A Gaping Wound

If you've been reading this column for a while you might enjoy trying your hand at interpreting this dream. Read the dream, come up with your own thoughts, then read what the dreamer told me she thought it meant.

The Dream: I look down at my right leg and it has an ugly gash—the edges are ragged. Bugs crawl out of the wound. I am very upset and begin to hope it's a dream—I think it is—I don't feel the pain that such a nasty injury would cause. Finally I manage, to my relief, to awaken myself.

The Dreamer's Interpretation: I've been going through a difficult time with my boyfriend, but I've been trying to ignore the problem. The dream got me to ask myself in what way I've been wounded, and how have I deadened myself (not felt the pain). Something is bugging me and needs to come out. I need to wake up and think about what's going on in my life.

Carla: Did you get it right? Guess what? It doesn't matter. The important thing is not whether or not you interpret the dream the same way the dreamer did. The important thing is what you'll learn from your own projections.

The Green Bug

The Dream: I'm chasing a green bug in the bathroom. It looks more like a flat, round green flower than like a bug—but it's mobile and runs from me. I try to catch it to take it outside as it scurries around the base of the toilet. As it evades my attempt yet again I lose patience and decide to squash it. Then I take pity on it, seeing it wants to live, and I let it go.

Interpretation: Something is bugging me, something that I'd like to get out of my system (it's near the toilet). I want to be rid of it, to let it go, but it evades me. My solution is to put it outside (air my feelings), but, by refusing to be caught, my difficulty refuses to be handled in this way. I lose patience and decide to suppress it (I want to kill the bug). I relent, however, when I become aware that it is a carrier of the life force (it wants to live): The color green is indicative of new life, and, besides, there's something playful about the way this creature teases me. I think it's probably a good thing that I let it live, and I hope it lets me take it outside, into the open, soon. 

Guess I'll Go Eat Worms

To figure out what a dream like this means, I have to look at what is going on in my life that is triggering behavior (or a feeling) that I don't accept.
The Dream: My husband, Clark, has found an insect in the garden that we know is destructive. He shows it to me, and I go to get a plastic bag to put it in. I ask if he wants a thin or a heavy plastic: what is necessary to contain the pest, to keep it confined so it won't spread and multiply?

I come back with a small bag. Clark puts in the insect that he's already wrapped in newspaper, and then the bagged creature goes into yet another waste plastic bag and into the landfill trash. I think it's too bad that we have to put all that recyclable plastic into the landfill bin, but it's important that this bug cannot get free and spread.

My neighbor Irene comes over and starts to talk about the bug. She mentions that we have been removing and eating its larvae. This is true, and I am embarrassed that she was aware of it. I hadn't made the connection between the larvae and the bug, and I feel uncomfortable about her knowing so much. But then I remember how snoopy she is, and that not much could happen without her knowledge. I feel weird about our having eaten the larvae. One part of me thinks, “We deep fried them, and they were crispy and tasty.” Another part thinks, “Disgusting.”

Interpretation: This dream deals with a deep ambivalence. Something is bugging me. I think it's destructive, and at the same time it's nourished me. I want it not only contained and destroyed, but hidden, even though one part of me regrets the cost of so much concealment. (The recyclable plastic, a potential resource, could be put to better use elsewhere.) I feel uncomfortable about the rewarding aspects of something that I don't think is socially acceptable. (I'd rather my neighbor didn't know.) I have to look at what is going on in my life that is triggering this unacceptable behavior or emotion; then I need to figure out what about it has some sort of payoff. Once I become aware of the unconscious conflict I might be able to resolve it.

Guest Dreamer: My Inner Light

Today’s guest dream comes from artist and writer Gail Gray who has recently published Shaman Circus. She had the dream the night before her 61^st birthday.

The Dream:  I was at the Burgholzi Clinic in Zurich and Dr. Carl Jung was there.  He had asked many of us to bring our “patients” into a room so he could see how we were doing with their analyses.  At first we were all worried, what would these unusual people do with each other?  Would there be trouble?  Would they get along?

So I left and got my patient (I never saw myself in the dream, I just know it was me in my own skin walking around and doing things. I never talked.  I came back with my “patient” who was a large teddy bear sort of man, mute, who carried a large mason jar full of lightening bugs.  He moved very slowly--as if in a dream within my dream, sort of “not with it,” - a lumbering giant. The man himself was sad and poignant, not quite sure what to do. I was uncomfortable and feeling bad because I hadn't made much progress with my giant and had not come to know him very well. There wasn't much action after this, even when other people brought in their “patients,” except that we were all rather mesmerized by the beauty of the light in the jar, but also the bittersweet sadness of them being trapped in a jar. 

When I woke on my birthday I was elated, even though in the dream I'd been uncomfortable because of the remarkable appearance of Jung.

Carla’s thoughts: As usual when interpreting a guest dream, I’ll react to Gail’s dream as if it were my own. (If you would like to know why, read this post: Cement Men of Mars.)

