A Portrait

The Dream: A woman and I are sitting at a table, across from each other. We're each drawing portraits, straight-on heads. I am the teacher. She's very skillful; my criticism of her work is that it lacks feeling. I take her drawing and, with her permission, make corrections. I change the mouth, making it a vibrant pink and somewhat pouty, or sensual. My other criticism is that the portrait is vague: it's very soft and lacks definition, with one color bleeding into the next.

Interpretation: The Unconscious gives me a drawing lesson! The artist I'm instructing in this dream reminds me of an egg tempera painter who wanted to meet me; she came to my house as an acolyte. When she showed me her paintings it was clear that she was highly skilled—more so than I—in handling the medium. Yet she was not satisfied with her work because, she said, it lacked imagination. This was true. As with many painters, her skill exceeded her conception. Yet she loved painting, and enjoyed her chosen subject matter. Of course I complimented her skill. I said that it only made sense for her to do what resonated with her. I suggested keeping a dream journal if she wanted to develop some original ideas.

In the dream I admire the artist's skill but feel she needs more expression, as symbolized by my “fixing” the mouth, the organ of speech. So the message for me is, of course to express myself.

When I tried drawing the face this artist drew in the dream I learned something about how to use color pencils—that is, very softly and delicately, building up color with gentle iterations. I tend to jump to the finish immediately, and that can make me heavy-handed, a hard thing to recover from! So the dream taught me this about self-expression: take it easy; let it develop; don't jump in with too much clarity and definition. The things I criticize in the dream artist are exactly what I need to do.

Not an I (Eye) Surgeon

The Dream: There is an eye surgery nearby. The head doctor, who does laser surgery, is an affable phony. He's been friendly, so I go back to see him. He's in the middle of an operation. To get to him I have to walk all the way to the end of his facility, a long, narrow room. I see him working next to a large rectangular surgical table covered by a tray filled with blood. The smell puts me off, plus I can see he's busy, so I leave.

As I get to the front door one of his assistants, an officious nurse, points to a flimsy sign, folded over in a way that makes it unreadable, handwritten on lined school paper. The sign says, “Stay Out!” or “No Admittance.” She is judgmental in that quiet, huffy, offended way that some women have perfected. She says something like, “Didn't you see the sign?” as she slams and locks the door after me.

I feel guilty and ill at ease about having trespassed, even though I hadn't seen the sign. I worry that I will be the cause, or be blamed, if there's a difficulty with the eye operation.

Interpretation: This dream was triggered by a guest dreamer post:  The Dream. I saw the dream as sexual, in some way connected to the dreamer's menses, related either to her actual father's reaction to her coming to womanhood or to the father as symbolic of the culture's values. I was concerned that the woman who offered the dream might be offended by my interpretation. My own dream tells me that I shouldn't go near the blood, that I am trespassing. Perhaps with this particular dream, I was “at the end of [my] facility;” in other words, either my comments were facile or I was out of my depth. And this could be true because, to avoid upsetting the dreamer, I did feel the need to soften my reaction to her dream. I see the doctor in my dream as a phony, but affable.

If I make a mistake with someone's “I” (eye) I leave myself open to a huffy, offended judgment. At least as far as that particular guest dream goes, my own psyche thinks it might have been better to see the writing on the wall (the sign) and “Stay out!”

Phantom of the Opera

M

The Dream: I am with my mother in a subway. We are planning to meet my father and my daughter at a play. The subway we're on is due to make a special stop to accommodate opera goers. We are running a little late, and I'm getting anxious. The subway operator announces that we are going to skip the extra stop, and I'm relieved at this time saver. I had thought our meeting was at 8:30, but mother tells me it's not until 9:00. Again I'm relieved; we have a little more time to make it. 

“Oh, yes,” says my mother derisively, “you and your father will be getting nervous, but your daughter and I won't be concerned.”

