Category Archives: Dream Theory

Dad and the Old Lady

<dream>It is night. The yard is semi-illuminated by artificial light coming from the house. I have angered my father. Running into the front yard, I scan the driveway and street for my car. There are more cars here than I expected to find. I weigh the potential threat of catching my father’s attention with the potential for finding my car and decide to hit the lock button on my keychain in the hopes that I will spot my car when the parking lights flash. They do not. I do not. I am still running – down the street, expecting my father’s bullet to find me at any second. Still moving away from the house, I cross the street in a diagonal path. It is my hope that this path will make me a more difficult target.

I make it around the end of the block and come to an elderly friend’s house. This house and this woman are recurring in my dreams. Her house is historically unnecessarily difficult to navigate – stairs that seem to lead to nowhere and uncomfortable crawl spaces. I often find my way into her house in a frantic effort to use a toilet. An ambulance’s lights illuminate the front yard. EMS is there and I know she is no longer there. Entering the front door, I find a police officer, my mother’s sister and her husband, and my current supervisor at my place of employment. They are happy to see me. This is, apparently, a social gathering. I explain to the officer that I am fleeing my father’s attempt to shoot me. The officer explains there is really nothing he can do.

I ask my supervisor if there is a toilet I can use. He directs me to the bedroom in which he is staying. There is no wall separating the room from the main entry, but rather a mauve curtain. The toilet rests just on the other side of this curtain. I sit for a seemingly long time with no success as the party proceeds in the other room.</dream>

Analysis: First off, if you have read Letters From Limbo or just have a fairly good insight into my relationship with my father, the first scene in this dream may come as no surprise. Perhaps this incarnation of him represents the anger I’ve seen in him, the anger which he would seem to keep in submission when not under the influence of alcohol. I don’t know that he is angry with me today, but the dead air between him and his three kids and his responses when forced to engage with his kids would seem to point to a desire for no future interaction with any of us.

According to Carl Jung, the house represents oneself. I’ve often felt as though I don’t fit into my place in this world. This could explain why this house is so often difficult to navigate. I am often obligated to use this house as a result of my desire to avoid embarrassment and conform to the social norm of using the toilet. I have, on more than one occasion, crawled in through a window, apparently trespassing in order to conform to this social protocol. The house, my “self”, is often then so incredibly difficult to navigate, the conforming to this social protocol becomes a nearly impossible feat.

I’ve often battled with my inability to fit into my place in society, to conform to these social expectations seemingly everyone but me would seem to understand. This could explain why this house is often so difficult to navigate. I am hesitant to jump to the conclusion that the absence of the old lady and the apparent ease in which I navigated the house are related. After all, we know correlation does not necessarily point to causation. Still, if these two facts are related, the woman represents my desire to fit into my place in society, my desire to conform to these social norms. The fact that I did not need to use the toilet represented the fact that I am beyond this now. The presence of my loved ones and the joy in the house represented the fact that I will be loved in spite of my rejection of conformity. Lastly, the officer’s claim that nothing could be done about my father’s attempt to shoot me represents a disconnect, a lack of obligation between myself and my father’s anger.

Dad Things Window Chain

Nighttime. I had packed some of my things into my dad’s car. We had agreed that I was going to stay with him for while in accomodation of a business arrangement. A short way down the road, Dad stopped the car, claiming he could not take me. I got out and took my most essential belongings from his backseat before he drove away. When I arrived home, the building was old and falling apart. Just on the other side of an open window, steps led upward, toward a second floor. A chain wrapped around the handrail on the outside steps and was fixed to the rail with an open padlock. The chain held the window open, making the house seem to provide even less protection from the outside. I removed the padlock from it’s hole in the rail and closed the window.

Broken Toilet

I awoke to three men of AFD in white cotton briefs landing with a crash on my bed. Pieces of a porcelain toilet scatter through the room, along with the debris of the broken ceiling. I am so tired. After a conversation with the landlord that confirms he will not be willfully taking responsibility, I attempt to go back to sleep. The neighbors outside are speaking loudly. I look up to see, through the crack in the window, the bottom halves of their legs as they walk hurriedly in different directions.

Red Pocket Knife

I met a man of AFD just at the entrance of a sidewalk tunnel. His hair was long and braided. I was returning his lost dog to him. He took the small thing from me and backed up slightly into the darkness of the tunnel. He was attempting to show me something on his phone. I stepped forward and the man began slashing at me with a large, red pocket knife. I ran backwards across the street, the man slinging opened pocket knives at me. Then we were face to face. The man slashed at my body, making two cuts in my side. With his red knife in my hand, I made identical cuts into his body. As he moved in closer in an attempt to cut my face, I caught him and strained to bring my blade to his face. I overpowered him and marked his face, just above his left eyebrow, making the same mark he was attempting to make on me.

Dark, Yellow, Stale, Red

Feeling: Dark, yellow, stale, red at times

Trees everywhere. I leave my heavy, leather coat in Allen’s truck in the back. He, his friend, and I go into the house. Two other kids are coming by. We are going to hurt them. Then Allen tells me to leave. I leave through the front of the house. But my coat… I walk quickly around the house, trying to stay low as to not be seen. I grab my coat out of the truck and start heading back through the trees, toward the front of the house. I am confronted by the two rival boys. They begin beating me. Soon I cannot see. I grab one and explain that, although I cannot see, I can still hit. I force him to the ground and begin slamming my right fist into his face. Then my vision comes back, as though an old television after being hit just right. I punch the second kid in the face twice. He is unconscious. A tooth on the right side of my upper jaw hangs loose. I head back to what I would assume is a halfway house. There are several family groups, but few children. I explain what happened. I also show the hanging tooth, but explain that this was only a baby tooth. Then my mother walks in. I awake suddenly a few seconds before my alarm. The right, upper area of my mouth taste of blood.

