The Bear on a Fixed Track

You can learn a lot about your dream by taking the time to look at the words, especially plays on words or double meanings. The following dream is a good example.
The Dream: I have a stuffed bear that navigates the world on a track. I'm with it in the back garden, then watch as it goes through the back door of my house, on its track, and out through the front. It's not capable of locking the doors so I do that. I watch the bear roll down the street and wonder what the neighbors think of it.

I'm planning to rendezvous with my bear at a museum I used to enjoy. To get there I have to scale down what looks like an artifact of the ancient past: a steep, carved palisade. Part of its side begins to detach as I descend. Two things worry me. I don't want to deface this ancient carving, and yet I'm afraid that if I try to fix it, to make it right, I'll lose my footing and fall into the pit.

When I get to the museum it is rundown and in disrepair. Not much is left that is interesting. I'm disappointed; this place is not what it was. There's one bright spot: I recognize a stained glass window that I still like.

Interpretation: To start, let's take a look at the word “bear.” Am I as grumpy as a bear? Is there something I can't bear? Am I feeling discouraged, in the dumps (bearish)? Am I closed-minded, fixed and unswerving in my fixed track? One thing seems obvious, the state of mind this dream is dealing with is rooted in the past. You'll notice the references to the back garden, the back door, the palisade that's an artifact of the past, and the museum, a place that houses old things. And since my bear is stuffed, I'm guessing that what's got me down and grouchy is some stuff from way back.

The dream gives me an opportunity to work through some unresolved past issues. The meeting with my bear takes me to a place where I can look at my old stuff (in the museum) and realize it's not interesting anymore. My fears are unnecessary: I don't lose my footing or fall into the pit along the way. If the carved sides along my descent are disintegrating, I accept that I can't fix them. And there is even a bright spot: I find something to love and cherish, a stained glass window. It lets in a transformed and colorful light.

Edged Out

The Dream: A bus passes; it's attractive, looking like a large one story suburban house. I wonder how it will make the turns. I get on another bus, knowing it's going in the wrong direction but thinking I can take it to a place where I can get the right one. I put a notebook down on a seat about three-quarters down the aisle to save it for myself, then go toward the front to ask the driver for directions. When I return a man has taken the seat. I'm surprised at this rudeness, but am mostly concerned with getting back my notebook.

Interpretation: The life I am accustomed to living is attractive--if circumscribed (single story); it leaves me outside my own center (it's suburban). Into the bargain, it's passing me by. I don't think this way of life will allow me to evolve (I don't think it can make the turns). Since a bus is a public conveyance, it symbolizes the direction of the society and my role as a member of that society. When I do get on a bus, I think it's going in the wrong direction. Nevertheless, I'm still hoping I can get to where I want to go, even though I've made a commitment to stay in one spot (the seat I've chosen). I realize I need some help in charting my path, so I go to the driver (the part of me that is setting my course) for some advice. When I return my fixed spot has been taken—this is a rude awakening, but my main concern is to get back a notebook. Since I use one to record my dreams I think the unconscious is trying to tell me this is an important step in the process of understanding my true path. Perhaps the unique look of the first bus I saw is a hint that even though we travel with the larger society, we might not see things the way it does.

Boxed In

This dream begins a series dealing with the deaths of loved ones over the years.

The Dream: I am trying to move, packing my things into a car. Stephen (a friend from long ago, now dead) is helping. There are things I can't solve that he easily overcomes. For example, to load the backseat he removes a sliding door, effortlessly. I hadn't realized that was possible. I'm in the backseat as he does this and get “boxed” in. I wonder how I'll get out so that I can join him in the front seat, but then it occurs to me that I can climb over the seat back. This realization gives me a free and happy feeling.

Interpretation: Stephen, my first close friend to die, has come to help me move (move on). In other words, he helps me begin to accept our limited time on earth and gives me a sense of the possibility of an afterlife. Because he has passed through death he understands things that I don't. He knows how to work the sliding door, the moveable separation between this life and the next. I am almost boxed in by my limited view, but just in time get enough insight to climb out of my difficulty.

It’s a Free Country

One technique that I find useful—and perhaps you will, too—is what I call a “write around.” When I don’t have a clue about what a dream means, I take it image by image and write whatever comes into my mind. By the time I’ve worked my way through the dream I understand its message.

The Dream: A young man with short, curly blond hair is lying in the front garden, more or less collapsed. I feel he’s trespassing when I see him from the living room window, sunk into the grass. I go out to confront him: why has he taken up this position on my front lawn? I notice he appears to be a homeless derelict who cannot communicate with me; perhaps he is on drugs. I am frightened and leave him where he is.

The Write Around: A young man with short, curly blond hair is lying in the front garden, more or less collapsed. This dream deals with a part of me that’s the opposite of my waking self: a young man instead of an old woman. When did I have short, curly blond hair? Perhaps when I was seven. He has put himself in a place where I can’t ignore him: in the front garden, but he is in bad shape—collapsed. So—a weak part of me, one that relates to my distant past, is coming into my awareness.