The Creative Process: Finding the “I”

The Dream: I'm with a group of graphic designers. I see them as very cool, and being accepted is important to me. The “leader” is a small, wiry black man, about the size of a 12-year-old. He's very energetic and charming, and recounts stories by acting out all the parts as he tells them. He also thinks things through very thoroughly. When a project of any sort is mentioned it's apparent he's thought of every angle and is prepared down to the details. “He's the first person I've met who is just like me,” I think, and I'm very attracted to him.

I'm invited on a weekend with him and his two assistants, partially a working weekend, but it's clear I'll be expected to sleep with him. I find this exciting—at first. I hop into the front seat of his small but well made convertible; the windows are up and the roof is down. As we pull away, beginning to go into an urban tunnel passing under another road, we have the appearance of being on a lark, a joy ride. But I start to feel uneasy.

The leader's character changes from charming to peevish. I start to feel uncomfortable about the expectation that I will have sex with him. It occurs to me that this group probably take drugs as a matter of course, and that I will be expected to participate. Suddenly the whole “adventure” sours and becomes a source of anxiety rather than fun.

Interpretation: The “leader” is a trickster figure. He looks like my typical trickster: wiry, energetic, and black, my opposite and yet—“exactly like me” in his approach to things. The dream was inspired by a recent visit to an Alan Ginsberg exhibit that reminded me that the guiding lights of art in my childhood were the rebels who stood against middle class morality, often in self-destructive and adolescent ways. (The “leader” is the size of a 12-year-old.) The dream portrays my discomfort with certain aspects of this art world, the idea that it's a place that demands undisciplined behavior and morals. At the same time, there is something attractive about a life without restrictions. Do I see conformity as my only other option?

A basic conflict has emerged here: creativity and freedom versus the straight and narrow. My experience with the graphic designers helps me  get the picture. As the dream goes forward the creative group attempt to put me in their own kind of straight jacket. Each of the two supposedly antithetical groups demands conformity, each has its “standards” and expectations for the behavior of its members. True freedom exists in neither. A conjunctio (a union, symbolized by having sex) with one of the choices does not take place.

Wading Out of Being Stuck

The Dream: I'm on a train that isn't going anywhere, and I finally decide to get off. The train is stopped about 12 feet wide of the platform, and the gulf is filled with water. Clark has waded ashore: he has Wellies. I decide there's only one way to get there and begin to make the crossing, getting my trousers and shoes wet.

Interpretation: I'm going in a predetermined and unalterable direction (on a train) when I discover I'm not going anywhere. Since being on a train can represent my life's journey, the dream is telling me it's time for a change. In deciding to get off the train it's clear I'm ready to make the change, but I'm confronted with a difficulty: the train is not near the platform, and the space in between is filled with water. Water represents emotion, so for me to move on in my life's course I need to wade into some feelings that I've been avoiding. My animus, the part of me that forges forward in the world, has some protection in the form of Wellies—waterproof boots. But for the dream ego, my more vulnerable self, there's no other way except to plunge in and get my feet wet.

Getting to the Warmth of the Kitchen

Dreams can resolve issues we aren't aware we have.
The Dream: I am walking along a sidewalk. I come to a barrier. On the other side is a patch of ice, running down the center of the sidewalk and tended by a boy, about 12 years old, whose dumpy middle-aged mother tells me he likes to play on it. The “tending” consists of spraying the patch with water to keep it smooth. After we chat I cross over to my side of the street. The sidewalk on my side is circumscribed by a tall wood fence around my home. A gate opens to my garden. When I open it I am surprised to discover snow piled as high as the wall.

I wonder how I will get back to my house. I think I will attempt to jump up onto the snowbank. The boy offers to help. His mother watches. He moves as if to lift me up under my arms; at the same time I seem to effortlessly rise to the top of the snow. We're all pleased, and I tell the other two that now I will roll down to the house. The kitchen looks out over this snow-laden garden. Clark is inside, cooking.

Interpretation: Something that I don't often look at (it's a side walk, in other words, something that's not part of my usual preoccupation) is a barrier to me. Some part of me is frozen, and the 12 year old in me likes it that way; this part works at maintaining the freeze and smoothing it over. The two images, of barriers and ice, recur in the form of a tall wood fence around my home (me) and snow as high as the fence.

There is a gate, however, even if it opens onto a pile of snow so high that I don't think I can get into my house. This inability to gain access to my own home symbolizes an alienation from my true self. Once I let it be known that I intend to attempt to conquer the snowbank, my inner 12 year old changes from the care taker of the ice to my willing helper. Now in sync with this inner force I effortlessly surmount the obstacle. And having come this far, I can accomplish the rest by coasting ( I roll down to the house). Once inside and in the kitchen (symbolizing a place of both warmth and transformation) Clark, my other half, is cooking—yet another symbol of transformation. I've found a place where I am nurtured and can grown (the gate that opens to my garden).