The Sea

The Dream: I’m on a beautiful beach in Maui. The waves are delightful and the water temperature perfect. The scene switches and I’m in law enforcement, riding in a van looking for perps. I drive an old battered van, its front window shattered by a bullet, yet I’m full of confidence.

I want to go back to the beach. To get there I have to go through a door, as if the beach is in a room. It’s my last day on Maui, and I want to enjoy it. As I experience the lovely sea I think that now Clark will understand why I like the beaches on the East Coast—the water there is similar, warm and pleasant.

Interpretation: The conflict here seems pretty clear: my sensual pleasure-oriented part versus the rule-following enforcer. The relatively bad shape of the enforcer’s van, and the fact that the window (my point of view) has been shattered, hints that this part of me is losing ground, that in some way how I see things has changed.  And sure enough, I go back to the beach.

To get to the beach I go through a door, symbolizing a transformation and emphasizing that something has changed. I choose enjoyment and the renewal or rebirth that the sea represents. The reference to the East speaks metaphorically of an illumination—the sun rises in the east, the Wise Men came from the East, and so on.  The dream is telling me that not only have I changed, but that I will soon realize it.

Intruders

The Dream: I am returning home in the evening with the family. We are walking along the sidewalk to our townhouse that opens onto the street. As we approach our door I notice a window ajar. I point this out to the others, feeling clever that I have noticed. “I didn’t leave the window that way,” I say. I walk up a step or two and push the front door, which opens at my touch. In the dim interior light I see a young man scrambling into his clothes; we’ve apparently caught him in flagrante delicto: but what is the crime? Not really caring whether he is using my home for a sexual encounter, as it appears, or whether he’s come to steal, I am frightened and angry. “Call the cops,” he suggests. I am so frightened that I have trouble deciding which phone to use—cell or land line—and can’t find either. Somehow I manage to make the call, telling the cops a burglary is in progress. Then I wonder who else is in the house. There must be a girl, I think, since it seems we’ve caught the fellow having sex. “Did they use my bed?” I wonder, feeling grossed out.