend me the book. I show polite interest, but I had no intention of adding it to the mountain of reading material I was already plowing through. „Please, not now!“ I say. Besides I had no knowledge of or interest in psychedelics.
Afterwards I decide to tell her about my tonsillectomy and the theory of Dutch cardiologist Pim van Lommel who in his Consciousness Beyond Life says: „It […] seems that the anesthesia that was given in the past for tonsillectomy was a fairly frequent cause in children for experiencing NDE (near death experience).“ For some reason this book had found its way to me and this seemingly innocuous sentence at the end of a chapter titled „Circumstances that may prompt an NDE in Childhood“ felt like a justification for the suspicion that this childhood operation had had a lasting effect on me. I was juming rope with my friends in the street on a beautiful spring morning when my father called me and invited me for a drive in our new car. I was happy. The sunlit excursion ended at a hospital where I was chased about like a scared animal, dumped on an operation table and held down with an ether mask over my nose and mouth. This was the first memory I brought up when I went into Jungian analysis at age 43. „Like a rape,“ my analyst frowned. Maybe that analogy prompted me to bring it up with my friend who had endured such an abuse.
So I invite her over for coffee and having listened to my story, she leaves the book, Trust, Surrender, Receive, on the dining table. I still don‘t take the message to heart and have no intention of entering the world of MDMA. The following night I have a ferocious nightmare. It is a shadow-picture; I am lying on the floor and somebody is on top of me; I struggle to free myself, beseeching the one who is holding me… the terror is long-lasting. I instinctively knew that I had to reconsider my refusal.
Freyja
We sprinkled ourselves with
the Queen of Wands courage
in the guise of fiery red glimmer
On the following All Saints‘ Day, I had my first experience of MDMA. Thea came in the early morning, she‘d offered to be my sitter. She mixed the crushed crystalline medicine with juice the color of sunshine and handed me the glass. This first trip, that lasted for good four hours, was marked by a tremendous struggle as I fought vigorously against the substance, pleading for mercy. At one point Thea asked: „Where are we now?“ „Tonsillectomy,“ I responded. The medicine apparently took me through a repetitious cycle of that childhood trauma and thus helped me cross the threshold of inhibiting Fear. In the end I heard Thea say to my husband: „She‘s come through. Now He cannot reach her any more.“ She assures me that she did not say these words and my husband was nowhere near to hear them, so they must have come from my unconscious. I eventually understood that He was Fear, a masculine word in Icelandic. I heeded the message and ventured to risk myself again four months later, this time with the intention of surrendering. On 31. of October, half a Moon ago, I took my fifth and last trip. After all the struggle, I experienced deep peace as I have never known before. There were only two visuals, in the beginning my parents as young people in my childhood home and towards the end a double line drawn under the text on a computer screen, and below the beginning of a new chapter, two and a half lines. In all five instances, my experiences were primarily physical and devoid of images. It‘s as if they were beyond thought.
But why did Katla‘s Dream erupt with such force into my life at this point? I had to wonder. Synchronicities have abounded and they seem to center on this old tale. No sooner had I gathered my old dream group around the story than I received an email from Nor Hall, a Jungian analyst in America with whom I‘d spent part of a day in Reykjavik years ago. The subject line of her mail read “Katla‘s Tale”. In it she shared a friend‘s memorial address of his wife Maria Genne, a dancer and choreographer who had mounted a dance drama based on this old Icelandic tale. (You will find Cristopher Anderson’s beautiful text at the end of this presentation). It was one of those I cannot believe it moments. It was beginning to seem that Katla‘s Dream had a message for our world!
Nor has written a fascinating book that centers on Women‘s Dionysian Initiation as depicted on magnificent wall paintings, dug out of the ashes from an eruption of Mount Vesuvius in 79 AD (https://melbourneartclass.com/the-villa-of-the-mysteries-pompeii/). Her book is called Those Women with reference to female analysts of the early era who studied these jewels at C.G. Jung‘s instigation. It is worth mentioning in this context that Katla is the name of an Icelandic volcano, and one that has left far-reaching damages in its path. Its last major eruption took place in 1918. The Dionysian element is brought to the foreground in my dream where the tourist comes in and solicits a glass of wine from me!
