The Incapacitated Father

The Dream: I am waiting for my father. A white van drives up. I see my brother and sister-in-law, looking very serious and sad, and I see my father isn't driving but is asleep in the front passenger seat. They lead him into the house, and my sister-in-law tells me that he must go into an Alzheimer's Care facility. I am shocked and very sad, and also concerned for myself: will I get this dreadful disease?

Interpretation: My father died long ago, at a young age with no sign of any sort of mental impairment. Here he represents my animus, the part of me that deals with the world, and perhaps the part that keeps my inner “mother” from taking over. This dream and the last point out that now I am the adult: these imagos from the past, mother and father, can no longer serve today's adult. The inner mother is unconscious; the inner father can't function effectively. Time for me to put myself in charge, or I risk becoming incapable (I'll get the disease.)

Edged Out

The Dream: A bus passes; it's attractive, looking like a large one story suburban house. I wonder how it will make the turns. I get on another bus, knowing it's going in the wrong direction but thinking I can take it to a place where I can get the right one. I put a notebook down on a seat about three-quarters down the aisle to save it for myself, then go toward the front to ask the driver for directions. When I return a man has taken the seat. I'm surprised at this rudeness, but am mostly concerned with getting back my notebook.

Interpretation: The life I am accustomed to living is attractive--if circumscribed (single story); it leaves me outside my own center (it's suburban). Into the bargain, it's passing me by. I don't think this way of life will allow me to evolve (I don't think it can make the turns). Since a bus is a public conveyance, it symbolizes the direction of the society and my role as a member of that society. When I do get on a bus, I think it's going in the wrong direction. Nevertheless, I'm still hoping I can get to where I want to go, even though I've made a commitment to stay in one spot (the seat I've chosen). I realize I need some help in charting my path, so I go to the driver (the part of me that is setting my course) for some advice. When I return my fixed spot has been taken—this is a rude awakening, but my main concern is to get back a notebook. Since I use one to record my dreams I think the unconscious is trying to tell me this is an important step in the process of understanding my true path. Perhaps the unique look of the first bus I saw is a hint that even though we travel with the larger society, we might not see things the way it does.

Won A Million!

The Dream: I'm in a black, luxurious car, traveling along a forest road. I signal the driver to stop and pick up Clark. I'm sitting in the front seat. Clark starts to get into the back seat, but I tell him to get into the same seat I'm in. I sit on his lap (or vice versa), and I wonder if I'm making him too warm. We are very happy and excited, because we've just won a million dollars.

Interpretation: Black is the color of night, the time of dreams. It refers to an unknown and unaccepted part of myself. The car tells me that I'm en route to something, and the forest, with its earthy breath of mystery, evokes untamed nature. I'm now ready to experience what has been buried (in the dark). The fact that the car is luxurious and that I stop for my husband—not to mention all that lap-sitting and warmth—hints that the new growth has to do with close attachment, love, and sensuality. And that's a prize that's worth a million!

The Chinese Bride

The Dream: I’m in a foreign country, in a theater. A bell rings and we start to go to our seats. We see the locals, who are Chinese, scrambling and rushing. We realize that in this culture it’s considered rude if you are not seated when the bell rings.

Up from a trap door emerges a Chinese bride. She is wearing a white on white brocade outfit. The top part has the look of a traditional jacket with its small stand collar and covered buttons, but untraditionally has a high fitted waist and peplum. The skirt has a very long train. Later I wear this outfit.

Interpretation: A bride symbolizes a new life that is about to begin, and at the time of the dream I was about to begin showing art in a new gallery. I look at this experience from the outside, like a foreigner, and the social error I commit in the dream (not being in my seat when the bell rings) reflects my anxiety about my performance in this new venue. As the dream progresses my psyche begins to realize that I am the one who will be “on stage.” When I merge with the bride, I am accepting both the new adventure and some previously foreign aspect of myself.

The Frog and the Baby

The Dream: An earlier dream about a frog morphed into one about an adorable baby, whose diaper I’m having a lot of trouble changing. I mention to no one in particular that it was not such a problem when I had to change my own children.  The baby is very patient. By the time I get her clean diaper on I think she’s already wet herself again, but I don’t want to investigate that too far because I’d have to go through the trouble of another change. Her parent is going to take her someplace in a convertible, so I place her on the back seat, propped up like a papoose. Then I think better of it, fearing she might go flying out and come to harm. I suggest to the parent that we put her on the floor of the backseat. He comes to look to make sure the spot is a good one and that she will fit into it, and then concurs.

