Glitch-22

Everything we see, read, or think about influences our dreams, sometimes uncovering reactions we weren't aware of.
The Dream: We have ordered food from a “deli” that is supposed to be very good and that we think will impress our visitors from NYC. When we go to pick up the food it's in hat boxes. I find this confusing, and I feel uneasy about what we might be getting. I am also concerned that my NY friends will not approve.

Interpretation: This dream was inspired by a book that I'm reading, Christopher Hitchen's memoir, Hitch-22. Reading about someone at the center of every intellectual and political movement of the last 50 years left me feeling marginalized. He and the people he hangs with represent a world I have no entry to, and I feel diminished. In the dream this exclusive elite is represented by a NY deli. What is the food this fancy deli is giving me? It's presented very elegantly in hat boxes, but I really don't know what's inside or what I've bought. And those I'd like to impress don't approve.

Medieval Fortress

The Dream: We are walking in NYC. I'm with Clark and one of my daughters. We're in the neighborhood of my old apartment. I say, “Ahh! Second Avenue.” I tell them that the building on the corner has been redone; it was far more modest when I lived around here. Its pitched roof looks Tudor yet the building's simple lines are contemporary. Turning to look at the building I once lived in, I say that it hasn't changed. But it has: it is nothing like what it was. It looks like a blocky medieval fortress with a large courtyard. Its carved stone is ancient, showing clear signs of age. There are several entrances to the building. I see a large formal main entrance up some steps and a less formal one closer to us. My daughter spots one I didn't see, a basement entrance to our right. She pushes on the door; it isn't locked and we enter. I'm surprised access is so unguarded.

When we enter we find a large lounge area, full of people. Do they all live in the building, I wonder—or have some wandered in off the street looking for a place to stay?  It's difficult for me to get around them. Finally I get through and we go up an escalator. All the time I'm surprised by how different this building is to the one I remember living in. I'm separated from Clark and my daughter and go into a room that's full of computer-type devices. As I start to leave the sales manager asks if he can have a little bit of information. I say no.

Interpretation: This long dream seems to be about the complexity of maintaining a consistent sense of self as I go through life. A building (my “self”) is clobbered together from wildly divergent styles:Tudor and contemporary. The building I once lived in is now a medieval fortress made of ancient stone. The self this represents is ancient, made of stone, and shows clear signs of age—I suppose I'll have to admit to being an inflexible old biddy. My unconscious seems to be hinting that this is a fortress that needs to be stormed, or at least entered, and there are several paths that would serve the purpose: going through the basement (becoming more down to earth) would result in my being more open (unguarded).

I am surprised to discover the many parts of myself—all the people that live in this building. Can they all be me? Or have some of them only wandered in for a while? The ego (the sales manager who's looking for information) wants to know more; the unconscious doesn't want to cooperate.

Through the Looking Glass

The Dream: I'm in my apartment in NYC. I have plants growing in many of the windows that go around the corner of the large kitchen. I am pulling the window shades down to the tops of the plants and hoping that they will fill the gap between the shades and the window sill enough to provide the necessary privacy. Someone says they won't. I try to figure out whether or not others can see in and how to protect myself from their prying eyes while still doing what I want to do—that is, leaving the shades above the plants.

Interpretation: The dream was triggered by a suggestion that I bring some of my paintings to a meeting. Showing work represents both a kind of growth and a kind of exposure. The dream shows me that my desire to grow, to do what I want to do (represented by the plants), is coming up against my discomfort at feeling exposed. What is the right mix of privacy and exposure?

Storm at Sea

The Dream: I'm in a boat in the waters surrounding New York City, on the deck with a friend. We are lying under an overhang. A storm is about to come up, and the captain goes about handing out large rain parkas. He only has three; I reach out a little aggressively to claim one that he seems very willing to give me. Then I realize my friend and I are protected by an overhanging interior cabin, and I refuse the parka saying, “We have some protection. Others need this more than we do.”

The storm is furious, with slanting rain and rough, choppy seas. The surrounding area is gray with lines of rain sheeting across; some hits us because of its angle.

Interpretation: The emergence of a lot of unconscious material—grief, loss, anger—creates a psychic storm. I realize I don't need what the captain (my inner controller) is offering; instead I get strength from refusing to to be park(a)ed: stasis is not the way to move forward. The interior cabin represents the inner strength and stability that I rely upon to protect me in this storm. Nevertheless, parts of my psyche are getting the brunt of it. I (my normal sense of self) get splattered.

No Light at the End of the Tunnel

The Dream: Dettie and I are at the underground entrance to a NYC subway. She has a token and goes through the turnstile and down the escalator to the platform. I realize I have no money. I set down my large purse, at the same time noticing a lost-and-found-box containing cash and other items that people have left on the train, open to all with no oversight. I think, after a little ethical quavering, that it's probably okay if I “borrow” some of the money to buy a token. I feel a little guilty, but climb up to the box—it's a bit of a stretch—and help myself to a small amount of cash. In some part of my mind I am surprised that the money hasn't all disappeared.

I take the money to the ticket booths; the one to the left is closed, and the agent in the middle booth ignores me. I'm getting anxious about finding Dettie with all this delay. Then I notice an available agent to the right: I had 't been aware of him. He is a very affable black man and while I don't have enough money for a return, he sells me a one-way token.

As I approach the turnstile I realize my bag is missing. I feel very uneasy about this, thinking about my credit cards and how I should have made a list of them. I try to remember which membership cards were in my purse. This will be a mess to sort out; I hope Clark can help me.

I descend the escalator and my surroundings become darker and darker. When I reach the platform I look for Dettie, but she's nowhere to be seen. I had been counting on her to loan me money for the return trip. The platform is deserted, very dark, and no trains appear to be running. After a while I decide to try a different level, thinking I must be on the wrong track. I turn to go, and things become even darker until it's pitch black. I become frightened and decide to go back up.