On the heels of the mail from Nor came the invitation from IDS and Katla‘s Dream seemed like a matter of course-subject for the occasion. The tale takes me back to my graduation intensive with Justina in 2009. I had the chance to work with her on two dreams I‘d had during our stay at Seabrook. In one an elderly woman, clearly an outsider, a bag lady really, was trying to reach me and threw me into emotional upheaval that had me in tears. During all those many years since then, she has kept cropping up in my dreams and became the soul of a poem I eventually sent out into the world. I came to see her as the personification of a völva, a prophetess to whom is attributed the most magnificent poem in my heritage, The Prophecy of the Seeress. It is about the going under of the old world and the birth of a new one, green and fresh. By the end of the poem the seeress sinks into the sea along with the earth. I believe that she may be the reason I went into studying tarot, dreams and later mediumship. It became a relentless quest. I found myself pulled into this field as if by a magnet.
The other dream was about a dark haired man in a blue winter coat, a lover who came to me during the night. He‘d been in my dreams before but I did not have a clear picture, it was the blue coat that gave him away. I was astounded that this dream figure should be pursuing me to America! „Yes, why is he here?“ Justina echoed. Looking back I see that Katla‘s Dream was playing out in my psyche, the woman as soul, the dark haired man in blue, reminiscent of the blue-clad fairies in my ancestral tales, as spirit. Those people were out in the cold in the world I was born into. Ours was a non-religious household in a Protestant world.
That Katla‘s Tale was hugely popular can be deduced from the vast number of manuscripts in existence. As it appears on the copy you have from my Quest for the Mead of Poetry (2016), it is my retelling of the poem Katla‘s Dream, with the addition at the end of a short passage from the prose version of the story. The poem is believed to be based on lost material, and some have deduced that its roots reach back to the period of transition from heathendom to Christianity (around 1000). It is believed to have been composed sometime during the last centuries before the conversion from Catholicism to Lutheranism (1550), when the Church fought with increasing ardor against the studies of ancient knowledge and folk tales. The prose version of the tale is believed to be derived from the poem. It is a complicated history but one that indicates that the feminine power inherent in an all-knowing Alvör stirs in the collective soul at critical moments of transition. (Aren‘t we told that we are in the midst of such a phase, transiting from the third dimension to the fifth?)
Just as we need to put our dreams into the context of our lives, we need to pay attention to the cultural situation that gives rise to collective tales like Katla‘s Dream, in which case we are talking about both the 10th and the 15th centuries. In the 10th century practicing seiður, which involved ecstatic communion with the otherworld had become a crime that was severely punished by law. Women who so did were most often stoned to death and sometime sources mention burnings at the stake. As explained in my aforementioned book, seiður is Dionysian in nature. In the words of Jungian analyst George R. Elder, Dionysus was „the deity of ecstacy caused by drinking wine or of any ecstatic experience, of sex or emotional religion“ (“Woman Carrying a Phallus” in The Body: An Encyclopedia of Archetypal Symbolism). We can readily see Katla‘s experience mirrored in this description. According to mythology, it was Freyja, goddess of love and fertility who taught the art of seiður to the æsir-gods, presided over by Odin. The ousting of the practice goes hand in hand with the Bible‘s prohibition of wicked customs into which category seiður would have fallen. In Katla‘s story we detect both a dialogue with Christian doctrine as well as an attempt to counterbalance the one-sidedness of the church which strove to suppress the ancient heritage. We also see a transition from the retributive mindset that marked the old world to the ideal of love and forgiveness, and it is Alvör, Katla´s dream self, whose name means all-seeing, who is instrumental in bringing it forth and ensuring its integration in the culture.
