Guest Dreamer: Caged and Constricted

Guest Dreamer: Weird dream last night with a very strange man in it. He was taciturn, tall, of sallow complexion and said very little. I had apparently met him a couple of times but not got to know anything about him. Now he was coming to my house. He said, "I have a car but I don't like to take it anywhere". However, it appeared he was prepared to drive this to my house.

Then it seemed I was in his car and so was my daughter Diana, and she was grown up, not a little child as she so often is in dreams. We were driving to his house. I heard her saying, "Mum, there is a poster flapping about on the front of the car, about something that happened in 1931!" Then I opened my eyes, which I did not know were shut, and looked out along the bonnet, which was green and of a long, rectangular shape. I realized this was a vintage car, so I told Diana that the poster was meant to convey that the car was authentic. The bonnet was made of loose plates of metal that were not firmly attached, and were rattling and flapping about.

At the house it got even weirder. This house was built to his own design and we were walking down a narrow corridor which had cages built into the wall, floor to ceiling and stretching out either side. The cages were full of little animals, mice, hamsters, even some small cats, and there was mechanical apparatus - like toys and railways, connecting the cages and the animals were going on rides round and round. They were all silent, but had bright eyes and looked healthy. They were all dressed in exquisite small garments in bright colors - they even had hats and bonnets - all neat, clean and well washed. Since there were so many, I thought he must spend a great part of every day washing, ironing and dressing these creatures in clean clothes. I got the impression he was looking for a woman to do this for him, and then Diana told me, "He says he is into submissive sex, he wants a woman who will give up her free will and do whatever he says." I found this oddly fascinating - that was the end of the dream!

Carla's thoughts: This dream has some similar elements to a dream that Firequeen posted on this blog some time ago: Previous Dream  If it were my dream, I would first look at the similarities and differences between the two dreams. In the first dream I find the man very attractive; in this dream he's sallow and uncommunicative. In the first dream he has presented me with an exciting red car that he offers to teach me to drive, and in this one he doesn't even like to drive his own. If, as in the last dream, he represents the part of me that works and engages with the larger world (my animus), I'm fed up with that world at the moment! However, in this dream I think he represents something else.

My (inner) child and I leave the place where I live (my customary way of looking at things) and join this rather unattractive fellow en route to his house. The dream mentions the year 1931, so I need to puzzle out what that particular number means to me. Did something significant for my life happen that year? If not, I need to look at the number in a different way—for example, was my 1st, 9th, 3rd, or 19th year important in some way that influences me now? (The dreamer will have to mine her own associations to figure out what the number means to her.) Excavating its significance may be difficult for me, because it is something I have shut my eyes to without even realizing it. But they are open now.

The long rectangular shape of the bonnet makes me think of a coffin, but the fact that it is green, the color of new life, implies that the part of me that has died will be replaced with something new and vital. Vintage evokes something that has improved with age (my understanding, perhaps?), and once I become aware of this in the dream I know that my dream (the car, the vehicle) will take me to an authentic insight. The hard things I've had on my plate (the metal plates) are not firmly attached to my journey, and after they rattle and flap around for a while I expect they will shake loose.

Nevertheless, I still have this house—the one I don't inhabit—to contend with. My journey has lead me here, so what will I discover? The house was designed by someone else. The corridor is narrow, implying that the vision of my life as seen in this house not of my making is constricted. My animals, that is, my instincts and life force, have been caged. This confinement of the vital part of me goes back to childhood, to the time of toys and little trains. And trained I was: to be neat and tidy and clean. How much time have I spent since then trying to make my animal presentable (acceptable)? The rules of society are attached to the “father” archetype, and my inner child (my daughter) knows this. She points out that “the man” is looking for submission: Be a good little girl and don't make a mess! At this point in my life I am fascinated to discover the unconscious forces that have shaped my life and behavior.

Pomona is Stepped On

The Dream: Someone has changed Pomona, one of my paintings that depicts the goddess of the fruits of the orchard. Five different shoes have been superimposed in the area between her navel and her breasts in a circular, asymmetrical arrangement. Pomona herself has been “pushed back;” blurred until she's a ghost of her former self, and I almost can't make out who she is. In fact, she takes on the name of another goddess from a different painting: Taera, who represents the earth.

We can't see the goddess clearly, but we do clearly see the shoes! I begin to like this alternative rendition of the painting; I think it's more contemporary and mysterious.

Clark and I go down a very steep sand dune to to the sea, and I'm not sure I'll be able  to climb back up. Clark tells me this is the “easy” way. On an adjoining sand dune I see a large menagerie of animals: emu, wolf, raccoon, and many others, charging up the hill. Nature has been restored, and I feel that the animals will not threaten us if they are given their own space.