Interpretation: This dream is about some part of me that I don’t like becoming acceptable. The appearance of the frog tips the dream’s hand: in the fairy tale the despised frog turns into a prince. The nascent part of myself (the baby) presents me with some difficulties (she is hard to change), and I underline the difficulty when I comment that my own children were “not such a problem.” After a struggle I am successful in changing the baby, but the effect doesn’t last: she immediately wets herself. This tells me she represents a persistent part of my unconscious, and one that I would rather not take a look at. (I don’t want to investigate that too far.)

But one way or another, change is going to take place. A parent (male) arrives in a convertible (a car that converts, i.e., changes). I hand the newly emergent part of myself (the baby) off to this animus figure (the part of me that deals with the outside world). Both my animus and I seek to protect this newly formed, or discovered, part. However, as we protect her we also put her in the backseat, on the floor, where she can’t be seen--or get into trouble.

For a dream featuring a baby and a spider see Baby and Spider
For other dreams featuring frogs see My Inner Frog and Pass It On

Up in the Air

This dream tells me that I’m in an uncomfortable situation, even though my inner goody-two-shoes tries to deny it.

The Dream: I’m in an airplane with Colleen. She has made the arrangements. The plane has odd windows: no glass, but very small open slats. Nor does it have seats. I complain about all this until Colleen gets fed up and moves to another part of the aircraft.

 I manage to get a seat at last: it's a rust-colored leather office chair. I think some other kind would be more comfortable for the flight, so I join others in the front of the cabin where the flight crew is selling better seats.

Interpretation: My friend Colleen represents what Jung calls the collective conscious, or the part of us governed by the rules and mores of society. Colleen goes to church, volunteers, works hard: in short, she behaves. The dream is telling me that she is the part of me that is in charge of what’s currently going on in my life. (She has made the arrangements.) And I don’t like it. The windows of the place where she has put me resemble the bars of a prison, and there is nowhere to sit (rest).

To make matters worse, my inner Colleen demands a cheerful acquiescence to these unpleasant circumstances—no complaints! After all, we’re on a higher (air) plane here.

The less well behaved part of me is thoroughly frustrated. When I finally do get a seat it’s not a place to rest, but rather a place to work (it’s an office chair). But the situation isn’t helpless; the crew is selling seats, and I’m on my way to try to get a more comfortable one.

A Slice of Head?

The Dream: A young man in a classroom is using a large chef’s knife to slice his head into three layers above his eyebrows. It doesn’t seem to distress him in any way. I am concerned, however, even if he isn’t.

Clark and I are waiting to go into a lecture on dreams in a setting that is part classroom, part theater. An usher seats a lone woman who is in front of us, and we are meant to wait in the lobby for our turn. I, however, decide to sneak in behind them and see how many seats are still available. The room is almost full. I’m excited to see how many people have turned out for a lecture on dreams. At the same time I think Clark and I had better grab a seat because there aren’t too many remaining.

We take our seats, and who should appear but the head slicer. He sits next to me and, again, starts to slice his head into 3 sections. I find this very disturbing, and this time he looks pale, as if about to faint. As he starts the final incision I say, “We must call an ambulance.” The young man doesn’t want us to.

Interpretation: The young man is slicing the part of his head where thought takes place (above the brow) into three sections, reflecting the division of our minds into id, ego and superego (Freud) or conscious, personal unconscious, and collective unconscious (Jung). While the dream character doing the self dissection appears to be unbothered, the dream ego goes from concerned to alarmed. Perhaps my animus (Clark) and I are too eager to go learn from dreams (we are attending a dream lecture). There is no seat (place) for us here, and it is only my pushiness (going out of turn) that gets us in. Once in, the head slicer reappears, and this time he seems to be feeling some ill effects from his work on himself

Alone

The Dream: I am happily chatting with people at a party. I notice a woman sitting alone and think I should speak with her, although my first impulse is to overlook her.  She is at a small table for two in a cafeteria. She is having trouble with her surroundings: her tray sits askew on the table; the extra seat leans on the table at an awkward angle.

I introduce myself and ask her why she is here. She is youngish, early 30s, and has long straight mousy brown hair and bangs that frame a round, nondescript face. She says she’s been sent “to keep an eye on” this group. I burst out laughing, because the group of “trouble makers” she is monitoring is composed of aging members of Phi Beta Kappa.

Interpretation: The isolated woman, on her own at a cafeteria table, reminds me of school lunch periods when not having someone to eat with was painful. My socially integrated adult confronts the isolated girl of my youth. I attempt to communicate with this awkward creature. Her suspicion of the Phi Beta Kappas tells me I believe my intellect is the reason for my social isolation. 

Note: The notes in blue above on the illustration were gleaned from Tony Crisp’s Dream Dictionary (New York: Dell Publishing, Random House Inc., 2002).