In The Grail Legend by Emma Jung, we find an interesting observation which reveals the universality of Katla’s dream content:
In the dreams and fantasies of even happily married women, a mysteriously fascinating masculine figure often appears, a demonic or divine dream or shadow lover to which Jung has given the name of animus (Lat. for spirit). Not uncommonly, the woman cherishes a more or less conscious secret idea that one of her children, preferably the oldest or youngest, was fathered by this psychic lover. Superhuman powers will readily be attributed to such a child. (46)
It is common knowledge that many a mother desires to see her dreams realized by her offspring instead of cultivating what is called for in herself. Our tale certainly endows Kári with supernatural powers, but as far as Katla is concerned the analogy ends there. She does not live through her son as those ambitious mothers do. She shows aversion for Alvör’s legacy and projects it out, as if purging herself, onto her son. The son begotten in Katla’s dream can be seen as a psychological child, her awakening masculinity, which, if consciously cultivated, would enable her to carry her heritage forth in a wise and balanced manner. Jungian analyst, Marie-Louise von Franz, addresses the necessity for woman to develop her animus. She says: “On [the] highest level the inner man acts as a bridge to the Self. He personifies a woman’s capacities of courage, spirit and truth and connects her to the source of her personal creativity” (1988, 215). In my interpretation of the tale as put forth in my book, I felt that Katla had betrayed herself. I saw her deference to her husband, and to the masculine in general, as an echo of St. Paul‘s prescription of duties to married couples, where he exhorts wives to submit to their own husbands, as to the Lord. (Ephesians 5:22) By ousting Alvör, Katla closes the door on her völva aspect. Alvör‘s end as a heap of ashes on her grandson‘s floor is a reminder of the fate that these women were threatened with. It was left to subsequent generations of women to restore the völva to her past splendor. This is what my dreams have been trying to show me.
In Katla‘s Dream, Alvör is the puppet player and a reminder that divine power is beyond gender. Her ways toward transformation are mysteriously rooted, not in blind obedience, and certainly not in the Sword as a weapon of revenge, but in choice where love is the reigning factor, even at the cost of self-sacrifice, i.e. unconditional.
In her teaching, Justina emphasized that we name the feelings in our dreams. I remember getting my homework back from her where she had underlined every instance of I think in the text, and they were many. I have tended to be in my head. Is that a flight from fear and hurt? I wonder. Jungian analyst Robin van Löben Sels has written a book called A Dream in the World (2003) where she relates this dream of her analysand, Mairi:
I am in a museum looking at a reddish earth-colored clay statue of the body of a woman, posed in movement, maybe turning, with her arms slightly raised. I hear a voice that says „This is your shadow.“ (97)
„If the body is one‘s shadow,“ van Löben Sels speculates, „what can integration of the shadow mean, other than integration of the body?“ Mairi‘s response to the dream was: „When I heard the voice I realized that for me, being in my body has always seemed like being in the Valley of the Shadow of Death. I am terrified of dying, although I used to boast that I was not. That was part of saying that nothing could get to me. Underneath, the fear of death penetrated me to the marrow of my bones. That‘s how I‘ve been able to treat myself as if I were a statue.“
It has been many years since I read this book, and I read it twice, but this, about the body being the shadow, has stayed with me. Like Mairi I have been fearful of death and I have traced that fear back to the childhood trauma which I experienced, not only as betrayal, but as a vicious attack to boot. I too have been stiff like a statue unable to lose myself in dance, but I now wonder whether the struggle does not go further back, to the preverbal stage in the womb which was not a safe haven for me as my very young parents tried everything, my father laughingly disclosed and I readily understood, to get rid of me. Abortion was illegal at the time, that‘s why I am here to tell the story!
MDMA, I feel, has come to my late rescue and allows me to let go of the past where trust was broken. By making it an illegal drug, my experience tells me that we may be depriving ourselves of blossoming into the fullness of being that awaits within. I have been driven by the urge to find the völva in me, sensing her presence but allowing doubt to quench my voice. Finding my way back to the non-verbal stage has brought me in touch with my instincts that, so often ignored, were given free play. It is my instincts, I acknowledge, that have brought me home.
I am clearly not to rest on my laurels for long, though, for last Tuesday my dreams ushered in a new mission: the healing of an old and sick Father. It was an impersonal dream and I feel compelled to ask: Whom does this dream serve?
Katla’s Dream
from Icelandic Folk and Fairy Tales, I &VI
collected by Jón Árnaon
This is my retelling of the poem Katla’s Dream in volume VI of the collection with some amplifications and an addition at the end from the prose version of the story in volume I. The poet’s voice comes through as he or she revives people and events from a distant past:
Már was the noblest chieftain who lived at Reykjanes. I believe his wife’s name was Katla. She came from an important family. It is said that they loved each other dearly, were a good match, and never had a quarrel during their entire conjugal life.