Interpretation: Pomona is the goddess who represents nature's bounty, and Taera represents the earth. Both the earth and its bounty have been stepped on and obscured by our consumerist culture. I am so used to this that I can no longer see the goddesses who represent our crucial relationship with the environment. I have come to like and accept things the way they are.

I get to the sea (the unconscious) where I see things as they should be. The animals have an uphill battle, but they prevail and nature is restored. The dream tells me that it is important to honor the processes of the planet and get our priorities in order. Only then can we live in harmony with nature (the animals).

Guest Dreamer: Solo Visit

Hunky's dream is about art, which symbolizes her most authentic self.

Hunky's Dream: I’m walking along San Pablo, near Ashby, in Oakland, heading north. There is an obvious entrance way I am curious about, so I enter. In a short distance I am underground. Is this an underground shopping center? I keep walking.

I’m now in a space as big as a football field. Throughout the space are areas where artists work. There are no separations between them--no walls, just spaces that flow into each other but reflect the uniqueness of each artist/craftsman. Sparsely located throughout the space is contemporary-looking work--some pieces small, some pieces large, all of them hold my attention and appreciation. I like being in this open space. I am particularly taken with a large, circular wood construction that the artist uses to produce his work. It is a beautiful piece of sculpture in itself. I’m impressed with the overall beauty of the place I’m in. It’s quiet in here. It’s a little odd that there are no artists in sight but this doesn’t bother me. To be social would interfere with the visual experience I am enjoying.

I walk up an organically shaped ramp to get to the outdoors. There are no right angles on the ramp, all soft curves. I look closely at the surface I am walking on barefoot. Embedded in the ramp material are tiny pieces of metal, copper and silver. They poke at the soles of my feet, but they do not hurt me.

On the rooftop the surface is covered with a material as dark as asphalt. The material must be as soft as sandstone, though, because all of it has been altered in some way. What I’m walking on has been altered by means of scraping away or building up. An undulating attractive surface was created.

A woman (about 60) greets me and offers to show me around. She is the only person I’ve seen since entering from the street. We visit artist’s areas. As it was when I was in the basement, the artists are not here either. At one place, an artist has created unique pieces of furniture, all of which has an animal as part of it. I see a wooden chair with a life-sized cat carved as part of the arm of the chair. The cat is the arm of the chair but it is definitely a cat as well. On the arm of a sofa is a soft animal form made of the same material as the rest of the sofa. These animals are cleverly integrated as part of the furniture. All the animal forms are compatible with, or the same materials as the furniture.

The woman tells me she is an artist but works here for other artists. I notice she is standing on the edge of the surface here on the rooftop. She is standing on the balls of her feet, like a diver who is preparing to do a back dive.

Then she shows me a large unfinished part of a connected rooftop area and tells me that her boss (an artist) wants to expand his area there. I mention that it must be strong to handle the weight. She says it is.

We approach this person who is her boss. He and she exchange pleasantries. Then the woman asks him if she can use his toilet. He doesn’t seem to be willing to allow it. I figure it must be a tricky and difficult task to install plumbing on this rooftop that has such a surface such as this one. But he tells her she can use the toilet.

As I wait, I hear the sounds of expulsion. I’m not embarrassed. The sounds are loud and powerful.

Carla's Thoughts: As usual, I will respond to Hunky's dream as if it were my own; I invite her to add to our understanding of her dream by leaving us her thoughts as well.

My natural curiosity, something I associate with my playful, creative inner child, has led me to an entrance to the underground (my unconscious). That I at first think I might be encountering a shopping center tells me that this area contains things I might buy (accept), or—by the same token—that I might not. But I pass by this initial response, and, as I do, the space opens up. In fact it becomes huge. Here I am given a vision of my artistic possibilities (my potential). I see no artists here because all of them are me, and we never see ourselves. The contemporary work symbolizes the things my psyche is currently working on. The circular construction represents the many facets of myself working together; this construction is me. In a place of beauty and serenity I am at peace with, and can appreciate, who I am.

As I walk up a ramp (go to a higher level by bringing some of this material into consciousness) my world becomes even more expansive: I am outdoors. This is a natural place, both because it is outdoors and because there are no sharp angles. My soul (sole) is poked, prodded, but this is not painful. On the rooftop I encounter a material that represents my life experiences, some dark, but all altered by the sculpting, the scraping and building up, of things I've done. I appreciate my life; it's an undulating (moving, changing like a river) and attractive achievement.

Then I encounter my anima (the 60 year old woman). She shows me forms (the animal / furniture combinations) that point me to the realization that I can be relaxed (as if on a sofa) with my physical self (the animal). Yes, we are physical beings and subject to all the woes of the flesh, including our own deaths, but my soul tells me I will find my own way of putting these apparently opposing forces, the animate and the inanimate, together in a way that will be comfortable. This part of me is on dangerous ground, standing on edge, maybe about to go over—but she doesn't. She shows me the unfinished business I have yet to complete, and she assures me that I can handle it, heavy though the task may be.

