​​​​​Vast wonderlands of old movies first materialized, like heavenly heralds, from our tiny television set in 1959. I was mesmerized. Comforted. Called. A golden thread to something true began its pull.

Terry Ebinger, MS has worked for three decades as a depth psychological educator and mentor, dream consultant, and multidisciplinary group leader. She holds a Bachelor of Arts, summa cum laude,​ in both Psychology and Media Studies, and a Master's Degree in Clinical Counseling. Her approach to teaching is inclusive, playful, soulful, and practical. These unique classes integrate film studies, archetypal psychology, dream theory, cultural anthropology, and myth.

dreamterry@gmail.com

Movies and  Me

Countless Friday nights, we made our pilgrimage to the 66 Park In Theatre—a carload of pajama-clad kids tossed in the back of the Chevy station wagon for "Three Dollars A Car" night. West Side Story, The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, and Breakfast at Tiffany's cast their indelible spell, lulling me into a Hollywood dreamscape of popcorn, romance, and sleep. I was hooked.


​Sunday afternoons, we packed into half dollar double features at our neighborhood staple, the Osage Theatre. Scores of wildlings loosely deposited at the curb while liberated parents escaped for the day. Cinderella, Old Yeller, The Man with the X-Ray Eyes, The Magnificent Seven.  I treasured them all.


Nightwatch Theater was sacred Saturday night TV with the older brother. We were spellbound by the classic horror canon—a holy trinity of postwar angst, existential philosophy, and expressionist art. Amateur actors costumed as ghouls did black comedy shtick at every break. Our fervor was devotional.


Movies were my sanctified space, my imaginal refuge, my worldly mentor, my soul companion. Now in my third act, I am ever grateful to have found my way to this calling. Teaching others to find beauty and meaning in movies is where fate has been pointing me all along.