A New Passion

The Dream: John, we discover when we visit, has a new girlfriend. They stand above us as if on a higher level. John is beaming, a wide smile on his face. I've never seen him so happy. He doesn't look like himself, but rather like a young boy.

Interpretation: In waking life John is a failed old man. His wife is about to divorce him. He has no discernible purpose in life and has alienated most people. In the dream his salvation comes from a new love. And, since he and his girlfriend are looking down on us, this new love is on a higher level.

It's always tempting, when recounting a dream, to think the dream is about the person dreamt about. But experience has taught me that the characters in my dreams represent parts of myself, usually parts that I'm out of touch with. The dream is telling me that the old embittered John part of myself can be saved by a new “passion” in life, perhaps a spiritual passion (something on a higher level). Once I find it, I'll be energized and rejuvenated.

A Scary Ascent

An ancient myth replays in this dream.

The Dream: I need to get between levels in an old deco style building, a 20s relic in a big city like New York. Instead of an elevator I must climb a treacherous ladder that get narrower as I ascend. Once at the top I must pivot on the narrow top step with no hand holds to access an adjoining ladder. The nearby 2nd ladder is for descent into a different part of the building.

I am frightened and grouse loudly about this problem. Why isn’t there a better, safer way to do this? I fall into a very black area that is full of a soft material, like heavy stage curtains. I don’t know if anyone can hear me holler, if anyone knows I’m down here, or if I will ever be rescued.

I split into two “me’s.” One is trapped; the other runs around, aware of the situation but not in it. The second me tries to get help for the first.

Interpretation: Two things came to mind as I looked at this dream: one was the spiritual injunction that “Narrow is the way which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.” The other was the Icarus myth. In both cases, punishment is meted out to seekers who don’t quite make the grade. My unconscious is letting me know that my personal spiritual journey, through dream work, is not without peril. Can I rescue myself? I don’t know yet.

The Distracting Child

In dreams, references to lower levels or the left usually refer to unconscious elements, and the kitchen is a place where transformation takes place.  The divine child represents rebirth.

The Dream: A young child, about three, is fretful and we don’t know how to amuse her. I don’t have any toys for her. It occurs to me I could give her a very simple recipe to follow and she could make some food. This would occupy her and leave me free to concentrate on other work, such as cooking the rest of the dinner. I make a work station for her on the kitchen table—at a lower level, to my left.

Interpretation: A part of me that I wasn’t aware of is kicking up a fuss and demands my attention. The dream ego finds a useful job for her and brings her closer (integrating her) while at the same time pushing her back down into the unconscious (I put her on a lower level and to my left). That the dream ego is “cooking the rest of the dinner” implies a mixing and blending of ingredients and a magical or alchemical (as Jung might put it) transformation.

The Willing Sacrifice

This dream has two different levels of meaning, as you’ll find many of your dreams do.
The Dream: I’m giving a large dinner party. I run around distractedly trying to get everything done. The guests are milling about and no one offers to help. I am making no progress, but working very hard. I ask one of the children to set the table; when I take some dishes into the dining room I discover the table is bare. I am angry and frustrated, not particularly at the children, but at everyone attending the party for not pitching in. I am embarrassed and feel the event is out of control.

There is no bread. I thought I had some, but for some reason it can’t be used. A man offers to be the bread. He climbs onto a kitchen table, lies face up, and tells me to slice him. I don’t know where to slice and feel very uncomfortable with the idea, but he is insistent. He wants to help; he assures me he will turn into bread once I begin slicing. I take a knife and make a shallow incision in the area of the abdomen. I see a thin trickle of blood, not deep red like real blood but thin and watered-down looking, orange-red. When I see the blood I cannot continue.

Interpretation: On the day-to-day level, I’ve taken on more than I can handle. (I am making no progress, but working very hard.) Oh, the story of my life! I feel I’m getting nothing back for the effort I put in. I would like some help, but none is forthcoming. Some part of me wants to sacrifice myself to the needs of the group (become the food for the party-goers). Another part can’t do it.

On a deeper level, the willing sacrifice is what Jung calls an archetype, a symbol for something universal to human experience. The connection of sacrifice to bread is ancient and primitive. On this level the unconscious is pointing out the depth of sacrifice demanded of a sentient being who has chosen life on the planet. This profound and willing sacrifice is contrasted to the business (busy-ness) and petty frustrations with which we often fill our lives. The dream prepares me to accept the implications of life.

Pictures in an Exhibition

The interesting thing about this dream is the relationship between two paintings: one made up in a dream while sleeping; the other designed in the normal way while awake.

The Dream: I have some pictures in an exhibition. The space is not very elegant—something like a community room. The work is poorly presented. After the show has finished I go to retrieve my paintings, and only one is still hanging. I secretly hope this means they have sold, as unlikely as that would be in this venue. I keep looking for my paintings. Finally I find one: looking at it I consider it inept and wonder why I put it in the exhibit. The upper portion has four angular biomorphic shapes in strong colors. There is a line of writing underneath, with a circular flower-like motif to its left. The writing is obscure, and I don’t get the meaning. The lower portion of the painting has less defined shapes and softer colors.

I’m embarrassed by this painting as I continue to look for the others. I’m told, at last, that they are in another room.  I go into a storage room and find paintings stacked on top of one another, lying in a heap on top of a counter. I wonder why they have done such a sloppy job dismantling the show. Why aren’t the paintings carefully tipped against the wall, as is usual when an exhibit is struck? I look through the stack and find The Portal. I am very relieved to find it, despite my earlier wish that something had sold. The painting has a drop of water on it. I’m afraid it’s been damaged, but I think I can rescue it.

Interpretation:  Oh dear, quite a lot of artist’s anxiety on display in this one. I am showing inept work in a cheesy, badly run gallery where nothing sells and the work is not respected. Could it get any worse? But one thing is interesting, the painting that my unconscious offered up in the dream and the one I had painted previous to having the dream both have a similar construction—notice the levels.

To analyze this dream in Jungian terms, it’s presenting two pictorial representations of the mind’s organization.  The painting reproduced from the dream and The Portal both depict the layers of conscious and unconscious material that combine to make up the totality of the psyche, what Jung called the Self. In The Portal the small figures at the bottom represent the unconscious in its attempt to communicate; in the dream picture the amorphous regions of the unconscious give way to the structured biomorphic forms. The dream picture turns The Portal’s structure upside down. The drop of water that I fear has damaged The Portal? I think Jung would call this contamination with unconscious material.

The Divine Child

Jung discovered that some symbols are what he called archetypal. He felt that these were so basic to human experience that all cultures created myths about them. One such prevalent symbol is the Great Mother; another is the Divine Child. Often dreams refer only to our day-to-day activities, but the occasional dream touches a deeper level, as I think this one does.

The Dream: A friend has recently had a baby. Since she has several other children and is very busy she gives me the baby to care for. Although the baby is a newborn, she can talk and walk. I’m very entranced by this child. I tell her that she’s as intelligent as a 3-year-old, although in fact she seems far more intelligent than that. I don’t feel the parental anxiety my own children engendered, and I find myself becoming quite attached. The dream details are foggy, but I do remember a lot of discussion about giving her a bath. At one point her arms break out in a rash. The child explains why and pulls out a salve which cures her the moment she applies it. There’s a lot of moving around from place to place, sometimes up and down stairs.

Interpretation: This dream is a visitation from the Divine Child, the part of me that holds my untarnished, limitless potential. The Child is self-healing, representing my ability to heal myself. We move together through various levels of consciousness, shown by our movement from place to place and up and down stairs. The bath is symbolic of my baptism into a new life: some sort of transformation is at hand.