Something Stinks

Whether we're interacting with a cousin, a parent, a sibling, a partner, or a child, the past is not as buried as we'd sometimes like to think: it's important to look at how old feelings influence our relationships in the here and now.
The Dream: My cousin Barb is visiting. Clark and I are entertaining in the garden, full of brilliant orange and purple flowers. Barb sits with her back to the house, on the lowest level near the family room and kitchen. She looks up at an arrangement of tall flowers, stepped as if they were on a grandstand. To the right is the fountain, surrounded by flowers as tall as it is.

I am mixing with the guests and don't see much of Barb. When I do see her she says, “The garden is very beautiful, but there is a bad smell coming up from under the house.”

I am relieved that she approves of the garden; I had been worried that there were too many of the same flower, and perhaps the arrangement was not exactly graceful. At the same time I'm upset by her comment about the bad smell. “How could I have let her sit there?"  I wonder. I knew about that smell. Or did I? I think I did. I feel judged inadequate.

Later I see her drinking a large glass of red wine. She calls out to me to join her, and I tell her I'm about to, as soon as I find a glass. I call out to her: “The guys (our husbands and male friends) don't drink so we'll have to keep up the tradition of our fathers.” As I say this I'm a little concerned I'll descend into alcoholism.

Interpretation: Two recently watched mysteries triggered this dream about family. In the first, set in Italy, a very attractive priest/detective says that Jesus came not to judge but to save. In the first scene with my cousin I feel judged and inadequate. She mentions a smell coming from under the house, and that was triggered by the second mystery, British, with bodies buried in the basement of a family home. What bodies of our family members lie buried underneath and raise up stinks that appall us even today? What “remains” poison our current relationships?

Having acknowledged the stink of the past my cousin and I take communion: we have wine together, but even then I worry about the legacy of our fathers. Does this communion require we numb ourselves with alcohol? Or is the dream pointing out that I'm letting overblown worries get in the way of enjoying my time with my family?

The imagery of the dream is closely tied to burial rites. The brilliant flowers mask the dark reality of decay, and they point to new growth, a resurrection of the spirit.My cousin sits near both the family room and the kitchen, the first pointing to the issue (family), and the second to transformation (our new relationship).

Moving is a Lot of Work!

The Dream: We've moved to a new house: it's an old new house and needs a lot of work. It was expensive, but I'm afraid it doesn't look it. My cousin is coming to visit, and I wonder how she will react. I'm concerned that she won't realize how much the house cost. I also think about my old town, that it was dull and that this is a better place. I wonder if my cousin will prefer our other house, the one we left behind. And where will I put her? The family reminds me we have moved the guest room furniture into a new guest room, and it is ready for her visit.

The rest of the place is a mess. The previous owners didn't clear out their things. The family room is full of pictures and articles pasted on the wall in a haphazard way. There's a raised work stand for chopping and cutting that should be part of the kitchen but instead is apart, on its own, in a corner.

The back garden is organized into areas but also needs attention. One section is a raised cement herb garden. As I look at what's left of the plants a small animal appears at my feet: a reptile with a long tail, plump in the middle. At first I think it's cute and point it out to Clark. It has curled, like a possum, into a pretty colored ball. It's joined by others, and six or seven or so run about our feet. They now appear to be furry and somewhat rodent like. They've started to annoy me, and I do my best to shoo them away.

Going through the garden we come to other undiscovered parts of the house. I think one area will be a good place for my studio, but then find another spot that will be even better. It's a long, large room, looking like a basement with a cement floor and cinder block walls. Like the rest of the house, this area is full of debris and will need to be sorted out. There's a large refrigerator, in good repair and not looking too old. I confer with Clark as to whether it could be useful. A woman tells us the food inside is good; we should try it. There are some health food-type drinks, white like milk, that she particularly recommends. She seems concerned that we might chuck out everything in there, and it's likely we would.

As I think about the studio, I see that preparing this place will be a lot of work: first I'll have to clear out someone else's debris. But I am excited about having this expansive studio with high ceilings and fluorescent well as incandescent light. I say to Clark, “Now I'll be able to work on large pieces.