Here’s my take on Gail’s dream: Dr. Jung has asked me (the dream ego) to produce my patient (a part of myself that I don’t entirely accept) so that he can assess my progress in analyzing (understanding and integrating) him. My concern about whether or not my patient will get along with the others hints at a social discomfort: I am afraid of conflict or some sort of disharmony if I allow this part of me out in public. The fact that I’m not talking in the dream tells me that I’m dealing with something that is unconscious: it can’t be “verbalized” or discussed—at least not yet.

Because my patient evokes a “teddy bear” he symbolizes my vulnerable inner child, possibly the Divine Child archetype (he carries light). That he is large tells me he represents something that is very important to me; and that he’s mute emphasizes the nonverbal, unconscious element that my own silence in the dream alludes to. This child has not been able to get through to me (he’s not quite sure what to do, and I feel bad because I don’t know him very well). The crux of the dream, however, lies in this unusual detail about the figure:  He is the source of a mesmerizing--if confined--light.

Dr. Jung represents my healing journey toward getting in touch with this source of light within me. The word “patient” is repeated four times in this relatively short dream, hinting that I need to be patient in order to understand the spiritual truth of the light I carry. My light is carried in a Mason jar; a mason works with stone; revealing this light is hard (as stone) for me.

The timing of this dream is significant. Because I had this dream on the eve of my birthday, it symbolizes the birth of a new understanding. I am elated because I’ve begun to experience my own inner light, and I can anticipate freeing it from its previously limited existence (in the mason jar).

The dreamer always gets the last word, so I encourage Gail to leave us her thoughts in a comment.

What's Bugging Me?

The Dream: A stepped garden leads to my apartment. Some others from the complex are with me; they get to their apartment by first entering mine and then going up some stairs to the right. The space opening to my apartment is separated from the vestibule by a counter covered with decorative plants. My companions, on entering the vestibule, survey my apartment and remark on its attractiveness. The woman says she wishes hers were as lovely. I think her place probably has the exact same layout as mine, and it’s a question of what one does with it.

As they are admiring my place, which does look beautiful, I notice bugs coming out of the pots on the counter. This is distressing and I wonder what caused them to appear. Did I leave some food around? I’m hoping my “guests” won’t notice as I search for the cause. At first I notice that one pot in particular, the one to the far right, has lots of small creatures emerging. But then I notice all do.

Interpretation: The stepped garden represents my personal growth.  My feelings of isolation (apart-ment complex) and I (the dream ego) encounter one another in this dream.  I begin to realize we live in the same space (her place has the same layout as mine). I see that my complex splits off from our common domain (the entry way) and go upstairs to its usual habitation, the intellect (on a higher level, to the right). I am happy with my beautiful apartment until I notice all is not right: something unpleasant and distressing emerges. The bugs represent something I don’t want to accept and can’t control (the fly in the ointment). I need to figure out where they fit in.

Re-organized

Another odd little creature emerges in this dream, which seems to reflect the 3-tiered organization that Jung and Freud attributed to the mind.

The Dream: The bathroom’s vanity counter is clear. I am surprised and wonder where my things have gone: Clark has re-organized. A new tube of shampoo and other items have been moved to a shelf underneath. I start to place the shampoo back where it was, and Clark intervenes. “No! No,” he says, “If you move that everything behind it will tumble down.” He puts his hand over mind to stop me.

“That’s a new tube,” I say. “If I can’t see it I might forget about it and buy another one.” I leave it where he’s moved it, but soon come up with a solution.  I see a 3-tiered plastic organizer, which I think will solve this dilemma. I will be able to see my stuff when I open the vanity door; the stuff will be off the top of the counter; it will be organized, and--important to me—I’ll be able to retrieve it when I need to.

I must clean the organizer before I use it; it has been sitting under the counter for quite a while. I take it out and run a finger along one edge. I discover a compact white webbed mass, like a spot where a spider lays eggs. I am alarmed when I see a black shiny spider leg, thinking it’s a Black Widow. I call out to Clark and then notice the spider has a different pattern on her back, in shades of beige and brown. I’m relieved.

Next I see a very unusual insect, something in between a lizard and a beetle. It is beautiful in an odd sort of a way, and I’ve never seen anything like it. I call out to Clark again to tell him he has to see this interesting bug.  I don’t want to kill it, but I do want it removed.

Interpretation: A re-organization is taking place in my mind. The ego is not the primer mover in this re-org; that role has been assigned to Clark, who represents an unconscious force, my animus. The ego works to come to terms with a process that is taking place beneath its awareness, as symbolized by things being moved under the counter. The 3 tiers reflect the classical model that layered the mind into the unconscious, the sub-conscious, and the conscious.

I’m afraid of some of the neglected elements that might be coming into consciousness, as seen by my reaction to the spider. Once I have integrated the spider by deciding it isn’t so fearsome after all, I am ready to confront the lizard part of my brain.