Sunday, November 19, 2006

Two dreams

I've never read The Interpretation of Dreams, or any of Freud's
writings, so I don't know what the father of dream analysis says about
dreams. I wonder how individual dreams are. Do some people dream very
literally, while others dream in symbols and metaphors? If so, are those
whose dreams are literal also those whose thoughts are literal? How do you
recognize what is literal and what is symbolic?

In some cases, it's very obvious. In my morning dreams, no matter how
surreal they are, invariably I will look for a bathroom. Each time I find
one it is configured oddly, or is nonfunctional or dirty in some way. This
morning it was full of what appeared to be repairmen and other males. At
some point, though, no matter what the obstacle, I go in and take care of
the need. This means that I wake up, find my glasses in the dark, and
scramble to my functional, prosaic (but never quite clean) bathroom. With
two fibroids the size of a fist and numerous others crowding my uterus, plus
the problems caused by PMS and attendant hormones, I have to go when I have
to go, sometimes sooner . . .

(This is one of the reasons I want to be a man in my next life. An
extroverted man.)

But the prelude to the bathroom fantasy is usually not so mundane. I've
dreamed of people transformed into frosted cakes, of houses with their
facades in the city and their rears in the country, of houses with
watercourses inside, of roads that take me places that I knew once but that
are infinitely strange to me now, of pans and vampires, of makeup that
betrays hidden feelings and anguish, of an incubus whose attack made me wake
up breathless with terror an hour after going to sleep, of apocalyptic night
skies, of many things that are weird and marvelous. My dreams are better
than any work of fiction could be. Often they leave me with such a wonderful
feeling of strangeness, of being outside the world, that I don't want them
to end (and I do recognize that the intrusion of thoughts about bathrooms is
a sign that the end is coming). Sometimes I sleep at odd hours, perchance to

Today I had a new dream and one whose gist is recurring more and more
frequently. In the new dream, which I had in the afternoon, I had a caged
dog whose face was expressive of his emotions, which seemed sad and
hopeless. Enter the cat, against whom the cage was probably meant to protect
the dog. Still, the cat managed to attack the dog brutally, which made him
even sadder and more withdrawn.

I don't remember speaking or doing anything, but the cat somehow became
contrite, perhaps because I willed it, and soon he and the dog were snuggled
together, the best of friends. The dog had lost its infinitely sad look and
now seemed blissfully happy. I felt pleased and envious.

In my morning dream, with the recurring theme, I was at a gathering of
people from high school, apparently two or three years after graduation,
while we were still in college. As usual, I was trying to get someone to
notice me, to acknowledge my existence. As usual, it was as though I were in
an alternative universe, where no one could see me. I would even talk to
people, but they looked past me as though I weren't there&lsqauo;or weren't worth
noticing. One woman spoke to me, although perhaps she was addressing someone
else. I leant so close to her because of my poor hearing (of which I was
conscious even in my sleep) that our relationship could have been
misconstrued. I do not think she saw me any more than anyone else did. I
could see her, and the object of my desired friendship, but I could not be
seen. I was not real to the real world.

Frustrated, yet desperate to continue trying, I repaired to the bathroom
full of repairmen, where the stalls were wavy suites and there was nowhere
to go . . .

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