Through a Glass Darkly

The Dream: I'm wandering through the streets of New York with a partner who seems somewhat--but not quite--like my husband Clark. The sidewalks are interspersed with trees; they remind me of Manhattan's East 60s, near where I once lived. It is early autumn. We are looking for Uncle Steve, and there is something mysterious about the mission. He has relocated and won't tell anyone where he is.

We go into a large old-fashioned apartment building, dimly lit with wide hallways. We know he's here. The door of his apartment is half frosted glass. We knock. He doesn't answer. Clark bangs loudly and assertively on the door. Finally Uncle Steve answers, not by opening the door but by yelling at us. He wants to be left alone.

Interpretation: My uncle's birthday was a few days ago; he died in the early 80s. His death is indeed a relocation. I'm looking for someone to tell me what awaits on the other side of the door. The door's frosted glass tells me, in the obscure and poetic language of the King James Bible, that spiritual truths are glimpsed “through a glass darkly.” In a recent dream class the idea was offered that if you ask your spirit guide the wrong question s/he won't answer, and also that the departed must volunteer for the job. It doesn't appear that Uncle Steve wants this one.

Looking at the dream's more mundane possibilities, my uncle was one of the authoritative adults when I was a child. How many questions does a child have that are left unanswered? Or responded to with anger?

Dancing with Baryshnikov

The night before having this dream I asked my dream generator to give me the dream I need, and this is what I got.

The Dream: He isn’t doing his famous leaps or anything outstanding. It is more a sort of walking, a dancer sort of walking, where the trick is not to look like a dancer. At first I’m disappointed; I want drama. I want to see the impossible. “This looks so natural,” I think.

Baryshnikov chooses me as a partner. My job is to anchor him. I stand in the center as he dances around me, holding my hand. I use my arm muscles to steady him and, while it takes some effort on my part, I think he is being careful not to tax my strength. I could handle more force, I think. I could do more.

Interpretation: In the dream, my first reaction is disappointment in the dancer’s (my inner artist’s) performance. I’m an on-looker at this point, wanting to see the leaps of “White Nights” or “Turning Point.” Is he getting old? I wonder. (Am I?) Then I come to see his natural-appearing movement as the artistry it is: the confidence to appear to be doing nothing—but just try it!

When I “help” he is considerate, but I realize I could do more: as could he! I’m left wondering what’s the right amount of effort, the right amount of display? What’s the relationship between effort and performance? Is my dream telling me to simplify? In other words, not to push it?
 

In Over My Head

The Dream: I am on a chaise longue, reclining next to a couple. The woman sits closest to me, her partner on her other side. She is pregnant, a subtle bulge detectable beneath her blanket. She looks tired and a little frightened. This will be her 5th or 6th child. She has had most delivered vaginally, I’m informed, and one by c-section. Her partner is determined that this baby will be delivered vaginally. The doctor squirms a little; he isn’t as sure. This pregnancy was unplanned. An amorous moment caught the couple off-guard.

The woman appears to be in her early 40s. She has dark hair and a care-worn face. Her hair is short, and she resembles my mother. She seems to be thinking, “Can I pull this off? One More time? Am I in so deeply over my head I’ll never find my way out?”

Interpretation: I had this dream, and the one I’ll post later in the week, on the anniversary of my mother’s death. She was in her early 40s when she contracted diabetes, a disease she lived with for 45 years. It ultimately robbed her of her eyesight. In the dream her concern about her pregnancy at age 40 symbolizes the new concern she had at that age in waking life: living with a progressively debilitating illness. The repeated pregnancies reflect my feeling that she had too much to bear. I cannot understand the feelings I have about my mother's illness with my intellect; I'm in "over my head."