One day Már rode to Althing with a flock of valorous men. He left Katla behind and told her to sew him a shirt. One morning, in beautiful weather, Katla went to her bower to carry out her task but no sooner had she sat down than she fell asleep. Other women came to the bower but Katla continued to sleep, undisturbed. Close to noon they tried to awaken her but there was no way they could. They feared that she was dead and told her foster-father. When he came to where she sat, he found breath stirring in her chest, but he could not awaken her. Mournful, he sat by her for full four days. On the fifth day it is said that Katla woke up and was visibly sad but nobody dared inquire about the reason for her sorrow.
When Már arrived home from Althing he found Katla’s demeanor changed, for neither did she come out to welcome him nor did she bow to him when he came. This had never happened before. Már asked his wife who had caused this change in her. He assured her that she would not come to harm for telling him the reason for her sorrow. Katla said that she would disclose her grievances to him though she kept them secret from others, for she knew that due to his love and other virtues he would prove to be her best support.
“I felt,“ she said, “that a woman came to me in the bower. She had the proud bearing of a mistress. Her words unfolded like growing herbs and sounded pleasing to my ears. She called me ‘her Katla’ and asked me to go out with her. She said that her spirits would guard my seat so that nobody would be alarmed. We walked away from your farm till we came to a river. There I saw a richly equipped ferry. I then decided to ask her name. She told me that I could call her Alvör and said that grief had compelled her to come see me. No sooner did she lift me on board the ferry than I lost command of my will. Alvör plied the oars and the ferry found its way across the rapid stream. I saw a small house by the foaming river. It turned out to be her home. She then laid hands on me and I forgot my ardent love for you.
“She led me into a splendidly furnished hall where elegant ladies were seated, all of whom acted as if they knew me. Then Alvör quietly touched a man whom she called Kári and asked him to awaken. ‘I have news for you,’ she said to him. ‘Katla is here in the hall.’ The well-mannered, silk-clad man awoke and wished health and good fortune on me for having come to see him, although he himself would come to suffer grief. He called me a dutiful and virtuous woman and said that I had awakened him, ‘that is a gift your love has brought me,’ he said, ‘but I will die when you walk away from here.’
“Alvör had a tub-bath prepared for me. She then lifted a cup of wine to my lips before I lay down with her son Kári. She said that disaster would befall me if I refused my love to him who had been in the throes of perilous sorrow for a long time. Her will had to prevail for I was no longer in possession of my senses and so it was the whole time I was away from your farm.
“One morning Alvör came to the bed in which we slept together and said that I would have to get dressed though it would cause grief to her son. Kári moaned aloud and held me tight to his chest when I rose to leave his bed and I myself would have desired to be there longer had fate not parted us. He told me that we would have a son. ‘Name him Kári,’ he said, and added that we would never see each other again during our lifetime on this earth. He gave me a belt, a knife, and a ring which I was to keep for our son so that he would remember his father when he came of age. ‘But to you,’ said Kári, ‘I give a mantle of pure gold, a necklace, and a buckle, all of which will be considered treasures by those who lay eyes on them. I bid you own these till old age.’ Unwilling I had to stand up and put on all my finery, I could linger no longer. Then Alvör came and sternly took both my hands. She led me to the ferry by which we came before, seized the oars and set out across the river again. She escorted me to the house and fetched back her guardian spirits. Nobody knew about my disappearance from the farm nor when I would come back. She exhorted me to hide my sorrows till the end of winter by which time they will become manifested, and told me to lay the blame on her when word gets out.”
Winter passed and shortly before summer Katla gave birth to a son with beautiful eyes. Már was devoted to the boy but his mother was more remote. Már had him named Kári, for he did not want to swerve from what the mother had secretly disclosed to him. Half a year went by and Katla became pregnant again and gave birth to another son. Now she wanted to pick the name and declared that he should be called Ari. The boys grew up together and Már loved them both equally, but to his grief Katla was cool and indifferent towards Kári. “Why do you bear these grudges towards your son, Katla?” he asked. “It hurts me deeply that you hate the child and yet you know my feelings for him.” “You are an admirably virtuous man, Már, to be so loving and faithful to someone unrelated to you,” she said. “That is why I ask you to never let the young boy suffer on my account.” “I promise to love your son as if he were begotten by me,” Már readily responded.
