Dreams 2

by

George Forder

Smashwords Edition

*****

Published by George Forder at Smashwords

Dreams 2

Copyright 2010 by George Forder

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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I have no theory about dreams, I do not know how dreams arise. And I am not at all sure that - my way of handling dreams even deserves the name of a "method." I share all your prejudices against dream-interpretation as the quintessence of uncertainty and arbitrariness. On the other hand, I know that if we meditate on a dream sufficiently long and thoroughly, if we carry it around with us and turn it over and over, something almost always comes of it. This something is not of course a scientific result to be boasted about or rationalized; but it is an important practical hint which shows the patient what the unconscious is aiming at. Indeed, it ought not to matter to me whether the result of my musings on the dream is scientifically verifiable or tenable, otherwise I am pursuing an ulterior-and therefore autoerotic-aim. I must content myself wholly with the fact that the result means something to the patient and sets his life in motion again. I may allow myself only one criterion for the result of my labours: does it work? As for my scientific hobby-my desire to know why it works-this I must reserve for my spare time.

"The Aims of Psychotherapy" (1931). In CW 16: The Practice of Psychotherapy. pg. 86

To sleep, perchance to dream- ay, there's the rub.
"Hamlet"

We are such stuff as dreams are made on
"The Tempest"

Some time ago a crazy dream came to me
I dreamt I was walkin' into World War Three
I went to the doctor the very next day
To see what kinda words he could say
He said it was a bad dream
I wouldn't worry 'bout it none, though
They're dreams and they're only in your head.
Bob Dylan

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Introduction

Dreams are amazing things. I've cataloged mine for 15 years. What a load of stuff goes on in the subconscious.

By the way, the subconscious probably doesn't exist. It's a popular term to describe what Freud called the "unconscious mind" and Jung further refined into the "personal unconscious" and "collective unconscious". Scientists and academics tend to avoid the term subconscious. A god reason for avoiding it is the lack of falsifiability and testability available to test it. Scientists hate that.

I see I made a typo; "good" came out "god". Freud called this a parapraxis, commonly called a "Freudian slip". It could mean that my unconscious mind let slip that I think academics are God, or think they are God or that science is God,...or not.

These slips are let out by a mind, that either forgot them or repressed them.

When I say to someone "it's been years since I saw you", forgetting that I saw them two weeks ago, its probably forgetful; although it says lots to the forgotten soul.

When I tell a woman she "has a beautiful chest, ..er I mean trunk, um.. box to store things in, ....awe shucks", that's probably repressed stuff coming through.

Dream people, happenings, and objects can be judged "objectively", that is, for what they are. Your Brother, a Knife and Blood on the dance floor can represent exactly those things in a literal sense.

In fact, most dreams are made out of day to day experiences and happenings. So, having to carve the turkey, whilst your brother put on his crummy music and chatted up your girlfriend could easily lead to this dream.

It is, however, my esteemed opinion, based on years of experience (evil chuckle and wringing of hands) that the subjective analysis of dreams is probably more revealing (and much more fun).

Subjectively it's all about me, I, the one and only.

If I dream of a sexy girl, I am dreaming about the feminine part of my psyche, my anima; the woman within.

If a woman dreams of a man it's about her animus; the man within.

The Shadow is your weaknesses, shortcoming and instincts, disguised as a character in your dream, often someone of the same sex as yourself. The shadow tells you lots about yourself, often the scary bits.

Paul Simon's "Hello darkness my old friend" takes on a whole new perspective with this, as does the demented psychologist in the Monty Python skit, actually most Monty Python stuff.

These characters in a dream have to deal with your persona, which is the face you have learned to put on for the world. The persona is probably the scariest of all. It's who you are now. The piece which makes the dreams slip away even as you are remembering them. The person in denial, saying "it'll be all right", "it's a great country", "schools teach important lessons", etc.

So here is my warning. Don't analyze your dreams. It will lead you to some truth and probably change your perspective. Yes, there are simple methods to help you recall your dreams, easy ways to read them and get an idea of your unconscious mind and enlightening moments, when suddenly a whole lot becomes clear. But, do you really want to go there?

It's not so much that you work out that a sword and a snake dueling for a milkshake are, using causal symbol analysis, in fact, penises. Cosmopolitan or Fair Lady love doing that.

It's about the final approach, the why this symbol, ... and not a hamster?

Why is my pet penis a hard, dangerous weapon, vs a soft, slippery, poisonous animal?

It's only by looking at your dreams over a long time that you get to know your self, and, in the final analysis, who you really are.

The good news is that no one can really look at your dreams and tell secret and intimate things about you. It's a bit like the, Blind men examining the elephant, story.

Interface

Last night I didn't dream at all. I had been conniving with vodka and late night TV and fell asleep quickly..... Only to awaken to a flash of light somewhere. It was in the house and through the open curtain of the bedroom windows I could see the glow and flicker of someone moving in the kitchen. Teenagers! They get hungry all the time, whenever. I lay dozing, fantasizing about shooting the little bastards accidentally and then wondering if I could pull off an explanation to the police. It's not the police that really count though; it would be trying to explain it to my wife. Then it got weird.

I realised my wife wasn't beside me; but there was a sort of gurgling noise in the stairwell outside the room. So being of sound mind I got up and locked the door. I awoke to the 4:45 alarm telling me I needed to go running, but it was warm in bed and I cuddled up to the soft form of my wife. It was awfully dark for early morning though and the birds weren't chirping like they normally did, and she seemed bonier and less delicate than usual. And there was a funny smell in the room, sort of like sulphur and unwashed feet. And later I woke up and could smell coffee and hear birds and I stretched luxuriously across the warm spot she had recently vacated.

Road to nowhere

I'm not American. I'm a middle class conservative middle aged white South African. So it was strange to be riding along in one of those low slung, low rider convertible type bling machines with four black youth. I had just received my cell phone upgrade from Vodacom and the only unusual thing was the size of the box. it was huge and took up my whole lap and most of the middle of the front seat, where I sat sandwiched between the "wicked kewl" driver and "hanging" shotgun rider. Their heads were going up and down like little furry dog mirror ornaments in time to some unbelievably bad crap rap. The phone itself was the size of a keyboard and looked like a ghetto blaster, The youth ooohed and aaahed and slapped hi fives whilst I looked in horror at the obscenity. The excitement grew as more and more poorly made plastic components came out of the box and clicked into the phone until it looked like a giant plastic construction from a cereal box. "F__k me" I thought; what a waste of time. I looked in horror at the supercilious, vacant, doomed faces in the car with me.