Interpretation: The new house is a mess, but also full of interesting possibilities. The first thing that needs to be sorted is the family room, and the clue as to what about family I need to sort is given by my reaction to my cousin's visit. I am very concerned that she will be critical, that she won't like where I am, that I'm not ready for her, and that she won't appreciate how much I've “paid” for the place where I live, in other words, that she won't appreciate the value of my life choices. The dream tells me that I am ready to accept this, my inner critic, even if I don't feel ready. I have prepared a room for her.

The herbs and odd animals in the garden and the food in the refrigerator all point to new, if uncomfortable, possibilities. The scurrying animals represent challenges that go way back-- to the lizard and rat parts of my brain, the parts that respond instinctively and without reflection or awareness. Here dwell the beautiful and the ugly, the appealing and the off-putting, all at the same time. The new studio, with its two sources of light and it's deep (basement) location, offers me a space where I can work on these “large” issues. Perhaps my cement, the things that have been written in stone in my psyche, is being transformed into something more enlightened—if I can avoid being overwhelmed by all the work that needs to be done.

Guest Dreamer: Rapprochement in the Garden

Susan, whose daughter has recently divorced, contributed this dream.
The Dream: I am in the back garden with James (my daughter's ex-husband). I remember there was a time when I asked him to fix a broken tooth, and he looked into my mouth. This memory leaves me feeling exposed and uncomfortable. We have a conversation, and as it goes on my anger at him lessens. In some way I forgive him for the mess he made of my daughter's marriage. A sort of peace prevails, with a feeling also of sadness and loss.

Carla's thoughts: If this were my dream, the broken tooth would symbolize the broken relationship. My son-in-law's looking into my mouth represents a level of trust that he has betrayed by the way he treated my daughter. I'm now embarrassed that I allowed him into my life and into the close circle of my family. Yet the dream shows me that I will not hang onto these negative feelings. I acknowledge my sadness and the sense of loss that I feel because this relationship failed, and in recognizing these feelings I can begin to get past my anger and forgive him.

Getting to the Warmth of the Kitchen

Dreams can resolve issues we aren't aware we have.
The Dream: I am walking along a sidewalk. I come to a barrier. On the other side is a patch of ice, running down the center of the sidewalk and tended by a boy, about 12 years old, whose dumpy middle-aged mother tells me he likes to play on it. The “tending” consists of spraying the patch with water to keep it smooth. After we chat I cross over to my side of the street. The sidewalk on my side is circumscribed by a tall wood fence around my home. A gate opens to my garden. When I open it I am surprised to discover snow piled as high as the wall.

I wonder how I will get back to my house. I think I will attempt to jump up onto the snowbank. The boy offers to help. His mother watches. He moves as if to lift me up under my arms; at the same time I seem to effortlessly rise to the top of the snow. We're all pleased, and I tell the other two that now I will roll down to the house. The kitchen looks out over this snow-laden garden. Clark is inside, cooking.

Interpretation: Something that I don't often look at (it's a side walk, in other words, something that's not part of my usual preoccupation) is a barrier to me. Some part of me is frozen, and the 12 year old in me likes it that way; this part works at maintaining the freeze and smoothing it over. The two images, of barriers and ice, recur in the form of a tall wood fence around my home (me) and snow as high as the fence.

There is a gate, however, even if it opens onto a pile of snow so high that I don't think I can get into my house. This inability to gain access to my own home symbolizes an alienation from my true self. Once I let it be known that I intend to attempt to conquer the snowbank, my inner 12 year old changes from the care taker of the ice to my willing helper. Now in sync with this inner force I effortlessly surmount the obstacle. And having come this far, I can accomplish the rest by coasting ( I roll down to the house). Once inside and in the kitchen (symbolizing a place of both warmth and transformation) Clark, my other half, is cooking—yet another symbol of transformation. I've found a place where I am nurtured and can grown (the gate that opens to my garden).

Up a Tree

The Dream: At the back of a rectangular garden bordering a park a woman is trussed up in a tree in a pose resembling a yoga back bend. The house and garden belong to me, although they have an English feeling. The event takes place on the other side of my fence so it’s not on my property, but there is some confusion about who is responsible for this patch of land adjacent to mine. The “city” claims it is the homeowner. I don’t feel it is, but my original certitude on this point is shaken by the city’s unexpected position. In any event, the girl is rescued and released from her bondage up the tree.