The boss, a controlling part of myself that is very demanding and wants to expand his domain, reluctantly allows my soul to express herself. She does so with gusto, and I affirm her action.

The Dream Journal

Figuring out who’s who is this dream’s puzzle.
The Dream: Mary tells me her friend is interested in dreams and shows me her dream journal. When I see it I feel inadequate. The woman has illustrated every scene of a dream that goes on for seven pages. The illustrations are creative and clever. She has made an illustration of little iced cookies in the shape of animals that represents Mary: Mary doesn’t care for it; she thinks it’s “too sweet,” but I think it’s charming. The illustrations are colorful, playful, and chic at the same time.

Interpretation: The Mary in this dream is a waking life friend. I am the only friend she has who keeps a dream journal. So—does this make me the friend whose dream journal she is showing me? Is she, in fact, showing me my own dream journal? And if she is, why do I feel inadequate when I see it? This leads to the next identity puzzle: is Mary actually Mary, or is she standing in for someone else? As an old friend she stands in for someone from my past. Who, I have to ask myself, in my past reacted to my work in a judgmental way? This leads me to the inevitable conclusion that the Mary in my dream stands in for my inner “mother.” The seven pages and the iced cookies hint at the era the dream evokes: when I was seven years old. A hopeful sign: I stand up for myself, disagreeing with Mary’s (mother’s) assessment of my artwork.

Life and Death

This dream builds on the theme of Don’t Forget the Dogs from a few nights ago. In that dream I tried to avoid looking at the most basic reality of life—that it ends. Here I begin to accept this inevitability.

The Dream: I’m in someone’s house. She has pets; one a dog, the other a lizard. The lizard looks like a made-up animal, like a dream animal come to life. It’s very cute. My friend is pretty, and naive. She wants her animals to get along and, like a child, thinks they will. She puts them outside together. A few moments later we see one end of the lizard sticking out of the dog’s mouth. I feel sick and don’t even want to think about what shape the rest of the lizard is in. She wants to pull it out of the dog’s mouth. I think it might be better to let the dog finish the job.

Interpretation: The lizard represents the basic life force. My naïve part wants to believe that this life force can happily co-exist with death. When she puts the lizard (life) and the dog (death) together in their natural setting (outdoors), the inevitable happens: death devours life. The dream ego is distressed but accepting.

Do I Need Another Dimension?

The Dream: I’m invited to create art work for a Renaissance church. A fellow artist is Raphael-lo. I am honored that I have been asked to do this, but anxious because the job is a huge undertaking. It involves decorating an entire wall and ceiling up to the peak formed by a vaulted arch.

I’m in a state; I usually work small and this job is too much for me. On the other hand, I don’t want to say no. I go to look at the space and discover that it isn’t covered with painting, but with sculpture on little platforms jutting out. Some of the sculptures are of animals; one is a pig’s head. I feel I can use this as my excuse not to take on the commission, explaining to my prospective clients that I don’t work in three dimensions. They accept this excuse in good faith, and I am relieved.

Interpretation: My unconscious is suggesting that I consider pushing myself to a new dimension (work in sculpture, 3-D, instead of painting, 2-D). The primitive or instinctive (the animal sculpture) needs to be integrated into my higher consciousness (the church).  I am ambivalent, not wanting to do this, and not wanting to say no. I wriggle out of it. The unconscious, in accepting my excuse, lets me off the hook—at least for the time being.

The Child and the Puppy

The Dream: My daughter has a little dog. She leaves it kenneled while she goes to work. Clark is concerned that it will be miserable left alone in its kennel for so long. I don’t want to take responsibility for the animal, which feels like a burden. We go to my daughter’s house and let out the puppy, which joyfully jumps on us for a while. After a short time it has had enough companionship and returns to its kennel, happy to be alone again. “See,” I say to Clark, “it’s fine with the current arrangement. When they go to work lots of people leave their dogs home alone.”

Interpretation: The dream points out the relationship between my ego and my instincts (represented by the dog). I repress this instinctive side so I can work. M. Esther Harding, an acolyte of Jung’s, tells us that inertia, which she sees as an instinctive human state, is one of the first obstacles humanity must overcome on the road to consciousness.* But what about the child? Jung sees this archetype as leading the way to our spiritual development. In this dream, the animal (instinctive) belongs to the child (spiritual). Jung emphasizes the ambivalent in his understanding of God; in other words, as a very wise friend of mine once said, “It’s all part of it.” The dream tells me not to separate my instincts from my “higher” self.

*M. Esther Harding, Psychic energy, Its Source and Its Transformation, Bollinger Series X, (Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1973), Chapter 3. Inertia and Restlessness, pp 37-59.

