The Embrace of Perfect Love

The Dream: I am with Mother. Uncle Steve is ill, and we are worried about him. “Who will take care of him?” I ask. Mother chides me for ignoring his condition. I defend myself. “No,” I say, “We have kept in touch, calling him. And Sergie has been keeping every one informed.” I say something to the effect that at Uncle Steve's age (82 in the dream) you couldn't expect him to last much longer. Then I realize that Mother is also in her 80s and that I've made a tactless remark. At the same time I realize that Uncle Steve is dead, has been dead for some time. I start to tell Mother than I know he's dead; I'm trying to persuade her to remember. I embrace Mother, telling her I love her. She says she loves me. As she says she loves me I feel her pulling back emotionally. I realize she is trying to protect herself from these strong feelings. I feel very tender toward her. I recognize that her need to protect herself is the measure of how much she loves me and how vulnerable she is. I am moved to tears by this.

Interpretation: This dream has made an important discovery. With my new understanding of what had appeared to be my mother's coldness I can enlarge the compass of my empathy and understanding. At the same time the dream might be pointing out what's behind my own emotional distance. The tears are a good sign—feelings have broken through.

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?