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7 dreams, interpreted

January 10, 2015

I don’t know why, whenever I dream about a named mall, it’s Yorktown Mall. It is the mall we went to most often when I was a kid because we lived nearby; I haven’t been there in years (but I was there much more recently than 1982).

I’m guessing malls keep cropping up as a motif because they have large complicated infrastructures that can be used for many different purposes. So they offer complexity and possibility, but they’re not nearly as hard to understand as more natural spaces can be.

Getting lost and not getting found/not wanting to be found by others, but maybe trying to find them when I’m ready occur often. Perhaps this is related to . . . refusing to settle down, “just pick one thing and do it, well”, being predictable and stable. It’s definitely true that I wouldn’t want someone I knew 5 years ago or 10 years ago to assume that, based on what they knew of me then, they have a good idea where I’d be now, or what I’d be doing. What things would matter the most to me. So, it’s fine that someone might remember that I like animals and plants. But if they could somehow exactly figure out which animals and plants are especially meaningful to me in 2015? I would hate that.


The tiny bags I would prefer to carry . . . do not, in fact, have room for my phone. Or the paper and pen I’m always wishing I’d remembered to bring as well. When I do bring a bag big enough for my phone, though, I never use it to call someone. (Not even for the purpose of meeting up.) I check the time, I check the weather. Or I’m on Twitter. My phone is very much a tool for me to obtain information I need, rather than a means for people to find my actual physical location. I don’t want to be “found”. I want the obscurity and ambiguity afforded by Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle.


Orange, yellow, and mossy green relate to my recent moods and wyxzi. Orange (and pink-orange) have appeared in other recent dreams too. It’s interesting that I didn’t pick any of those bags.

The visual check of the transparent bag . . . I like to carry essentials on my person, usually in pockets. Whenever I can’t feel that they’re where they should be, I panic. I have to constantly check that they haven’t fallen out, I haven’t misplaced them, they’re not lost. They almost always are right where they should be. But I need to be able to physically feel that, in order to concentrate on other matters.

I would definitely never carry an outside bag that was transparent.


I would never ever try to jump (sideways!) onto an escalator.

For the elevator thing… so I’m somehow pioneering a path for others. I have no protection from the dangerous environment we’re moving through, but if I stay relaxed and mindful, it’s somehow (probably) going to work. The people in my wake enjoy walls and space and each other’s company. They don’t have to think about what’s happening; they are exerting no effort to make it happen. They just reap the benefit.

That is how it works for pioneering species: lichens and such. I have always felt a lot of kinship with that kind of pioneer. By the time the infrastructure shows up, the lichens will be marginalized in that space, if they haven’t been extirpated.


Photographs are ever so useful because (at least those that have not been altered, and I do not alter mine) they:

  • record what was actually there, including levels of detail human beings (with poor eyesight, like myself) can’t actually see.
  • verify one was actually there, where said thing occurred, as it was occurring.
  • verify that the photographer actually exists.
  • verify that the person in the photograph actually exists.

Despite being married to a photographer, even when we are out together, and we both have our cameras, and we are both taking pictures, . . . if I am having an ecstatic experience . . . I can guarantee you that Spouse has not noticed, and there will not be any photographs of my experience, unless I take them myself.

We did do a photo shoot, outside, years ago, during which I had ecstatic experiences. And one was actually captured on film. But there’s some kind of sun flare or something, and Spouse doesn’t like the photograph because the technical aspects were “spoiled”. I don’t know if he even kept the photograph.

Because photographs as records of meaningful personal experiences are tricksy for reasons like these (rather than the more obvious reasons like they can be altered/modified, etc.), I don’t rely upon them as my primary art medium (like Spouse does). Instead, I’m trying to express my lived experiences, many of which are ecstatic, through poetry. Alas, my skills are nowhere near where I’d need them to be, to feel at all confident a reader understands what I’m talking about. Ironically, perhaps, I’m a much better photographer than I am a poet. But either way, almost no records exist of my ecstatic lived experiences. I need that to change.


My cousin Amber is a trickster figure!

I’ve only ever hugged one cousin in a “bear hug from behind” once in my life, and it wasn’t Amber. It was a different girl cousin, whom I was also never close to.

In one of the books I read months ago about healing bodily trauma, there was an exercise where the traumatized person would have a trusted friend “bear hug them from behind”, to give comfort, while they were processing heavy emotional memories (iirc). In the example in the book, the friend was actually a trusted colleague. Ever since I read that part, I’ve tried to think of someone, anyone, I would want to be “bear hugging me from behind”, as I was dealing with scary emotional things . . . and there is no one. Not even Spouse.

