🌑 November 8 – Dreams Beneath the Ash Tree
Working with dreams and the roots of the World Tree.
When the nights grow long and the earth settles deeper into silence, the dreaming world begins to stir. The boundaries between waking and sleep grow thin, as if the veil that parted for Samhain now lingers in subtler form, opening inward instead of outward. On November 8, we enter the realm of Dreams Beneath the Ash Tree — a night devoted to vision, to the unseen threads that weave between the roots of the world and the roots of the mind. The Ash, ancient and vast, stands as a bridge between the worlds. Beneath its boughs, the dreamer listens to the language of the soul and the whisper of the unseen.
In Celtic and Norse tradition alike, the ash tree is the axis of existence. To the Norse, it was Yggdrasil, the great World Tree that connected the nine realms, its roots entwined with the underworld and its crown brushing the heavens. To the Celts, it was a tree of gateways — a conduit for spirits, a symbol of life’s continuity between birth, death, and rebirth. The ash was sacred to both gods and humans, used to craft wands, spears, and staffs that carried divine energy. It was said that the first man was shaped from ash wood, and thus within every human heart lies a fragment of that eternal tree. To dream beneath it is to return to origin, to listen to the pulse of creation itself.
Dreams in this season are not ordinary dreams. They are deeper, heavier, more resonant. When the outer world grows dark, the inner one brightens. The soul begins its descent into the subconscious — the roots of the psyche — where symbols take on life of their own. To dream beneath the Ash Tree is to commune with these symbols consciously, to enter the underworld of self with reverence rather than fear. On this night, we honor dreams not as illusions or distractions, but as sacred messages encoded in the language of metaphor. The ancestors spoke through dreams; so do the gods. The Ash Tree is their conduit, its roots drinking from the same dark waters that feed our imaginations.
If you wish to work with dreams tonight, create a space of quiet intention before sleep. Burn a little incense of mugwort or lavender, herbs long associated with prophetic dreaming. Place a small branch, leaf, or even a symbolic image of the ash tree near your bed — a token of connection to its spirit. As you settle into rest, whisper a simple invocation: “Beneath the Ash Tree I sleep, beneath its roots I see. May the dreams that come be true, and may they guide me faithfully.” Such words open the channel between waking and dreaming, inviting clarity and protection.
Dreams beneath the Ash Tree often take on a mythic quality. You may find yourself walking through forests of silver bark and blue mist, hearing voices that feel both familiar and vast. You may meet figures who carry messages, ancestors who offer counsel, or visions that echo like riddles. Do not rush to interpret them through logic. The language of the soul is poetic, not literal. Write down what you recall upon waking — colors, sensations, fragments of dialogue. Over the days that follow, meaning will surface organically, like a seed sprouting in the mind’s soil.
In spiritual terms, the Ash Tree represents the bridge between the conscious and unconscious realms. Its trunk is the waking world, its branches the heavens of spirit, its roots the shadowed underworld of the soul. To dream beneath it is to travel this vertical axis — to descend into what is buried and to ascend into what is divine, bringing back wisdom from both. This process mirrors the work of the shaman and the mystic alike: the journey inward to gather fragments of wholeness. Every dream, no matter how strange, is a conversation between these layers of being. Beneath the Ash Tree, we learn to listen.
The roots of the tree also symbolize ancestry — the deep network of life that connects us to those who came before. Dreams in this season may bring ancestral imagery: faces you’ve never seen but somehow recognize, places that feel ancient yet intimate. The ancestors, having been honored at Samhain and at the Ancestor’s Table, now speak softly through symbols. They no longer appear at the veil’s edge but in the language of sleep. Pay attention to these encounters. They may offer guidance, healing, or simple reassurance that the lineage continues through you. The Ash Tree, with its far-reaching roots, reminds us that our dreams are not isolated — they are part of the collective dreaming of our bloodline, our species, our earth.
In the mythology of the north, Odin hung upon the Ash Tree for nine nights, pierced by his own spear, to gain the wisdom of the runes. His sacrifice represents the surrender required to receive true insight — the willingness to let go of certainty and enter the mystery. Similarly, when we lie down to dream beneath the Ash Tree, we practice surrender: to the darkness, to the unknown, to the deeper parts of ourselves. We must hang upon the branches of our own consciousness, suspended between worlds, open to revelation. The runes we receive may not be letters but feelings, images, or intuitions — each a fragment of truth.
To engage with the energy of this day consciously, you might spend time in nature, sitting with a tree — any tree will do, for all trees echo the World Tree. Place your hand upon its bark, feel the life pulsing beneath. Imagine your breath traveling down its trunk, merging with its roots, mingling with the earth’s deep rhythm. Then imagine that same breath rising upward into its branches, into the sky. You have just mirrored the Ash’s sacred balance — the connection between below and above. In this act, you align yourself with the pattern of all life, bridging matter and spirit through awareness.
Working with dreams beneath the Ash Tree also means honoring the shadows that arise. Not all dreams are comforting; some are mirrors of what we resist. These are not punishments but teachings. The Ash, like the Cailleach, does not shield us from truth — it steadies us as we face it. When a dream unsettles you, ask not “Why did I see this?” but “What within me seeks my attention through this vision?” In this way, you transform fear into understanding, confusion into wisdom.
The night of November 8 is one of incubation. As the world grows still, the dreamer becomes the seed beneath the frost. Every dream, every image, is a root reaching toward future growth. To tend your dreams now is to plant the spiritual groundwork for the year to come. Keep a journal by your bed. Write your dreams in the language of poetry if you can, for poetry honors the fluid nature of the subconscious. With each entry, you build your own Book of Ash — a personal mythology woven from the whispers of the dark.
When morning comes and the frost glows like silver threads upon the world, take a moment to breathe the cold air and remember what you dreamed. The boundary between sleep and waking is still thin; linger there. That in-between space — not fully here, not fully elsewhere — is the realm of magic itself. Beneath the Ash Tree, you have walked the path of the roots and returned with wisdom in your hands. Carry it gently through the day, and let it guide your steps.
Dreams Beneath the Ash Tree teaches that the deepest truths are not shouted, but whispered from the roots of our being. To listen is to honor the ancient dialogue between earth and spirit, between memory and imagination. Beneath those roots, all dreams converge — not as fantasies, but as the soul’s own reflections, shimmering like moonlight in dark water. Tonight, the tree watches over you. Sleep well beneath its shadow, and awaken with its song in your veins.