Alone in my Bed

As a YMCA counselor, I awoke in a small room at a YMCA location. This room had been host to my group of kids when I fell asleep. Where were they now? With a hurried pace, I left the room, entering the pool area. There was one swimming pool directly in front of me and another in the distance. I saw one child who was about the age of the kids in my group, but no others. I spotted a woman in a black YMCA swimsuit. She was standing, chest-deep in the pool in front of me. I asked her where my kids were and she pointed to the adjacent pool saying, “A few are over there. The rest are around here”, then gesturing to the water around her. I suddenly recognized my kids swimming around her. With a sense of relief, I walked toward the end of the pool. Another YMCA employee had just arrived. He often wore a large grin. I greeted him with a smile and friendly words. I awoke again with a sense of failure. I thought, “You are supposed to be watching your kids. What are you going to do when you are fired?” I then realized I was not at the YMCA. The irresponsibility of the YMCA setting had been a dream. I was laying under a white sheet. I felt the body of my ex-girlfriend pressed against my back, her arm draped over me as she held me close. I was surprised in this as she had, the night before, not seemed to desire any kind of interaction with me. I felt the desire to turn toward her. I awoke again. This time a blue sheet covered my face. I continued the motion of my turn, but increased the speed at which I turned as my motivation switched from love to defense. With the turn, I pushed away from her as I felt my heart thumping in my throat… Alone in my bed.

Patient’s Airport Ride

In the car, driving Patient to the airport in Mesa/Tempe, AZ. We will be several hours early for Patient’s flight if we are able to find the airport. I am unclear about exactly where I should turn, but trust that my memory will become clearer as we approach our destination. Traveling on the 60, we move from I-10 past the 101. We stop at a hotel bar to ask for directions. Patient comes in with me and we take the elevator to the third floor. We step out, walk down the steps descending from the elevator doors, and approach the bar. The bar tender gives directions, stating that we need to turn at Country Club and the 60. Patient says with a knowing tone, we were just over there. Patient sits at the bar and engages in conversation with other patrons. I ask Patient to come with me back to the car, but he ignores me. I say, “Let’s go.”, but he is unresponsive. I return to the car, hoping Patient will follow. I sit in the car, awaiting Patient’s return. A sense of urgency slowly builds as spare time to make Patient’s flight slowly disappears. I return to the elevator and fail to recall the floor on which we’d previously stopped. I stop on the second floor and step out of the elevator. Automobiles on large lifts line the walls of this floor. I step back into the elevator and proceed to the next floor. I step out and walk down the steps. Patient is no longer sitting at the bar. I ask the bar tender where Patient has gone, but receive no helpful information. I attempt to return to the elevator, but the steps are now blocked by a velvet rope. I ask a worker there for assistance. He informs me I can no longer go that way.

32. Smiling, He Wrote… (Intro)

    Last night I had a very bizarre dream and, as campy as the idea of the dream may seem, it was one of the happiest experiences I’ve had in years. It was minutes to show time and the lead skater wasn’t there. Even though I had no experience, they asked me to perform in his place. There was loud music; many colorful characters skated around me on the ice. I tried to mimic the idea I had in my mind of a skater’s behavior when he’s on the ice.
    I skated for a few seconds. It was difficult to keep on my feet. I stopped and stood for a moment. I felt the music changing within me and slowly raised my left arm. Then I skated back to the area of the ice in which I had started. I decided to attempt one of the flips I’d seen some of the other skaters perform. I flew into the air and started turning all in the same motion. When I was done with the first rotation I went for a second. I actually felt my body turn at this accelerated speed. The ground, ceiling, and walls moved all around me.
    I landed the flip; so I then attempted a second double front flip. I landed that one. Then the dance of light and sound around me was over. A few of the performers and I went into a back room and a man who seemed to be in charge told me he thought I was amazing. I was still full of adrenaline and felt the huge winded smile on my face. Then this man criticized a performer who stood between us holding a guitar. The guitarist said something about it not being that bad. The person in charge gestured to me as if to say, “This guy had no practice and did better than you did.” I said something to try to deter the lead man’s critiquing, but it held little water with him. In those moments I felt what it was like on the other side, the opposite of how I frequently felt when I was growing up. I was the celebrated one.

Pot House in the Woods

The sun is out, but hidden by the trees. I am in a house in the woods with a friend of mine and a friend of his. I walk into the room where my friend’s friend has been. There is a large bag of marijuana on the floor. It would appear to be about a pound. I look at it with a slight wonderment. I can see patches toward the top of bag with a reddish-gold coloring. I am in pursuit of a bag of marijuana for a friend of mine. I step, barefoot onto a bud on the ground. It sticks in the bottom of my foot like splinters. I pull larger groupings of splinters out and then they are all gone. My friend’s friend holds his phone at eye level. It is dark outside now. He talks about radio signals in the air and says, “Something funny is going on.” I know from his tone, police are monitoring us, perhaps planning a raid. I awake later in bed in the next room. My friend’s mom arrives shortly after this. She is angry: “I can’t leave and trust you won’t interrupt the space-time continuum!” I say we did nothing to do with time. My friend says, “That’s not completely true.”