Spouse does occasionally “bear hug me from behind”, and I don’t like it. (I just realized.)

I chose that kind of hug for my (other) girl cousin (in real life) because . . . I’m very touchy feely, and I wanted to show her physically that she mattered to me. I wouldn’t have known what words to use, since we’d never been close. But I also didn’t . . . ask for a hug, because she could have said no. She probably wouldn’t have, but the hug would have been stiff and awkward. I wanted the easy affection she had for my mother, who was also in the room. But of course I didn’t get it. The hug was stiff and awkward, and I felt vaguely icky afterwards. I tried to never think of it again. And I never tried to hug that cousin again.


I don’t have the faintest idea what dream-Amber might have said to me, if I hadn’t kept talking and talking and talking. I don’t think I’ve ever dreamed about her before. I haven’t seen her in maybe 35 years.

I’m fond of a trickster, and offer to listen, but I don’t actually want to hear. And they don’t try to say things anyway. They do walk beside me as I narrowly avoid entering a dark cave. (I’m not actually certain that she didn’t help me scramble onto the rock she was on.)


None of the patches of fabric on the “wedding dress” were familiar, nor were the colorways. Usually dream-motifs with fabric are wyxzi-related, but this didn’t seem to be.

Why Aunt Annette? I’m not close to her either. She is the youngest, by far, of all of my aunts.


I’ve always liked ants (almost in spite of myself). I think I had an “art farm” when I was little.

This dream with them swimming underwater with air bubbles was so fun! Marvels and wonders.


I do actually find organizing and arranging things, by color even!, to be soothing. That’s useful to keep in mind.


I’m wondering if the dead woman in the dream about the funeral is some previously-ascendant aspect of me who’s now in abeyance/hibernating/whatever. If that’s correct, it’s intriguing that the group of friends I had with me to learn about her were all men except for me. I don’t feel like I’m mostly a man, at all; in fact, I generally struggle to even locate male aspects while I’m awake.

Interesting that all the male friends were not going to do anything about the jerk, so it was up to me to escort him out, or everyone to suffer through his bloviating. And yet, I didn’t have any sense that I was in charge of the meeting itself.

Good to know dream-me can be effectively assertive when need be.


Ah, dreams involving Craig S1, where would I be if I stopped having you? Craig S1 is the first Capricorn boy I loved, and I’ve been dreaming about him ever since, which is >40 years.

Our actual friendship such as it was ended (unexpectedly) in 1974, when we were both in elementary school. I mooned over (my romantic idea of) him for, oh, the next 25 years or so.

Generally when both of us are in one of my dreams, it’s 1 of 2 distinct scenarios:

  • We’re hyper-aware of each other, but keep emotionally-distant. Whenever one decides to move on to something else, the other moves in to recapture lost interest. But only to get reassurance that they still matter — emotional intimacy is never achieved.
  • I’m mooning around after him, while he hangs out with all of his super-cool, super-smart friends, and has no time for the likes of me. I wonder, in vain, why we’re not close anymore, and how to regain his interest. He’s not just distant and uninterested — he’s mean. But I can’t bring myself to give up and move on with my life.

I’ve never ever had a dream with him in it where I’d moved on. And he wanted me back?!? But I wasn’t interested???!?

{This general scenario did happen to me, but with an ex-boyfriend (not a Capricorn), although that feels more coincidental than relevant.}

His idea of “pooling our knowledge” if we dated seems like a way to continue thinking of himself as the more important partner. And it doesn’t really feel like he was suggesting we be partners at all; more like I’d be a useful tool to him. Like he still didn’t get, after all that time apart, that I had good qualities and skills and was an attractive person. So all he could offer [through my brother, ffs] was too little, too late.

In the dream, I had dated someone else, whom I loved. We broke up, but that person remained in my life as a cherished friend. I realized I was happier, fulfilled, being single.

Dream-Craig, in comparison to dream-ex-boyfriend, had never actually been a “cherished friend”, had he? He was a dream of a dream of a dream, but never the real thing. I didn’t miss him; I missed only what I thought he had been.

Other people can’t “fulfill” you; only you can “fulfill” yourself. Embody your own promises. Develop your own potential. Live your own dreams.

In the context of dreams perhaps being about one’s own aspects/personas, I think this dream might paradoxically mean that some aspects that have been fused are individuating. Which seems like it might be troublesome for my overall mental health, but I don’t think it is. I keep finding people to get entangled with, to replay old patterns with. It’s never worked the way I hoped, and it never will. Maybe if my aspects could be themselves and find themselves content to be so, I, as the system they’re nested within, could also be myself and be content to be so.

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