Interpretation: I am in a difficult position, up a tree and bending over backward to please. My Unconscious won’t let me get away with blaming others for this dilemma—it points out that the house and the garden (where I live and where I am) belong to me, even though they may feel foreign (English). The dream ego is at pains to put up a wall (fence) between me and the problem, but my own deeper wisdom (the central authority: the city) insists otherwise. When I start to see its point (I am not so certain that it’s not my responsibility), I am rescued.

Spider in the Garden

The Dream: I find a black widow spider in the garden. It scurries under something. I know I should kill it, but I don’t want to. I think it won’t hurt me if I don’t disturb it, if I leave it alone.

Interpretation: There’s a potentially poisonous emotion or situation I need to deal with, but I’m not ready to. Just as soon as it shows itself (starts to come to consciousness), it hides again (is repressed).  I decide to “leave it alone.”

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.

The Snake

The Dream: Later that night, after the dream of the malicious masks (last post), I dreamed of a snake.

Interpretation: In our culture the snake has connotations both negative (the Garden of Eden provocateur) and positive (the doctor’s caduceus, a healing symbol). By its ambiguity this image warns me that good and evil can and do co-exist: as Solzhenitsyn says, if you want to rid the world of evil you must rip out half your own heart.

Jung has a different take: “The idea of transformation and renewal by means of a serpent is a well-substantiated archetype. It is the healing serpent, representing the god. . . . Probably the most significant development of serpent symbolism as regards renewal of personality is to be found in Kundalini yoga.”*

*Carl Gustav Jung, Dreams, Translated by R.F.C. Hull, (Princeton: Bollingen Paperback Edition, 1974),  218.

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.

A Small Dark Pool

Your dreams are cleverer than you might think. After you write one down, take a good look at the words your unconscious has given you. In this dream, a shift in the word used to describe a body of water holds a clue to the meaning of the dream.

The Dream: I’m outside on the back deck of a house, overlooking a small dark pool entirely contained in our back garden. I am throwing trash, some empty containers, into the pool. Then I realize there is other trash, of a similar sort, already on the bottom: empty plastic bottles and milk containers. I’m not sure why I threw the 3 pieces of trash into the lake. I expect it to sink to the bottom, and when it does I notice the trash already there. I think we had better clean up this mess before we swim.

Interpretation: There are things I don’t want (trash) submerged (at the bottom, in the dark) in my unconscious (the pool). Some of it is phony and trivial (plastic); some connected to things I should have outgrown (milk). I need to do some clearing out (clean up this mess) before I can enjoy the benefits of a better relationship with the unconscious (swim in the lake). A subtle but meaningful shift in terminology: the body of water changes from a pool (implication of man made) to a lake (natural) as the dream progresses. This implies a return to a healthy state once the cleanup occurs.

Weeds in the Garden

People sometimes ask if a small fragment of a dream is enough to yield an interpretation. And the answer is yes. In my dream group we sometimes spend an hour talking about a two-sentence dream. Since this is a short dream I thought it might be a good one to use to show you the process of interpreting. If you want to play along, you can pretend the dream is yours, and the interpretation you come up with will apply to you (but not necessarily to me).

The Dream: There are two weeds in the garden. I pull them and notice to my chagrin that they are back the next day.

Interpretation Process: First, let’s look at the weeds. Clearly they represent some things I don’t want in my life. Are these external, such as work problems, or are they my own unpleasant or counterproductive traits? Why are there two of them? Do I have two problems? Two difficult people in my life? Two traits that hold me back? Whatever they are, they’re persistent; I’m having trouble getting rid of them. Is there something in my life I don’t like that keeps cropping up?

The weeds are in my garden, so next I have to ask, “What does a garden mean to me?” Is this a place I go for rest and renewal? Since a garden is a place of cultivation, might this be the place where I create? Or could it be the place where I grow?

I bet you’ve got the idea. If you played along and came up with an interpretation, please feel free to leave it as a comment, or e-mail it to me at CarlaYoung10@gmail.com

A New Garden

Parents are more than parents in our dreams. “Father,” for example, represents what Jung calls the conscious collective: church, state, traditional mores and authority. “Mother” represents the collective unconscious: instinct and myth.

The Dream: We have a new house we’re trying to get used to. We’re talking ourselves into liking it and being comfortable in it. There is a remote part of the garden, in the front of the house, planted with attractive plants and flowers. We can see ourselves sitting out there.

