What’s good for the unconscious is good for the ego…

No one is supposed to read this. I didn’t create a Social Media campaign. I haven’t tweeted links, sponsored ads, or any such thing. But somehow people have found this page. My best guess is that you are fellow bloggers, surfing tags that relate to your particular topic of interest. (For example, a competitive barbecue team liked my post about Backyard BBQ.) How sad most of you must be to find that these posts are only dreams… Nothing that necessarily pertains to your area of expertise in cyber space.

But you know what? Ten of you have “liked” the post you read. And a few of you followed the blog. (You’re in for a weird ride, my friends…) 

Yes, this is good for my ego. She knows that she has no control iN this zany dreamland, but at least she gets thrown a little scrap when you say, “Hey, I liked what you wrote to honor that dream…”

There is a little part (or maybe not so little) of that ego who is deathly afraid of letting the unconscious loose in the world. She’s afraid of being judged. She’s afraid of being laughed at. She’s afraid that people will see just how “not-in-control” this self-proclaimed control freak really is. But now there’s a little part that also whispers, “See, people understand.”

 We really aren’t that different. There are common threads that connect us all, both waking and sleeping. Does it really matter which?  How much more might we connect with one another if we started communicating, both waking and sleeping… Finding those common threads that we miss in the hustle and bustle of social constructs? How much more….?

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Race

I had a long dream about race.  We were building a new house, but it wasn’t finished, so we were living in a hotel.  Donald Trump came to town, and the first time, Buster’s feet were cut on broken glass, and another dog tried to attack him.  On TV, they started branding black children.  I got very afraid, and wanted to take a taxi the next time we left the hotel.  It was going to be me, mom, and Dylan.

Suddenly, the characters changed, and it was me, a black man, a black teenage boy, and Dylan was a girl.  Dylan (as the female character) was in love with the leader of a cult, and wouldn’t believe that the cult was using him.  The people we were with wanted to “take a stand” so we decided to walk back through “Trump land” rather than take a taxi.  We made fake suitcases out of boxes to carry. I was very afraid.  When we passed the church where the cult leader was, Dylan bought a necklace and ring.  The leader asked Dylan if we spoke English, and suddenly the rest of us didn’t.  In English, he told Dylan to come back at a certain day and time alone.

Ego

I have finally caught up in logging my dreams from the last month, and so I wanted to take an opportunity to start providing a little bit of the context that I have used/will use to interpret them.

DISCLAIMER:  I am not an expert.  I have not even read the “recommended reading lists” from the experts.  This is my very-much-beginner view of the world, but it will hopefully help you frame some of my future comments with a little bit of my understanding and the lenses that I look through.

If I were to diagram the sentence of my dreams, the ego would be the subject.  “I.”  This could be me, as I am today.  This could be I, as I am in a dream.  It could be I, and then switch to another perspective…but it is the me, the I, who is doing… the doing.

 

There was a Bible verse that I obsessed about a few years ago.  It spoke of “emptying yourself.” (Perhaps in Philippians???)  And it never made sense to me.  What did it mean, being “empty” or “nothing”.  But in light of the ego, the ego must make room – it must make space for God (or the Self, or the Higher Power, or whatever you wish to call it.)  If your ego…if MY ego… is too inflated, there is no room to hear, to listen, to learn, to receive.

So – step one in the dream interpretation is to identify the ego, and understand her perspective.

ego

Late again…

I was talking to someone who was checking into the hospital.  (Maybe David?)  I asked if he needed anything, and he said “snuff” and told me a brand, so I wrote it down.  Then I remembered that my friend Adelia was in the hospital, and she had asked for a painted piece of wood with ivy on it, a small bottle of alcohol, and some mint M&Ms. (Do they even make mint M&Ms?)  I drove by, because I was really late and thought maybe she had checked out, but she was still there – I saw her  and another woman through the window.  So I was going to take the stuff even though I was late.  I was driving my Saturn and had gone to the school.  I was first in line and then got stuck in the “out” line because the gate was blocked until the bell rang.  Then I left and called mom to say I was going to miss band, but Mom turned into my friend Sloan and said she didn’t care.  She said she was too focused on the “garden” event (something in RL that is happening at the Chapel) and that would be her last hurrah. As I was driving to pick up the items to take to the hospital, it was still dark, and there were shadow men who tried to jump out and make me run off the road, but I was expecting them and missed them.  I got to church at 8:45 and went to the painting class, where I was expecting to paint the block of wood with the ivy.  However, there was also someone painting porcelain plates as well as the wooden plaques.  I think the artists were my friend Mary Lea and her son Daniel.  I needed to get the ivy plaque to take to Adelia.

Putting away the old limitations

Dad was going in for surgery (in real life, he was going to have his gall bladder removed the next day.)  Before the surgery, he appeared at my house, and was putting his mattress (which in the dream, was the mattress for a hospital bed) into storage.  He was trying to lift it over his head and put it into the top of some storage shed, but had to get a ladder.  I was really worried he was going to fall off the ladder.

Around the House

Monica and Kayla and I were all living together.  A big group of us had eaten dinner (more than just the three of us.)  I had gone over to a sink in another room to wash dishes, and I started getting upset that no one else was doing dishes.  I asked if someone would help me, and Kayla jumped up and said “Of course!” and started washing dishes in the other sink.

There was much more to this dream, but I didn’t write it down.

Marco Polo

I had gone to the church during the week one morning.  I went inside and sat down, and Ben and Will were both there, along with some three sided boards that were talking about how to overcome obstacles.  Ben slipped and fell.  He got up, but Will helped him out to make sure, and he told us to look at the boards.  I realized just then that the entire church had been flipped backwards, so the “front” with the altar and cross were now in the “back”.  Even the kneeling rail had been moved and the pews were facing the wrong way.

I looked more closely on the boards, and one of them was talking about fear of cemeteries. Becky was there and said I needed to read that one, and we laughed.  There were three possible solutions for each obstacle/fear, and one was always silly.  For example, the first option for how to deal with a  fear of cemeteries was to scream shrilly.  Unfortunately, I don’t remember what the other two were.

We went outside then and Ben and Will had rejoined us.  We were walking around outside, and I noticed ground had been churned up.  It wasn’t clear why, and I thought to myself that people might think it was new graves being dug, or they might think that we were already breaking ground on the new church.  Either way though, I didn’t like that it had been dug up.

We continued to walk around, and I was walking with Ben.  We linked arms, and suddenly we heard a child’s voice call out “Marco!” and Ben replied “Polo!” and a huge group of kids who had been playing on the playground started running over to try to find us.  I whispered to Ben, “What kind of a service is this?  Is this church, or Sunday school?”  I had my eyes open, and then realized that perhaps that was making it too easy to avoid being caught by the kids, and I couldn’t remember if all players were supposed to have their eyes closed, or just the ones calling “Marco”.  The children didn’t call Marco a second time – they were only catching people based on other noises – the sound of footsteps, laughter, or  other noises.