My Cup Runs Over

The Dream: I am at a church function, in a crowded hall filled with chairs and circular tables. The light level is dim; it is noisy and busy. I am in a long line of people waiting, cafeteria style, to get food. The person dispensing the food has the outgoing charm of a bartender. He is bright and shiny, with curly blond hair and angelic good looks. He is,in fact, the vicar. I’m aware that I think very highly of him.

When my turn comes I order a chicken sandwich. The vicar seems to work efficiently, but time goes by, and my food does not appear. After a while I see a tray near me and take it, soon realizing it’s not a chicken sandwich but has a small round quiche and some delicious looking salads. “Umm,” I think “this is clearly someone else’s, but it looks better than what I ordered so I’ll take it. I’m sure the other person will be able to sort it out.” I am feeling just that little bit uneasy about taking someone else’s food, which may have cost more than my chicken sandwich, but expediency wins the day, and I go on my way with my ill gotten gain, looking for a free table. I’m also looking forward to eating this delicious plate of food.

But wait! Now I notice that the lovely round quiche is half-eaten, with clear little bite marks where the rest of the quiche should be. I have someone’s half-eaten dinner. “Shall I eat it anyway?” I wonder. The thought of a stranger’s germs becomes too distasteful; I get back into the food line in order to exchange this meal for my chicken sandwich.

The Inquisition

The Dream: In a classroom, with several rows of people seated in an orderly arrangement on the Danish modern classroom chairs of my childhood. A Chinese dictator presides. He is very angry because he has opened a package meant for me that has exploded, singeing his brows and mouth, which are the most prominent features of his mask-like face. He wants to know who’s to blame for the explosion. I admit, after a while, that it is my fault. He says, ominously, “You will suffer.” He demands to know the full story, and although I’m reluctant at first to implicate others, I tell it.

I acted at the behest of another authority figure, a white middle-aged man. As I tell my story, the Asian dictator comes to me, and he very gently hugs me. This seems out of character and I don’t know what to think. I don’t trust him, and I don’t think his affectionate gesture means that he will not administer whatever punishment he feels my deed merits.

Interpretation: I’m in a classroom; I have something to learn. The room’s furniture tells me it’s a lesson from my childhood when I did something that caused an explosion (emotional upheaval). As seems to be the case in childhood, the most important thing to the one in charge is to find out whose fault it is. But I am stuck, since my action was demanded by yet another authority, this one a white man. The Asian, being a different race from me, represents what Jung calls my “shadow,” a part of myself that I have not consciously acknowledged. My shadow shows some tenderness and compassion upon realizing my dilemma, but my dream ego is not won over. This issue needs more work, and I expect to see it arise in future dreams.

The Chicken and the Egg

When someone you know appears in a dream you have to puzzle out whether the dream is about that person and your relationship or that person as an aspect of yourself. In this dream, which I interpret as being about my development as an artist, I see my husband symbolically as “my other half.” In this role, as my Animus, he supports my desire to “steal” some creativity. There’s often a parallel between myths and dreams: in this case it’s Prometheus stealing fire from the gods.

The Dream: I’m walking with my husband Clark in a large garden. I pass by a chicken and a rectangular box of eggs, but then have second thoughts and call it to Clark’s attention. “Look,” I say, “You don’t have to buy chickens. You can have a wild one.” The chicken is very colorful, looking more like a rooster than a hen. It is small and struts behind the box of eggs, apparently guarding them. I suggest to Clark that we take some of the eggs; meanwhile I’m worried about the chicken’s reaction. I wonder how she sits on them to hatch them; they are spread out in a rectangular box and she would have to sit on them sequentially. As we begin to cull the eggs I have a new worry: what if some of the eggs have begun to develop into chicks? How awful would it be to open an egg and see a partially developed chick! We select some eggs. They vary in size. We try to avoid the ones with developing chicks in them.

Interpretation: The incubating creativity is here and available. It’s up to me to be aware of it. It is part of the deeply instinctive. It is guarded by the Eternal Maternal, in herself very beautiful, but a force that needs to be worked around and placated because she represents both the good and the bad of the traditional. A rigid conventionality, represented by the box, could hamper the potential of the eggs, some of which are developing in a conventional manner. We want the ones that have not started to develop: infinite potential.