Cuppa Terrific
Looking for a fun podcast traversing the dreamscape? Sometimes exciting, sometimes erotic, sometimes a terrifying nightmare; in any case, we use the world of dreams as a safe place to explore feelings and experiences. Analysis of dream elements can reveal deeper meaning and applicability to our conscious self. Bring your favorite cup of whatever while we dive into dream interpretation. Just think, what stories will we venture together?
Cuppa Terrific
Away to the Mountain
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A sturdy castle, a restless river, and an ancient mountain frame a New Year story about leaving before anything breaks. We open the season with a dream that maps the inner shift from comfort to calling, inviting us to move not because disaster strikes but because timing quietly changes. The landscape becomes a guide: foothills as earned rest, the castle as the life we built to shelter others, the river as time’s irreversibility, and the mountain as awe that asks more of us.
We unpack how success can become a ceiling without warning, and why healthy growth doesn’t burn the past. Instead, it blesses what worked and steps forward without contempt. Along the way we face the relational cost of change: some people stay, some go, and no one has to be the villain. Leadership here isn’t control or endless consensus-building; it’s the courage to name the weather, pack the bag, and go first. We talk about somatic knowing, the body’s early sense that movement is due, and how to honor grief without surrendering direction.
The climb itself teaches what vision can’t delegate. Effort is real, progress is incremental, and community becomes visible in small acts of care: a hand offered, a pause to let someone breathe, quiet encouragement that travels down the line. If you feel a season turning—even while everything looks fine—this conversation offers language, images, and questions to carry with you: Where are you waiting for agreement when timing already calls? What would it look like to trade control for timing and let awe, not ambition, lead?
If this resonates, follow the show, share it with a friend who’s sensing a shift, and leave a quick review so others can find it. Tell us: what mountain is calling you this year?
About Season 2
Season 2 of Cuppa Terrific follows The Seasonal Ascent — a symbolic and psychological journey through change, individuation, and inner leadership. Each episode explores a different stage of the climb, from leaving comfort to learning how to walk at altitude.
Stay Connected
If this episode resonated with you, consider sharing it with someone who may be sensing a shift of their own.
You’re always welcome to reach out or share your reflections at:
📧 cuppa.terrific@gmail.com
More episodes and listening options can be found at:
🌐 cuppaterrific.buzzsprout.com
Until next time, may all your cups overflow.
Hello, fellow adventurers. Welcome back to Cup of Terrific. I'm your host, Sheree. And it's our first episode of 2026. It's New Year's Day. And as of the time of recording this this evening, I am just finishing up some yummy homemade lasagna and sipping on a cup of milk. And I am still kind of recovering from having the flu just recently or a cold or something. So my voice is a little bit questionable, but I'm still going to press forward because it's going to be an amazing episode that I've put together for you. For this episode and season kickoff, I felt like it was a great opportunity to start a journey with you. And um this season isn't about fixing what's broken, it's about listening for the moment when something has quietly finished, even if nothing looks wrong yet. There are moments in life when nothing is wrong, but something has to end. When the place you've built stands strong, but the season has already begun to shift. In this season of Cup of Terrific, we begin with a dream, one where I stand in the foothills surrounded by comfort and history and feeling an undeniable knowing. It's time to leave. Not because the castle's broken, but because staying would mean settling. Season two is about listening for those moments, when change asks us to bloom before we feel ready, when not everyone will come with us. And when hope shows up as the quiet certainty to keep climbing. If you're sensing a shift in your own life, welcome. You're not late. You're right on time. I'm standing in the rolling foothills, looking out over the land that surrounds the family castle. It's large, solid, beautiful in the way places become beautiful when they've held generations. From here, I understand completely why so many would never choose to leave. There is safety here. There is memory. I turn towards the distance where a great mountain range rises against the horizon, ancient, immovable, awe-filled. And behind me, though I cannot see it, I can feel it. A wide river of white water rapids, loud and restless, always moving. There is a knowing in me, quiet but undeniable. The seasons will change, and when they do, blooming will no longer be optional. I move back into the castle and begin to pack. As I gather what we will need, I explain to my family and friends that we must leave. That we must climb the mountain before the seasons shift, or that we risk settling so deeply into comfort that we will forget how to move