Time passed and, as far as everyone knew, harmonious love reigned between Katla and Már. The boys grew up for five or six years and nothing worth reporting happened. Then one morning Már went to work with his farmhands at an early hour because apparently the weather was calm and favorable for fishing. Katla remained blissfully asleep in their conjugal bed when an imposing Alvör came to her bedside. “How very different is our situation, Katla. You live in happiness with your husband but I grieve my deceased son and get no amends for this bale. That is why you shall have to make this choice, which no doubt you will find difficult, either to lose Már at sea today or suffer that your son disgrace you by his words.” Faced with such oppressive options, Katla responded tearfully: “I leave the curses to fate, but to lose Már is the last thing I want.” At that they left their discussion, both with a grieving heart.
When Már came home in the evening he saw that Katla was distressed and asked who had upset her. “Alvör came to cheer me up again,” she replied mournfully and told him the whole story. Már responded with valor and told her to let go of her worries. He assured her that he would find a way out of these difficulties and that he would keep all his promises to her. “Let us prepare a feast and invite your brothers,” he said. “Your honor will be restored and you shall not take their words to heart. Be cheerful towards all and do not speak till your turn comes.”
Már rode with many men to welcome the brothers, all of whom were important chieftains. The brothers were appreciating of their sister’s graceful reception. They were shown to the seats of honor and wine was generously served. Katla wore the mantle that Kári gave to her and her necklace was praised as a treasure by all. Then Már addressed the guests and asked that a truce be honored by all who drank at his table. The brothers agreed and emphasized that whoever broke the truce would pay amends. The wine made them merry and cordial toward each other. When Katla had taken her seat and the boys were playing on the floor, Kári asked his mother to lend him her necklace, and so she did. When Ari saw this, he became jealous that his mother indulged his brother more than him. “Give me that gold ring, I want to play with it,” he demanded. Kári declined. “You refuse to give it to me, you son of a whore! Our possessions belong to me alone!”
The guests listened in wonder to the boys’ squabble but Katla left her seat, tormented again by the old remorse. She went to bed with a bursting heart and said that she would rather die than her sorrow be known. But while she mourned in bed, there was no calm where her brothers sat. They picked up on the boy’s words, infuriated that their sister had called shame on their family. They vowed to avenge by the sword, for surely she had been disgraced by someone. The child did not know how to lie, they claimed, therefore there had to be some truth in his words. Már then said valiantly: “Listen noblemen, it is absurd to take seriously the words children happen to know and speak.” The proud brothers raged at his words and there was no assuaging their anger. They were determined, they said, to find the reason behind the boys’ dispute and accused Már and Katla of having cunningly hidden a crime of which the boys had gotten a whiff.
“Listen to me, chieftains,” Már then said. “I have never reproached Katla nor wanted her tainted in any way. But tell me, virtuous noblemen, how can someone who falls into disgrace unwillingly or experiences illusions in sleep be held responsible?” He left the hall in distress and went to see Katla who could barely speak from grief. “In order to remedy your misfortune, take my advice and tell your brothers the whole story or else we will have a bloody battle on our hands,” he said. She agreed that it would be best to follow his advice though she found it difficult to reveal her sorrows and would much prefer death. With a heavy heart she went to her four brothers who received her coolly for hatred was in their minds. “Tell them your story, Katla,” Már encouraged her, “maybe it will ease their minds and abate their compulsion for revenge.” Katla then told them her story from beginning to end. As they listened, they became deeply affected by her plight and concluded that she was innocent of her misfortunes. To Már the brothers said: “You are a wise and noble man. You have kept Katla’s woe from becoming public and for that you will have our lifelong friendship.”