Mother is an insulin-dependent diabetic. To add to my anxiety she announces she needs food (to avoid a life-threatening insulin shock). We get off the train and go in search of, but nothing seems right or appropriate. The few food stalls we find have the wrong sort of food.

Apparently we do find a place where, as I continue to worry about being late, an Italian woman serves me a bowl of soup as I sit/lie on a twin-size bed. The soup looks better than I had expected, with lots of julienned strips of vegetables like zucchini. I eat while still in the bed, and spill some. It makes a mark the color and consistency of pomegranate jelly. I point this out to the woman and tell her it can be cleaned up easily; I start scrubbing with pretty good success.

The Italian woman's husband comes in and the woman signals to him that outsiders are present. They speak in Italian. Soon they switch to a combination of English and Italian. Meanwhile I become aware that my mother is incapable of feeding herself. I sit down next to her at a small circular table and feed her.

Interpretation: Even with the best of mothers, and my mother was as good as it is humanly possible to be, some dregs of unhappiness will settle to the bottom of the mother/child relationship. In this dream, years after her death, I look at some of this murky sediment. The first thing that struck me about the dream was my mother's derisive comment. She did have this hateful way of criticizing me occasionally; rather than acknowledging that there might be a reason for my anxiety (or other negative feeling) the message was that I was wrong to feel it. The comparison to my father in the dream reflected a frequent jab as well: comparing me to my father was an indirect and implied rejection. She must have felt that she was the superior one; he was not the one to emulate. Here (on the subway) we see the subterranean conflicts of the mid-century marriage. We're running out of time. I do feel that, especially after my younger brother's death.

Despite Mother's superiority she needs to be taken care of. The diabetes of the dream was real, and it had us all running in circles. She was very brave about it in many, many ways, but the threat of insulin reactions , horrible to behold, was ever present and frequently happened. The need to get access to food could be, and often was, a problem. This created an on-going anxiety: another sort of running out of time.

I eat, forgetting the purpose of the stop for food was mother's need. Am I demonstrating my selfishness? I've certainly been accused of it, directly and indirectly, by Mother. The foreign language being spoken tells me that there is something I don't understand. When the language switches to a combination of English and Italian, I begin to get it, partially: I must feed (take care of) Mother. Now I have to ask myself, "Is what I've come to understand that I do feed mother, or that I should feed mother?" She has been dead for 8 years. Is it appropriate, at this point in my life, that I feed her? Or am I living with an unpleasant burden that I have created for myself by continuing to feed her? Time is running out, and if I want to skip the work (the opera) and get to the “play” I probably need to sort this out.

Guest Dreamer: The Game with the Strange Object

By the end of this dream the dreamer is a new woman. Today's guest dreamer is Kayla, who has started her own dream website that aims to connect readers to dream resources. As usual with guest dreamer posts, I will respond to Kayla's dream as if it were my own.

The Dream: I was in a crowded, but open space, like a gymnasium. I entered the space, where long foldable tables were set up in rows. I spotted my friend M, who works as a psychologist, at one of the tables. Individuals were milling around, talking, there was general buzz of conversation in the air. I noticed that people were taking places at the tables, so I hurried to get a place next to my friend M. I joined her by going under the table, as I wanted to hurry and get a spot. Because the tables were situated in long rows, I would have had to walk all the way around. I took a spot to her right and noticed that on the table, various objects were arranged. Sort of like a big yard sale, except they were not piled on top of each other, but arranged a certain number to each table, one in front of each place.

I noticed there were shoes, handbags and various other objects. I was looking at the table when a voice came over the loud speaker. I did not know what I was supposed to do, and I do not remember the words, but I noticed that when the voice came on, individuals all reached to grab or claim one item on the table. So, I reached to the right and claimed a strange object. It was a ring of printed cardboard or maybe thin plastic, that had some sort of print on it - and then there were paper/cardboard/thin plastic little people and objects that went with it. The cardboard ring was supposed to be a stylized world / globe, and the paper people/objects could be moved on different places on it - maybe with velcro? It was some sort of decoration and I thought I might put it on the refrigerator. The people/objects were stylized like the old fashioned pen and ink drawings / etchings (I am not sure exactly how the prints were created). See picture.