at all. I tell them we must go now, not only for ourselves, but so there will be time for others to find us when they're ready. Not everyone agrees. Some choose to stay, and I understand why, but still it hurts. The decision creates a quiet sadness, an invisible line between those who will remain and those who will go. Those who come with me don their cloaks, we step away from the castle, away from the foothills, and begin the ascent. As we climb, I look back over the valley. It grows smaller with every step. I feel the ache of separation, but alongside it something steadier, purpose. And as we climb I begin to notice something else. Even as my own body strains against the effort, hands scraping rock, breath tightening, I see those around me helping one another. A hand offered without being asked, a pause so someone else can catch up. Quiet encouragement passed along the line. I feel a deep pride watching them. Not because the climb is easy, but because it isn't. Because even in the struggle they are choosing each other. Even as I lead, I'm not above the effort. I am in it with them. And somehow that makes the climb feel possible in a way I hadn't expected. We will make it. I know it in my bones. Reflection. The landscape as an inner map. When we dream of places, landscapes, buildings, terrain, we're often not being shown the outside world at all. We're being shown an inner map. What stands out to me in this dream is that not every part of the land or every part of the land is inhabitable. There's nothing dangerous, nothing broken, nothing needs to be escap escaped. That tells me this dream isn't responding to crisis, it's responding to timing. The foothills. The foothills represent comfort. Familia rules, a life that works. Psychologically, this is a place of competence, predictability, earned rest. And that matters because the dream doesn't shame the foothills. It simply tells the truth. Foothills are not destinations. In adult development, there's often a moment when once what felt like success quietly begins to feel like limitation. Nothing collapses here. Growth just stops calling if you stay too long. The castle. The castle is not a trap, but it represents what's been built, what has protected you, what others may rely on. In Jungian language, this is a consolidated ego structure. It's strong enough to house others. And the dream doesn't ask for its destruction. It asks you to leave it intact. That matters, healthy individuation doesn't burn the past. It outgrows it without contempt. The river. You don't cross the river in the stream. You sense it. That tells me the change isn't something you initiate, it's something that's already happening. The river represents time. Irreversibility. The truth that movement doesn't require permission. In somatic psychology, this is often described as the body knowing before your mind agrees. The river isn't dramatic, it's just honest. It just is. The mountain. The mountain isn't ambition. It's awe. It represents a future that asks something of you. A higher vantage point. Not superiority. Mountains and dreams often signal individuation, moral courage, vision that cannot be delegated. This isn't where you go to prove yourself. This is where you go to become the group. The group matters because it fractures. Some stay, some go, and the dream allows that, but without villainizing either choice. This reflects emotional maturity, attachment without fusion, love without agreement, belonging without sameness. The grief is real, and so is the purpose. Leadership. One of the clearest insights in this dream is about leadership. You aren't a hero above the group. You're a provider and a guide within it. Leadership here isn't control. It's timing. Control says follow me because I'm right. Timing says this moment will not wait. You don't force anyone to follow, you don't persuade endlessly, you don't delay the journey until consensus appears. And still, you carry the grief of those who don't come. This is mature leadership. It understands you cannot drag people into readiness, that waiting too long harms everyone, and that leaving does not equal abandoning. You don't manage people's choices, you honor reality. The climb. There's a certain feeling in this dream I keep coming back to, one where I keep pulling myself up against the rocks again and again. And I I think this dream isn't about the flashiness up at the top. It's honest about effort. Progress here is incremental, physical, certain. You don't hope you'll make it. You know you'll make it. Before we close today, I want to leave you with a few questions. Now you don't need to answer 'em right away, and you don't need to fix anything. Just let these walk with you. Where in your life are you waiting for consensus when timing may already be asking for movement? What would it mean for you to lead by going first, rather than convincing others? Who might not be able to walk into your next season with you? And what grief does that bring up? How do you hold that grief without letting it decide your future? This year, I'm choosing not to wait for the season to force me to bloom. I'm going away to the mountain, one step at a time. You don't have to know the whole climb. You only have to recognize the season. And wherever you are in your path, may your cups overflow.
