Moving is a Lot of Work!

The Dream: We've moved to a new house: it's an old new house and needs a lot of work. It was expensive, but I'm afraid it doesn't look it. My cousin is coming to visit, and I wonder how she will react. I'm concerned that she won't realize how much the house cost. I also think about my old town, that it was dull and that this is a better place. I wonder if my cousin will prefer our other house, the one we left behind. And where will I put her? The family reminds me we have moved the guest room furniture into a new guest room, and it is ready for her visit.

The rest of the place is a mess. The previous owners didn't clear out their things. The family room is full of pictures and articles pasted on the wall in a haphazard way. There's a raised work stand for chopping and cutting that should be part of the kitchen but instead is apart, on its own, in a corner.

The back garden is organized into areas but also needs attention. One section is a raised cement herb garden. As I look at what's left of the plants a small animal appears at my feet: a reptile with a long tail, plump in the middle. At first I think it's cute and point it out to Clark. It has curled, like a possum, into a pretty colored ball. It's joined by others, and six or seven or so run about our feet. They now appear to be furry and somewhat rodent like. They've started to annoy me, and I do my best to shoo them away.

Going through the garden we come to other undiscovered parts of the house. I think one area will be a good place for my studio, but then find another spot that will be even better. It's a long, large room, looking like a basement with a cement floor and cinder block walls. Like the rest of the house, this area is full of debris and will need to be sorted out. There's a large refrigerator, in good repair and not looking too old. I confer with Clark as to whether it could be useful. A woman tells us the food inside is good; we should try it. There are some health food-type drinks, white like milk, that she particularly recommends. She seems concerned that we might chuck out everything in there, and it's likely we would.

As I think about the studio, I see that preparing this place will be a lot of work: first I'll have to clear out someone else's debris. But I am excited about having this expansive studio with high ceilings and fluorescent well as incandescent light. I say to Clark, “Now I'll be able to work on large pieces.

Interpretation: The new house is a mess, but also full of interesting possibilities. The first thing that needs to be sorted is the family room, and the clue as to what about family I need to sort is given by my reaction to my cousin's visit. I am very concerned that she will be critical, that she won't like where I am, that I'm not ready for her, and that she won't appreciate how much I've “paid” for the place where I live, in other words, that she won't appreciate the value of my life choices. The dream tells me that I am ready to accept this, my inner critic, even if I don't feel ready. I have prepared a room for her.

The herbs and odd animals in the garden and the food in the refrigerator all point to new, if uncomfortable, possibilities. The scurrying animals represent challenges that go way back-- to the lizard and rat parts of my brain, the parts that respond instinctively and without reflection or awareness. Here dwell the beautiful and the ugly, the appealing and the off-putting, all at the same time. The new studio, with its two sources of light and it's deep (basement) location, offers me a space where I can work on these “large” issues. Perhaps my cement, the things that have been written in stone in my psyche, is being transformed into something more enlightened—if I can avoid being overwhelmed by all the work that needs to be done.

Spill Your Guts

The Dream: S tells the story of a lizard-like creature she tried to kill. Its intestines (guts) came out, but it didn't die. Now she is faced with having to care for the creature for the rest of its--or her-- life, and this care giving will be intense, involving unpleasant chores such as changing diapers. Her only other option is to do a mercy killing. I am aghast at the poor miserable beast and its condition, and think that I would kill it to get its suffering over with and also to put an end to the awful situation.

Interpretation: In waking life S is hypersensitive and seems to have difficulty negotiating the hard, cruel world. Although I don't know her well, she appears to be someone who has been badly hurt. The lizard stands for both the S part of myself, and for what I anticipate will happen if I spill my guts (show my vulnerability). As the dream ego I display my own intolerance to allowing myself to do it: I find the creature disgusting. There's an interesting play on words here that hints at another aspect of the problem. The poor creature is gutless (cowardly) and needs its diapers changed. This primitive (lizard) part of me goes way back, and the dream is telling me to get a backbone.