I remember the largest piece was a woman who was printed in this old-fashioned wood block print. I realized that the "game" was essentially this: everyone took his/her place at the table, the cue was given, everybody rushed to claim the object he/she wanted on the table, and then they took the object over to the cash register to pay for it. I felt pleased with the object I had gotten, even though it was chance I had gotten it, as I realized the rules of the game too late and had to grab what was left. I liked it, though, and went towards the line at the other side of the gymnasium to pay for it.

Carla's thoughts: The gym is a venue for activities that require practice: I am working to perfect a skill. The tables (Has something been tabled, i.e., stifled?) have aspects of a barrier: they are set up in rows, and I would have a difficult time getting around them. Yet the tables can be folded, which hints that the barrier they represent contains its own solution. In order to understand the significance of my friend M, the one I'm eager to be near, I have to think about her qualities so I can figure out what part of me she stands for in my dream. Since I want to be close to her, these are the qualities I want to encourage in myself. I join this friend by going under the table. Is there something shady about my action, for example, as in the expression “doing business under the table” to avoid paying tax? Does my under-the-table dive reflect my desire to take short-cuts in order to avoid the taxing effort that attaining my skills in the gymnasium requires? When I take my place on M's right I signal my willingness to allow this issue to come to the conscious level. 

Yard sales are generally held to get rid of items that are no longer useful. In my dream I've put these things into an organized framework where I can take a look at them. Shoes (walk a mile in my shoes) can represent my situation, and handbags, the holders of credit cards and I.D.'s, are closely linked to my sense of identity. I have tabled aspects of myself, and, as I contemplate my own complexity there's a free-for-all as I reclaim the parts I want to keep. I reach to the right, bringing a new realization to consciousness. I'm not used to it yet, so it seems strange at first. I see a globe and the people on it. There is an artificiality about this world. It's cardboard (not too substantial) or plastic (phony?) and the people are not truly a part of it; they are only attached with velcro. They aren't completely fleshed out: they lack color, and they are rendered in an old-fashioned style. This world and the people in it represent a part of my life that I have outgrown.

The largest piece to claim my attention is a woman. I haven't been willing to acknowledge her previously. (She's a wood block print.) The new woman that I am has emerged from the small out-dated world I once inhabited. I have grown, I now understand the “game.” I am pleased with my new ability to decipher the rules. I'm no longer going under the table to avoid paying what I should. I cross the gymnasium (the place where I've acquired my skill), and I accept responsibility for the new woman I am. (I'm willing to pay for it.)

Original

The Dream: I go outside from a house where I used to live onto a deck with several picnic tables off to the right side. They are populated with sightseers. I am looking for a place to sit and do a drawing. Finally I find an empty place at a table where several other people are sitting. A young round-faced woman sits across from me. She has a black eye (her right eye). She asks what I’m drawing, and I tell her it is a dream drawing. “Oh,” she says, “why don’t you do something original?”
I am surprised. “These are original!” I say.  
I leave the deck, noticing a low utilitarian gate opening onto the driveway that goes to the house.

Interpretation: I seem to be going in circles in this dream. First I’m in the house, then on the deck outside, and then see a path that leads back to the house. Something has me stuck in this house, and whatever it is makes it difficult for me to be original. To figure out what that’s about, I’ll look at the word “original.” Incased in the word is “origin.” Something about this loop is connected to my origins. To do something original means to do something that truly reflects who I am at my most basic—in other words, at my point of origin—where I start (originate) to define my unique self, what Jung calls individuation.
The visual is highly symbolic, as we can tell from the sight-seers (double emphasis on seeing with a dollop of mystical foresight: that is, seers.) The other actors in the dream are on the right; in this dream they represent my desire to do the “right” thing, the acceptable thing. Why does the person demanding originality have a black eye? Perhaps she is my black (unacceptable, secretive, mysterious) I (self). If I take the gate back to the house (my usual self) I am passing into the utilitarian, abandoning the possibility of discovering my own originality.