I climb a long flight of stairs. At the top is a closed door with a window. The door is locked. I bang and bang on it, yelling “Help!” until I'm afraid my voice will go. A man appears—I see his face silhouetted against the door's window. He has a mustache and looks creepy, like something out of a surrealist's work. I think that if he opens the door it will be to rape me, not to help. I awaken in terror.

Interpretation: Jung warns us that encountering the unconscious is a fearsome project, and this dream verifies it. My friend's name is the key to this dream: “Dettie” evokes both death and debt. As I begin my descent into the underworld of the unconscious I grapple with feeling inadequate: I have no money (worth), but I might be able to retrieve some if I'm willing to take a chance and reach higher. It's interesting that I have an ethical difficulty in giving myself what I need: I don't feel entitled to take it. But even when I do my problems are not over. I have enough money to embark on my journey, but not enough to return. I lose my purse with its membership and credit cards (I'm totally alone; I'll get no credit in the future). I call on my animus to save the situation, but the male figure who appears is another threat, not a savior. I go lower and lower, facing my darkest fears: my vulnerability, my worthlessness and my mortality. My vision is so narrow (tunnel like) that I can't see a way out.

Through a Glass Darkly

The Dream: I'm wandering through the streets of New York with a partner who seems somewhat--but not quite--like my husband Clark. The sidewalks are interspersed with trees; they remind me of Manhattan's East 60s, near where I once lived. It is early autumn. We are looking for Uncle Steve, and there is something mysterious about the mission. He has relocated and won't tell anyone where he is.

We go into a large old-fashioned apartment building, dimly lit with wide hallways. We know he's here. The door of his apartment is half frosted glass. We knock. He doesn't answer. Clark bangs loudly and assertively on the door. Finally Uncle Steve answers, not by opening the door but by yelling at us. He wants to be left alone.

Interpretation: My uncle's birthday was a few days ago; he died in the early 80s. His death is indeed a relocation. I'm looking for someone to tell me what awaits on the other side of the door. The door's frosted glass tells me, in the obscure and poetic language of the King James Bible, that spiritual truths are glimpsed “through a glass darkly.” In a recent dream class the idea was offered that if you ask your spirit guide the wrong question s/he won't answer, and also that the departed must volunteer for the job. It doesn't appear that Uncle Steve wants this one.

Looking at the dream's more mundane possibilities, my uncle was one of the authoritative adults when I was a child. How many questions does a child have that are left unanswered? Or responded to with anger?

By the Book

The Dream: Clark and I are in New York City. I have a special booklet, sparkling and glowing, that I want to give to a young person who I feel needs the information. We look for her house on 3 different streets but can't find it. I know the general location, but none of the houses look exactly right. Finally I suggest that we wait for her to come outside. The townhouses are like those on the upper West Side with steps going up to their entryways, very well maintained and updated.

Interpretation: The special booklet contains some sort of enlightenment (it sparkles and glows). It isn't very thick, so it is probably recently acquired psychic knowledge, as opposed to revelations that have accumulated over a long period of time. The young person I want to give this to is the newly emerging self that appeared in the previous dream. I am having trouble locating her, and none of the houses (the integrated selves; in other words, this new self plus my gnarly old self) seem right. The dream is telling me that I'm not quite ready for the psychic change taking place. I come up with a reasonable solution: let's wait for her to come to us. The townhouses, being well maintained and updated, symbolize my new (spiritual) home (self).

Remembrance of Things Past

The key to this dream is sisterhood.

The Dream: I see a stylish woman wearing a Kappa Kappa Gamma key as an ornament. I think this looks good, and I go to find my own sorority key. In looking for it I find information about the early Kappas, and I become interested in the history of the group and in the sorority itself, things I didn't care about as an active. I realize things have changed, but my own interest in the group, and my feeling of attachment for it, is greater than I remember its being.

A woman appears who is an official of Kappa Kappa Gamma. I tell her that I’ve written a biography of the founder. She asks to see it, and I realize—if I didn’t know it when I spoke—that I made that up. I say I’ve misplaced it, and in the meantime I plan to go to the library and see what I can discover. I tell myself not plagiarize; I hope to find more than one source of information.

I find records of my past Kappa Kappa Gamma activities. There’s a light yellow silk blouse with a v-neck and ruffled collar that seems important. I find an old play that I thought I’d written in New York, but it turns out I wrote it shortly after I was married. It has a large cast of just about everyone Clark and I knew at the time. I think it must not have been too embarrassing a venture, since I don’t remember anything about it.

Interpretation: I’m dealing with my past here, re-evaluating the worth of some of my activities. My participation in a college sorority seems more valuable in the dream than it did at the time. The dream tells me it’s time to look at things differently (I realize things have changed): the history I’ve say I’ve written (the woman’s biography) doesn’t exist. I need to do some research and find some new sources of information. And, what’s more, what I discover must be unique to me: I’m not to plagiarize someone else’s version of the woman’s (my) life.

“Sisterhood” represents my early family life, when I was the “sister.” Looking back, I see I wore a beautiful, well-made silk blouse; I see the experiences I had and the bonds I developed are more positive, and that the gifts of the organization (my family) are greater, than I realized at the time. 

The tie-in between sisterhood and my subsequent life (the play in New York) hints that my awkward feeling that everything I did as a young person was awful and embarrassing might not reflect reality. (Maybe it wasn’t too embarrassing a venture.)  The dream symbolically points out that the sinking feeling I get when thinking about my own past—partially feelings of loss, partially feelings of embarrassment—might not be accurate. It’s time to take a second look so I can find a more comfortable way to integrate the past with the present.