Már and Katla stayed in love till old age took them to the grave. Ari son of Már became an important chieftain and took after his father in most things. He had great many descendants as can be read in old books of knowledge. As to Kári, I have heard that Már had him fostered up in Rennidalur, arranged a good marriage for him and gave him generously of his riches. He became a well-to-do farmer and was held to possess hidden knowledge. Yet he was well liked. He knew the laws of tides and the art of astrology.
Some say that Kári son of Kári often went to see his grandmother when he was growing up and learned from her wisdom that ‘hidden people’ practiced in the days of old. It therefore did not serve people well to wrong him. But then few would be inclined to do so, for he was well liked and held in regard by those in authority. When Már had passed away, it is said that Kári took both his mother Katla and his grandmother Alvör under his roof. They however did not get along and Kári frequently had to reconcile them. Once he came upon them in the midst of a quarrel and it is said that he lost his temper, which he was not wont to do. When he had stood there a little while, fire flared up through the floor and his grandmother Alvör burned to ashes on the spot. Whether Kári caused the burning of his grandmother or whether the fire was ignited by the fanaticism of the old hag is not clear. Yet it has been rumored that Kári killed his grandmother.
It is further told that after Alvör had come twice to chagrin Katla as is said before, the latter had the entrance at Reykhólar turned towards the mountain, as it does to this day, contrary to the other farms in the region. This she did in order not to have to see Alvör’s house, which supposedly was visible from her door while it faced south, and thereby have her sorrows re-awakened. It is also said that she did not want to go to the Reykhólar-pool which is located south of the farm, because she felt too close to Alvör’s home. Instead she went a good distance from the farm and bathed in a pool that stands apart and is known to this day as Katla’s Pool.
Cristopher Anderson’s address in memory of his wife, Maria Genne,
inspired by Katla’s Dream
Memoria: My late wife was a modern dancer and choreographer who explored the healing potential of dance and story engagement. I discovered the Icelandic folk tale, Katla’s Dream, showed it to her, and she immediately wanted to mount a dance drama based on it. I tried to persuade her not to do it. I felt uneasy about this story about a woman who is beckoned by an older woman to leave the bed of her husband and make love with the older woman’s son, a dying king. The wife does as the older woman asks, is impregnated by this encounter, returns to her husband, gives birth, and the baby is joyfully embraced by the husband as his own. Not only do the couple now have the fulfillment of having a child, but as a result of this they now live happy and robustly generous lives in manifest ways. I said to my wife, “Maybe you shouldn’t do this.” She replied, ” I am going to do it!” My discomfort came from me identifying more with the wife’s husband and not with her lover. I had either forgotten or didn’t know yet that in folk tales, as in dreams, I am ALL the characters in the story, that this could be a story about different aspects of my own psyche in negotiation with each other.
The dance drama was mounted as a workshop production in my wife’s studio. The two lead dancers were beautiful, powerful and nuanced. I still remember the wife’s hesitation as she left her marriage bed, and her acceptance of the king. Audience for the short run of the production were mostly middle-aged women, who sat and wept through the whole thing, tears streaming down their cheeks. I often continued to feel uneasy as I watched. I didn’t have words for it then, but now I think I was probably witnessing an ancient women’s healing temple, or the remnants of one. There is a mountain in Iceland named Katla. There, women can see this mountain and be reminded of this story of feminine agency.
Near that time, I introduced the story into our sacred theater circle where we tell and enact the folk tales to engage with their wisdom and healing potential. While we told and enacted the story I was able to find some understanding and peace. At that time in our lives, my wife was very active traveling the country and to Europe to attend conferences and present on her work and teach, while I mostly stayed home. These experiences were deeply fulfilling for her. When I picked her up at the airport on her return, she was in her joyful power. Twice when I met her at the gate at the airport, I remember seeing men crane their necks to look at her. When I wasn’t feeling afraid I felt lucky that she was coming home with me.
Enacting the story in the sacred theater circle, I was able to find acceptance and appreciation that I would not be a part of my wife’s travels and experiences, that she was seeking fulfillment that I could not participate in or provide for. To be clear, fidelity to monogamy was important for both of us. But, as illustrated by the men craning their necks in the airport, she became very attractive as she fully acted in her life from her essence. And, as a result, our lives together became more robust and fulfilling.
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