Regret

The Dream: I am in someone's house; it's either a rental or a home exchange. We are thinking about staying there for a while. There is a small washer and dryer in the garage. I point it out to Clark; it reminds me of the set my mother got me when I lived in an apartment. I start thinking about how good she was to me, and feel that I didn't do enough for her as she aged and became infirm. I am filled with regret, and my eyes fill with tears.

I hear another washer/dryer going, and I realize there's a much larger set in the kitchen. We go there, and I am struck by how wide the counters are. They are marble, in golden ocher tones. The lady showing us the house seems to empathize with my sadness.

Interpretation: At first I thought this was a straightforward dream about my feeling bad that I was not a good daughter, that I hadn't given back enough to my mother who was so good and so giving.

And I'm sure there's some truth to that. But there is another truth as well. I had the dream shortly after I had seen a manipulative mother in action. Of course the dream might be pointing out the contrast between my mother and this other mother—but at the same time it caused me to notice some parallels; for example, both mothers had a core of helplessness that required others to step up and take care of them. My resistance to helping my mother might have come from my fear that her need could never be satisfied, but could only suck me into an abyss from which I could not escape. I'm sure my mother had no conscious wish to limit me—quite the contrary—but there was a subtext that I found suffocating. That doesn't excuse me for not getting over it, but it does explain the resigned tone of many of us, when, even as adults, we say, “Yes, mother . . . . “

Stealing Fire

The Dream: In a large open city square a woman is selling firewood; I need some for the poor. I know it's wrong to steal, but I see no other way of getting what is so desperately required. I have a small drawstring bag with me, and I surreptitiously fill it, then disappear. I've hidden my stolen property so I can blend in on city streets. I have a nagging guilty feeling that I will be pursued.

In time I come to a very beautiful and elaborate wrought-iron gate, the outer entry to a church. I would like to pray, so I go to a door in the gate and, finding it ajar, go in. The church interior is of warm sienna/golden ochre toned wood. Under high vaulted ceilings many priests and altar boys are everywhere, in constant motion. I look for a spot for quiet contemplation but don't see one. Two young acolytes rough house. Does their play have sexual overtones? I think this is not what I'm looking for and I leave.

I am lost. I need to get back to mid-town but have no sense of direction. I see a street sign that tells me I'm at 217th Street and wonder how I got here. I don't know whether I should ask someone for directions or use the street signs to figure out which way I'm going.

Interpretation: This dream reminds me of the myth of stealing fire from the gods. As in that story, I want to bring the fire to others. I go too far (217th Street!), get lost, and along the way become disillusioned with what I see of the traditional path to god (the church). In this dream the church is so relentlessly masculine that even its sexuality is directed toward men. Is there anything for a woman here? The dream tells me to acknowledge, rather than steal from, the source of the firewood: my enlightenment will come from the feminine (the woman who sells the wood), not the masculine (the traditional, male-oriental church). There is a price to be paid for it (the wood is not free), but avoiding payment will not further my spiritual development.

My Ant is Lanced

Molestation in the news triggers a childhood "memory."

The Dream: A very tough-looking guy is in charge of a peculiar ant-like creature. The ant has a perfectly round head and a body made of transparent, glowing red-brown sections. The head is yellow ochre. It’s as if I am seeing an exposed skeleton, but on a living creature. The “ant” is very large, probably about 5 feet long. The man has several sets of paraphernalia resembling studded dog collars--but actually hand-cuffs--that he uses to control the ant. 

The man is balding with dark brown hair; his red face has a stubby growth of beard. He’s solid and a little overweight. He has belied his tough looks by being helpful to me, yet when I come in contact with some others we accuse him of rape. I know this is false, but having made a commitment to this accusation I cling to it. The man starts to remove his studded hand-cuffs from his wrists where he stores them, and I think he’s going to attack us. Instead he hangs the cuffs on a peg.

Later, apparently having resolved the “rape” issue I need the man to kill the insect. I have come to like the creature and can’t kill it myself. I also don’t want it to suffer; I want it killed quickly and mercifully. In addition I want to preserve its body, so I want it killed in a way that won’t damage its skeleton (body).

The man shakes his head gravely in assent as I explain this mission. I think he is attached to his charge, the ant, in a way, and doesn’t want someone inept bungling this deed. He says, “Most people don’t understand how to do this.”  He goes back a distance and charges the creature with a long pointed lance, making a terrible and fierce face as he does. I am alarmed by this look and surprised at the violence of the method. I think this will be messier than I had wished or anticipated.

He charges the ant, fracturing its large round head in two. The open half spheres are filled with a white thick substance that spills over the edges.

Interpretation: This dream was triggered by news of a local molestation case. The young victim was abused by her swim coach; she had been primed for the abuse by being forced to swim laps wearing a dog-collar while she was held on a leash. The dream examines the confusion of a child’s first view of sex. Did I see my aunt (ant) and uncle, a good natured but tough guy, in the act when I was too young to understand what I was seeing?  I eliminate (kill) the aunt, whose skeleton body represents the bare bones of a knowledge I’m not ready to accept. Does this childish disgust and fear lurk behind my adult feelings about sex? Something to think about.

Totem

Jung tells us that “The ancestral spirits play an important part in primitive rites of renewal. . . . This atavistic identification with human and animal ancestors can be interpreted psychologically as an integration of the unconscious, a veritable bath of renewal in the life-source . . . .” *

The Dream: Near the door of the house is a totem, going from the top of the entry way to its floor. The entry way is very tall; the style of the house a combination of Spanish hacienda and 20th c. contemporary. The totem is a bas relief. The shape near the door first appears to be a tear-drop, but part of it morphs into something like the head of a bull. Other shapes flow from this to the ceiling where the totem wraps overhead. Colors are rich: reds, greens, ochres: a painted wood look. One shape is an antique looking sun. It’s modernist and old-fashioned (primitive?) at the same time.

I don’t like it and wonder if Clark put it there without consulting me. Then I realize it came with the house and is the work of a famous architect. I try to like it.

Interpretation: I come out of my house (myself) through a door (changing from one state of awareness to another) and see this very ancient complex representation of myself: a totem. I am an expression of my genetic history:  a carrier in time and space of the life force of my ancestors. I try to dissociate from this unfamiliar way of seeing myself (I blame my other half for putting up the totem) but soon realize it came with the house (it’s who I am). Reconnecting with the archaic part of my psyche will result in a kind of rebirth. Jung again: “The case before us proves that even if the conscious mind is miles away from the ancient conceptions of the rites of renewal, the unconscious still strives to bring them closer in dreams.”**

*C.G. Jung, Dreams, translation by R.F.C. Hull, Bollingen Series XX from The Collected Works of C.G. Jung Volumes 4,8,12 16 (New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1974) 205
**C. G. Jung, op. cit., 211