The Lizard Mother

The Dream: A lizard-like creature is about to give birth. Her fetus gestates between her clavicle bones. She is aware of her baby and happy and excited. She also knows that once born the baby will have no idea who its mother is. It will live a completely independent life. One of these already hatched creatures walks past, resembling a porcupine. The mother lizard is very maternal and glows with the joy of nurturing life. At the same time she is aware that she cannot protect her offspring once he is born.

Interpretation: The lizard, being a primitive animal, represents something basic and primitive, perhaps a pre-verbal stage of my life. The location of the gestating baby, over the heart, tells me that its job is to protect me emotionally. To sum up: a primitive, undeveloped part of my brain has created something protective. The event that triggered this process is lost. (Once born the baby will have no idea who its mother is.) That it resulted in a prickly creature (the porcupine) tells me that it's a defensive part of me, one that keeps emotions at bay. The dream encourages me to reevaluate my reaction to this ancient (in terms of my life) event, giving me the opportunity to consciously decide whether or not this armor (the porcupine's coat) is doing more harm than good.

Life and Death

This dream builds on the theme of Don’t Forget the Dogs from a few nights ago. In that dream I tried to avoid looking at the most basic reality of life—that it ends. Here I begin to accept this inevitability.

The Dream: I’m in someone’s house. She has pets; one a dog, the other a lizard. The lizard looks like a made-up animal, like a dream animal come to life. It’s very cute. My friend is pretty, and naive. She wants her animals to get along and, like a child, thinks they will. She puts them outside together. A few moments later we see one end of the lizard sticking out of the dog’s mouth. I feel sick and don’t even want to think about what shape the rest of the lizard is in. She wants to pull it out of the dog’s mouth. I think it might be better to let the dog finish the job.

Interpretation: The lizard represents the basic life force. My naïve part wants to believe that this life force can happily co-exist with death. When she puts the lizard (life) and the dog (death) together in their natural setting (outdoors), the inevitable happens: death devours life. The dream ego is distressed but accepting.

Re-organized

Another odd little creature emerges in this dream, which seems to reflect the 3-tiered organization that Jung and Freud attributed to the mind.

The Dream: The bathroom’s vanity counter is clear. I am surprised and wonder where my things have gone: Clark has re-organized. A new tube of shampoo and other items have been moved to a shelf underneath. I start to place the shampoo back where it was, and Clark intervenes. “No! No,” he says, “If you move that everything behind it will tumble down.” He puts his hand over mind to stop me.

“That’s a new tube,” I say. “If I can’t see it I might forget about it and buy another one.” I leave it where he’s moved it, but soon come up with a solution.  I see a 3-tiered plastic organizer, which I think will solve this dilemma. I will be able to see my stuff when I open the vanity door; the stuff will be off the top of the counter; it will be organized, and--important to me—I’ll be able to retrieve it when I need to.

I must clean the organizer before I use it; it has been sitting under the counter for quite a while. I take it out and run a finger along one edge. I discover a compact white webbed mass, like a spot where a spider lays eggs. I am alarmed when I see a black shiny spider leg, thinking it’s a Black Widow. I call out to Clark and then notice the spider has a different pattern on her back, in shades of beige and brown. I’m relieved.

Next I see a very unusual insect, something in between a lizard and a beetle. It is beautiful in an odd sort of a way, and I’ve never seen anything like it. I call out to Clark again to tell him he has to see this interesting bug.  I don’t want to kill it, but I do want it removed.

Interpretation: A re-organization is taking place in my mind. The ego is not the primer mover in this re-org; that role has been assigned to Clark, who represents an unconscious force, my animus. The ego works to come to terms with a process that is taking place beneath its awareness, as symbolized by things being moved under the counter. The 3 tiers reflect the classical model that layered the mind into the unconscious, the sub-conscious, and the conscious.

I’m afraid of some of the neglected elements that might be coming into consciousness, as seen by my reaction to the spider. Once I have integrated the spider by deciding it isn’t so fearsome after all, I am ready to confront the lizard part of my brain.