There’s a door to the left of the house, framed in green, with steps leading to a large side yard with 3 trees. I point to this side yard with its trees and a couple of straggly looking bushes along the back fence close to the back of the house. I am excited about the idea of making a new garden here, under the trees, where we can sit when it’s hot. I mention this to “mother.”

Interpretation: Not completely defeated by the previous night’s altercation with the “father,” I am trying to get comfortable in a new house (new psychic center). The plural dream characters tell me this effort is complex. The attractive front garden represents my public face--or to put it another way, my accommodation to the conscious collective. The steps show this may happen in phases (one step at a time) and the color green, signifying growth, that a change is in the works. The number 3 (three trees in the side yard) says I’m on the right track toward integrating my warring parts (3 represents the complete self). What about the green framed door? A door indicates a passage from one state to another. Here is a garden I can develop where I can shelter from the heat. I mention this to “mother.” Father and mother, each with a garden near my house, are coming closer.

Celery in the Garden

When you take the wrong path in life, your dreams will let you know.
The Dream: Giant celery stalks are growing around the borders in the garden. I feel dissatisfied with the garden.

Interpretation: My recent foray into a new painting style—with its different aims and sensibilities—has created a situation in which I feel as if I’m trying to please someone other than my own deepest self. I feel as if I have sold out (celery: sell-ery). This feeling is represented by my dissatisfaction with my garden, the symbol of the well-spring of my creativity and the sacred place of my soul.

Bogart or Redford: Fruition

Continued from yesterday:
Dream Scene 5: Raspberries and blueberries are growing in places where I hadn’t planted them. I say they are growing “in the house,” but clearly they are outside, in the garden. I spot a giant blueberry and eat it. It is amazingly delicious. I am surprised and delighted at how good it is and call out to Clark: “This is the best blueberry I’ve ever tasted!” I notice a raspberry bush laden with berries and think they’ve come in early and unexpectedly, and we won’t be able to eat them fast enough.

Interpretation: The psychic work has come to fruition. Jung identifies the soul with a man’s inner woman (anima) or a woman’s inner man (animus). My animus represents the more forceful aspects of my character. In this long dream I can see my unconscious’ successful struggle to create the animus I need. My dissenting parts (the 2 other women) have been replaced by Clark, my husband (my other half), who is ready to join in the feast.

Artists in the Garden

In dreams sometimes a friend is a friend, and sometimes the friend represents some particular part of you. I often dream about two close artist friends, Jane and Lillian. Over time I’ve come to realize that when these friends appear in one of my dreams they represent the artist in me.

The Dream: I am going to be leaving, and I am with Jane in the garden. Swiss chard is growing in a peculiar, leggy way from under a raised wooden walkway. “Look,” I say, “You can eat this.” Then I remember the squash, adding, “And don’t forget the squash.”

Lillian has appeared, walking behind us carrying a huge bunch of Joseph’s coat roses that she has gathered and is taking from the garden. She looks somewhat pleased with herself, and happy, holding this glowing mass of color. When she sees me I sense, however, a little discomfort. I wonder, very briefly, if I feel proprietary, as she walks away with most of my rosebush. But instead I realize I realize that I’m happy that these things will be used. I point to the squash, mentioning that they are very prolific, and suggest to Lillian and Jane that they share them.

Interpretation: I have been stingy with my artists, causing them to struggle to survive. As one bursts forth in a glorious resurrection I offer to squash them both.

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.

Rats in the Raspberry Ice Cream

You probably won't want to eat dinner at my house after you read this one:

The Dream: There is some homemade raspberry ice cream in the freezer. Perhaps it is my older daughter's. Some rats have managed to pry the lid off the ice cream, and several are in the container. I am grossed out. My husband takes the container out to the back garden to dispose of the rats. I hope he will kill them rather than let them go, since I'm afraid they'll be back. I tell him not to throw all the ice cream away, just to scrape the bad part off the top.

Interpretation: (This dream is a continuation of the last dream I blogged.) I've created a special environment that I've given to my children (the raspberry ice cream), but it cannot remain unchangeable (frozen). Nature (the rats) will penetrate any barriers. I'd like to have them disposed of permanently, but I'm not sure that's possible. In asking my husband to preserve what he can of the ice cream I'm hoping everything I've built as a parent and homemaker will not be "thrown out."