The Resurrection of Don

Dreams about the departed are called visitation dreams. Whether or not the person we dream about lives on in some external realm, it's clear he lives on in our internal reality. 

The Dream: I am at Ruth’s house. The entry wall is wider than it is in waking life; it’s a room with a table, like a dining room. The staircase is in its normal place. Someone says that Don is upstairs. I feel concern, thinking that this person does not know that Don has died. 

“Don is dead,” I tell her. She goes upstairs to verify what I’ve said.

“No,” she says, when she returns. “He’s upstairs, and he wants to see you.”

“I’m not going up there,” I say.

Don comes down, naked from the waist up, radiant and glowing with health. He glows with something else besides. I am filled with joy to discover he is alive and healthy.

Interpretation: Visitation dreams are a way of grappling with the anxiety and loss we feel after a death. The dining table in the entry way tells me that the dream has come to provide some sustenance. Don is “upstairs,” in other words, he’s in my thoughts. I try to accept his death by telling myself (in the guise of the person who doesn’t know) that Don has died, but I don’t really believe it. I go upstairs to see for myself.  There I see that he does live—upstairs; in my mind he’s alive, while at the same time my down-to-earth self (the part who insists on remaining on the ground floor) refuses to accept it. I won’t go there. But Don gets the last word, as he often did: he won’t allow me to deny him life after death: he appears, transformed and radiant, and I am also transformed by joy when I see this new reality.

Empathy in an Artifact

The Dream: I’m in a foreign country. A woman is digging in a sandy spot, with water puddling in the hole as she digs. The location is a city square. It isn’t green, with trees and grass, but more like a European town square with packed sandy earth.  At one point I hear that we are in Mesopotamia, and at another that we are in a Mediterranean country.

I watch the woman dig; her action seems inappropriate, considering how she is dressed and her age: she’s middle class and middle aged. I become excited and say, “When I lived in England I wrote a novel, and I got the idea for it doing what you’re doing: I was digging with my children.” 

Clark says, “You can often find artifacts.” He begins to dig in or near the woman’s spot and in short order extracts a circular clay piece with what appears to be a primitive god in the center. I wonder if we can keep this interesting object or whether we are legally required to turn it in. I want it.

Later we are sitting at a table, the three of us. Clark is to my right; the woman to my left. When Clark passes the artifact to me I plan to slip it into my carrier bag. He hands it to me, but rather than the clay sculpture it is a picture of the artifact on shiny photographic paper, with a list of the god’s attributes to the right. There are four, and the 3^rd one is “empathy.”

 “Empathy?” I think. “That’s an odd trait for a primitive god.”

Interpretation: Something is coming up from underneath. The puddling water tells me that unconscious material is coming to the surface. To start, let’s take a look at the geometric symbols in this dream: there’s the city “square,” the round clay artifact and the square table where we later sit. The square and the circle are both symbols of what Jung calls the Self, in other words, the combination my consciousness (what I’m aware of) and my unconscious (what I’m unaware of thinking or feeling). Dream are road maps, telling us where we are on the path to individuation, another Jungian term for the process of incorporating our unconscious material into our conscious awareness. 

The middle aged woman is me, digging into my dreams and bringing unconscious material to the surface. When I am joined by my husband Clark (my other half) and my children (the curious, experimental, engaged parts of myself) an artifact (a long-buried, but new to me, part of myself) quickly appears. This is something I want, even though I have some qualms about my right to have it.