Why Are Things Unconscious?

The Dream: I am working on an image in Photoshop. The software suggests what part of the image should be cropped out. I don’t like the software making these determinations, but after a while I realize it’s right. The areas it wants me to delete are populated with animals and plants: leaving these in detracts from the main part of the picture.

Interpretation: Our more primitive knowledge and experience, symbolized here by plants and animals, is kept at an unconscious level; so it appears to have been deleted (cropped out). This dream tells me why: consciousness evolved to enable us to focus.

Pods

The Dream: Black pods—like pea pods only shorter and shiny—are open and attached, in a decorative pattern, to the skin of a woman. It is something akin to a tattoo. In each pod is a small figure of something—perhaps a person or an animal. She is going to change out the figures, but keep the attached pods. I am repelled by this.

Interpretation: I’ve got something under my skin. The reference to the tattoo suggests I’ve been marked by a painful (black) experience. I am willing to change out the players in my pods, but since I keep their receptacles I have to think it’s likely they will be back.

The Mouse

The Dream: A mouse is hiding between the wall and the sofa. Only two small parts of the animal can be seen: a bit of nose and tail.

Interpretation: A timid little part of me hasn’t revealed much of itself, at least not so far (sofa). It has, however, come out from behind its wall. It’s curious—it’s sticking its nose in. And it isn’t completely spineless; we can see by its tail it has one.

Anubis

The Dream: I see an Egyptian figure with the head of an animal and the body of a man. This is how it looked visually, but in the dream I describe it as the head of a man and the body of an animal. A song plays over and over: “Unbreak My Heart.”

Interpretation: An ancient (Egyptian) question: Are we spirit or consciousness (the head) trapped in matter (the body), or matter that acquired spirit? The song refers to the heartbreaking cycle, replayed in each life, of life and death.

Written on the Body

Once we have attained middle age Jung tells us that our job is to come to terms with our own mortality.

The Dream: Clark and I are at the airport with lots of baggage. We’ve taken some of this into the terminal but most of our carry on is still in our parked van, which has been painted black. We go for a walk. When we return the van is gone—a woman has taken it to search for her dog, which someone has kidnapped. We go in search of her.

I am anxious. There is increased security at the airports and we must check in an hour ahead. I don’t feel any sympathy for the woman searching for her dog, but I hope she finds the animal so we can get the rest of our things and get on with it. I worry we’ll lose our parking spot by the time she returns.
Finally we find her and re-park the van. I notice the lock to my door is on the outside of the window, which seems useless.

Part of our luggage consists of t-shirt fragments printed with genealogical information and punctuated with blocks of color.

Interpretation: The unconscious is struggling with the idea of mortality (the imminent airplane ride will take me off the planet). This makes the dream ego anxious and uncomfortable. The missing animal embodies the primal aspects of life: sex, birth, death. I want to put the vehicle of change (van) back into its parking place. When the woman returns the van its lock has moved to the outside: once we’ve gained the knowledge of life and death it’s impossible to lock out what we know. The t-shirts symbolize our DNA, which maps our reality. Our past and future is encoded there: written on the body (thank you, Jeanette Winterson).  But perhaps it’s not the whole story?

Don’t Send in the Cavalry

Look at the words and images in your dreams carefully. Often what seems like nonsense at first glance can be deciphered if you look for puns and plays on words, and think about the possible alternate meanings of the images.
 
The Dream: The dream is set in a barren, hilly setting. I’m sitting with a group of people on a bleacher facing a valley formed by other hills. There’s a deep crevice between the hills. We hear the sound of hooves and see the cavalry approaching. Their uniforms are gray, and they seem antiquarian. They stop at the foot of our bleacher and begin to sing. Their leader faces us and we all sing with him. His name eludes me, and I decide to practice writing it. He is Major Paul Baurow, pronounced Bo-Ro. I practice spelling and pronouncing it. There are two letter combinations in his last name, both pronounced “oh” but spelled differently. When I address him I still can’t remember his last name and call him Major Paul.

There is a man in the group (not a soldier) I am attracted to. He seems to be attracted to me as well. At first my husband encourages me to go to an event with the man, then Clark seems to become suspicious. I say flippantly, “We’re going to have monkey sex.”

Interpretation: The deep crevice tells me I’m dealing with some sort of split, and the dream exposes a conflict between my independence from--and my submission to--societal restraints. The cavalry and Paul Baurow (pall bearer or politburo) represent societal coercion, which “palls” the spirit. They expect me to sing along with the group. The attractive man is the part of me that is not regimented, “not a soldier,” and that wants to be uncivilized and experience the freedom of the animal (monkey sex).  My husband (my other half) is divided, just like the split in the hill. One moment he is encouraging me, the next not.