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

Exposed or Transcendence through Art

You might think the unconscious throws up a lot of irrelevant rubbish, night after night. If you do, you’re not alone. But when I had this dream the night after posting my first blog, I thought otherwise.

The Dream: I am in my childhood bedroom. The bed is pushed near the window, and I am lying on it dressed only in some sheer underwear. My rear end is near the window; the rest of my body curled away from it. A portico goes right past the window, with its blinds lifted just far enough so that someone can see in. A young man walks by, and I feel embarrassed (in bare assed) and wonder if he’s seen me. I go outside to see if people can actually see in. After all, I reason, it’s daytime; ordinarily outsiders can’t see in even if the blinds are up. I look in the window and see a nude woman, in a pose similar to those adopted by life-drawing models. She is comfortable with the exposure; when put in the context of “art” her nudity seems natural and nonthreatening. But I do conclude from this bit of sleuthing that indeed—those outside can see inside very clearly.

Interpretation: The figure in the drawing looks awkward and uncomfortable. That says it all: This blogging is scary!