Later, at the table (have the gifts from the unconscious been tabled?), I plot to steal the artifact. But I can’t do it. It turns into a representation of itself, becoming as ephemeral as the dream that engendered it.  But it does have a message for me, “Empathy.”

It’s Not Going to Work

A further development on the theme of The High Cost of Femininity

The Dream: I am about to be married and I have just met my intended. He is extremely tall: our size relationship is that of an adult (him) to a 3-year-old (me). I look up at him as I might look up a redwood; his head is so very far away. I want to love him, because we are supposed to be getting married, but I realize I can’t. We kiss, and it has none of the passion of my kiss with the clerk in the previous dream, who is much closer to my size.

I am sitting at a table when I realize this marriage can’t go forward. I have a sinking feeling as I say, “This is like an arranged marriage.” I know it’s said one comes to love one’s spouse in these situations, but I don’t see that happening. He looks kind, and he is clearly ready to love me, but I announce—in spite of the social pressure to conform—that I can’t do it.

Interpretation: Can there be love, freely given, when such a disparity exists between would-be lovers? I reject love under these circumstances. I think Bettleheim would see the dream as a resolution of an oedipal conflict, the re-enactment of a young girl’s realization that her father is not an appropriate love object. On another level of meaning there's Jung's archetype of the father symbolizing the collective conscious, in other words, the values of society. Is some part of me rejecting these? Do I find them inapplicable to my life as a woman? That I look up to him as to a redwood implies some anger: I see red, and he's thick as a post.

What’s Making My Head Hurt?

The Dream: I am in a large house. I hear my child crying out to me in distress. I don’t want to deal with her problem: I feel tired, but the insistence of her call provokes me to look for her. As I wander the hallways “in search of” I begin to feel distressed and worried, anxious to find her. A little panicky.

I find her in a room full of children, a primary school classroom. My child sits off to the left on a narrow table set at an oblique angle to the rest of the children, who sit quietly facing the front. She looks as I did at age seven, with blonde curly hair. There’s a big bandage across her head. She sees me, but does not acknowledge me. She wants no part of mother. I awaken as from a nightmare.

Interpretation: In the dream I have dark hair: I’ve become my mother. My child, with blonde hair (unlike my waking life daughter), is me. The well-behaved children who sit so quietly are passive receivers of instruction: cowed, proper, all alike, a nice row of good children. Something has whacked my (inner) child on the head, and she’s gained some independence, but at a cost. The adults who surround her are benign; she’s enjoying their attention as well as the empowerment that comes with rejecting her mother, who has arrived too late. Was age seven when I began to go my own way? To realize Mother can’t save me?

Express Yourself

The Dream: I have a new two-story house, unfurnished. An artist friend gives me a wooden table and a toilet stall. This is a self-contained toilet, like the ones you would find in a public restroom. The slightly curved floor and the walls are composed of wooden slats. I examine this fixture, thinking about cleaning it.

Interpretation: I am on the way toward building a new understanding of who I am (the new house). The fact that the house has two stories tells me that I am attempting to integrate two different versions (stories) of myself that currently reside, at different levels, in my psyche. The house is unfurnished; this hints that I have the opportunity to go in a new direction. In other words, I’m not constrained by a previously set style.

My inner artist (the artist friend) immediately steps in to help. One of her gifts is a wooden table. Since tables are places where people come together for sustenance, she is trying to help me to integrate these varying, often inharmonious, aspects of myself. She also offers an unusual toilet. Toilets represent places where we can express ourselves—let things out—in privacy.  But instead of my using her gift in this way, I immediately think about the chore aspect of having a toilet: you have to keep it clean. My unconscious is pointing out that I miss out on some parts of life by being unwilling to accept the mess that's part of it, and--more to the point--part of me.

A Remodel

The Dream: I am remodeling my very large apartment in the city. One room looks quite spectacular. It is the dining room. A large wooden table sits in its center. The walls are covered in a velvet-like pattern, a simplified medieval design in rich shades of green and golden brown with black accents. Brown wood molding surrounds the windows. I think it looks wonderful, but I am concerned this decoration has been slapped on to a base that can’t support it. On the other hand,  perhaps it really is okay.

