A Case From Long Ago

The Dream: A delicate-featured professor with a bald pate like a tonsured monk is killing young women. Another woman and I become aware of it. The victims never suspect him—such a refined man, and a professor! They feel comfortable being alone with him, and then he kills them.

The man acts as if these killings are a personal tragedy for him, and at one point I see my friend embracing him and weeping, as if commiserating. My reaction, on the other hand, has been to be cool and withdrawn. I wonder if my friend's reaction is a ruse to keep the man from realizing her suspicions: a wise strategy, I decide. I resolve to go along with his phony emotions as well.

The man's packed suitcase is on the bed. The pink case is small, carry-aboard size, and hard sided, as cases used to be. As my friend watches I rifle through it, taking out the items, feeling as if I won't get away with this snooping. There are several sweaters and other items, probably trousers. I try to repack it as it was when I opened the case, but am unable to do so. This increases my anxiety that the man will figure out I've gone through his things.

We are in a bathroom. I'm in the tub, and my friend and I are chatting, exchanging information. The door knob turns; I thought it was locked, but soon discover it isn't as the man enters. I try to cover myself with a towel. I think my friend should have locked the door, and I'm frightened as well as embarrassed.

The man wants to indulge in his self-pity. He looks very doleful and tells us that as if he hadn't been through enough, someone has killed his dog. We both affect sympathy, still feeling it's best to hide our true feelings.

When he leaves I say to my friend, “I think I know how he disposes of the bodies.” I show her the tub drain; it's been chiseled away at the edges to make the hole bigger.

Interpretation: Some past dream images come together here: previous dreams contained a serial killer and a professor with a bald head. Clearly, the case has been re-opened, and I'm in the process of rearranging the contents of this particular complex. Something new has surfaced about these two characters, however, besides the fact that they've been combined into one. Now the man is effeminate, and at times it seems I'm complicit in his crime: one part of me (my woman friend) both embraces him and leaves the door open for him. This tells me my feminine side works with this unevolved masculine side of me to kill many parts of myself, to put them down the drain where they'll never be seen or heard again.

So—I have to ask myself, what's gone down the drain? What's draining me? Can I ever get rid of these self-imposed (at this point) limitations that are killing me? As I reopen the case I'm frightened but I don't discover much; all is very tidy. On the other hand, I'm not able to put things back as they were, and while this makes me uncomfortable it might be a good thing.

Brilliant Children

The Dream: I'm in a room with adults and young children who are joyfully running around. At some point a little boy, quite a hefty little tyke, ensconces himself on my lap. I'm surprised he's so comfortable with someone he doesn't know, although he is a family connection of some sort. When I figure out who he is, I realize he's very young, 18 months to 2 years, but very big for his age and very precocious. I'm amazed at how quickly he's grown. It's lovely holding him. I pat his waist. We chat and again I am struck by such a young child having such a grown up conversation. His mother is busy with the boy's younger brother. Later there are older children, boys, around 8 years old, who speak like university professors. How can they be so intelligent?

Interpretation: Something wonderful has been growing, very quickly. I like it; I'm surprised by it. I get pleasure from interacting with this precocious “baby.” Consciously, I don't know what it is. I need to be on the look-out for clues.

The clues this dream gives me are that the thing has substance (it's hefty), and that while whatever it is seems new to me, it's actually something familiar that I don't recognize (there's a family connection). The precocity that is emphasized hints that this is something that knows too much for its age: in other words, I have gotten ahead of myself and must wait for things to develop in due course.

It’s a Mystery

Have you ever noticed your unconscious makes mash ups of what you’ve seen and heard over the past few days? Nevertheless, if you look at the images carefully you can usually discover something about yourself you weren’t aware of.

The Dream: I live in a boarding house. Poirot and I share a room. I begin to realize that he has murdered several previous tenants, among them Rock Hudson. I obliquely try to discuss this with our landlady, who resembles Sherlock Holmes’s Mrs. Hudson. Poirot overhears us, and I say to him, “You’re going to try to kill me, aren’t you?” 

“Yes,” he replies. I think this will be quite a contest, me against the great Poirot.

I stand in line at a college. The advisors are sitting at folding tables outside. One of them is Dr. ______ from Emory, an English professor who impressed me. When my turn comes I tell Dr. ______ about Poirot’s intention to kill me. I‘m not sure she is the proper advisor for this particular problem, but if not I hope she can direct me toward the right person.

Interpretation: A strongly masculine part of me, represented by Rock Hudson, has been “killed” by another powerful force of the psyche represented by Poirot. The starting line up: Rock Hudson—so masculine he doesn’t even have sex with women; Poirot—cunning, devious, intellectual, repressed, very effective, prissy.
At the beginning of the dream this realization is so frightening that I cannot face it squarely, but must allude to obliquely. Even this disguised reference doesn’t save me from the all-seeing Poirot, who admits he will kill me for uncovering his earlier murder.

As the dream progresses I get stronger: I don’t react to Poirot’s threat with the terror that previous dream annihilations engendered, but rather pluckily refer to the upcoming “contest.”

I look for help from some established members of the psychic team, most especially an admired but nameless English professor. The teacher and her subject (English) are hints that my writing in this journal is a helpful tool of re-integration of previously “killed” aspects of the psyche.

I am impatient with this process (waiting in line), and not completely sure I have the proper “advisor.” However, I do have more confidence than previously; that’s obvious from my having not retreated in terror from my threatening “killer.” And I am hoping my advisor, if not the person to solve the problem, can at least point me in the right direction.