Interpretation: This dream seems to be a continuation of Not A Black Hole. My psyche is attempting to shift its center; in other words, the Self that Jung talks about is trying to expand in order to include some previously unconscious material. The dining room, being a place where we come together for nourishment, symbolizes this process. But at the center of the room is the large wooden (not pliable, rigid) table (in a meeting to table the motion stops forward progress). I can see there is richness here: the velvet, the warm colors—but I’m not sure I’m strong enough to support it. The jury is still out on this one.

Not A Black Hole

The Dream: I’m cleaning the kitchen floor. I notice how much cleaner it is where I’ve mopped so I keep going, even though we have company. As I work across the floor a hole opens up in the middle of the room: a dark, earth-colored, earth-sided hole which descends to depths unknown.

I am alarmed and point this out to Clark. He reassures me that this is nothing to worry about, but I’m concerned that I could have fallen in at any time. He knew the hole was there all along but was not alarmed. He says that it wouldn’t be so disastrous if I did fall in, that it really isn’t so deep. “There’s a spiral staircase and an area with light,” he says. “It’s not a black hole.” I don’t buy it, although I do have a glimpse of what he’s talking about for a moment. Later I notice he’s put a table over the area.

Interpretation: Kitchens in dreams are often places where transformation takes place. I’m busy with a mundane task, cleaning the floor, when it seems I ought to be enjoying my guests. My task is interrupted by an unexpected event: a hole in the floor. On the one hand, this hole smacks of the grave, with its earth color and its scary descent to the unknown. On the other hand, Clark, who represents my other half, is very comfortable with what seems to me a major problem. Clark tells me there is something to be gained from descending into this unknown world; he tells me this is where I’ll find light (spiritual illumination). The spiral staircase he mentions evokes our nightly descent into the unconscious.
Something about this realm frightens me, although I have an inkling that what he says might be true. He does not insist, but “tables” the discussion. The hole (whole) remains, even if covered, awaiting the moment I’m brave enough to explore it.

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).

The Walled Fireplace

The Dream: I am making a work of art which will be displayed on a rectangular table with the work of some other artists. As we discuss the placement of the pieces the person in charge of the gallery tells me that there is a boarded up fireplace behind the table. She asks if I would like to have it opened so it could be used during the exhibit.

“No,” I say, and feeling I must offer an excuse for my decision I go on, “The soot from the fire would damage the artwork.”

Interpretation: During the time I had this dream I had a disruptive house guest. Here the fire represents “hearth and home,” which I want to keep tucked away, safe behind a protective wall.  My art represents me; the table what I share with others. Soot is something that is left behind at the end. (“Ashes to ashes; dust to dust.”) I don’t want the fall-out (soot) of this visit to damage me and my world.

Mix and Match

Have you ever said of someone, “he’s like two different people”? Well, he’s not alone; we all are. And when you think of all your different ancestors, each contributing a bit of DNA, it’s not a surprise. One of the functions of dreams is to help us reconcile our own inner opposites. When this happens Jung calls it a conjuntio.

The Dream: A table is covered with a white linen cloth and set with my good china, a Lenox pattern called Castle Garden. There is a vase on the table, also Lenox, but a different pattern. It has a flower on one side and a Chinese-inspired dragon on the other. I fret over whether these two patterns, with their very different motifs, look good together. After a while I conclude that despite their thematic difference, the pieces harmonize—by design.

Interpretation: The Chinese motif has come up in many of my dreams and represents my unconscious, feeling, intuitive aspect. Dragons in western folklore are forces to be defeated; they can represent what is untamed, fierce, passionate. In this dream the lovely and serene castle garden becomes an expanded self-awareness that can co-exist—even harmonize--with the Chinese dragon.

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.