Pondering the Meaning of Dreams

Pondering the Meaning of Dreams
I said this blog would have random “stuff” on it; well this is pretty random…

…I suppose we all sit and cogitate the meanings of our dreams – those of us that dream (I find it hard to understand why some don’t). We sit and wonder and puzzle the contradictions and absurdities that fill our sleeping minds with moving pictures so real we can feel, taste, smell the surrealism that seems, at least to me to take place over hours but is, we are told, in actual fact over in a few seconds, minutes at the most…
I dream A LOT of strange dreams and I do mean STRANGE. To be honest the whole being shot by aliens thing is getting old now but even with humans involved there is a lot of weirdness – my head is a scary enough place during the day – sometimes too weird! Occasionally I have nightmares but not too often, thankfully.
One motif has always struck me about my dreaming. I cannot be violent. I sometimes (especially with those pesky aliens) try but to no avail. If I throw a punch it lands as a butterfly’s kiss, if I have a gun it does not shoot; basically my pacific nature is exaggerated to the point where I am totally incapable of doing harm. There has only ever been one exception – I once viciously butchered my beloved golden retriever with kitchen knives but as it turned out it was an alien robot in dog fur so that’s all right!
Only ever the once – until now. The other night I dreamt about a mad and crazy situation at my home in Spain involving all sorts of unlikely cast members as per. I was effectively besieged and in a rage the storm within broke. I rained mayhem, chaos and destruction down upon all and sundry. I hurt, injured, maimed and brutally killed my oppressors – it was a scene fit for a Hollywood blockbuster (Bruce Willis as me I think!). It was scary and tense but not a nightmare. I was not left with a sense of fear and foreboding that so often accompany the latter. Rather I retained a sense of wonder and surprise.
Why? Why now? Why at all? Dreams, especially my dreams are a mystery to me but I have an idea. In reality I am a bottler-upper. I begrudgingly suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous halfwits who heap pain and indignation upon me with their jibes and gossip and unjustified hatred. It has always been the same, as a child, just as it is now. Man & Boy I am weak. I am easy meat to the bully whether they employ fists or words or attempt to mess with my head. They see me: they know me – we are cast from two sides of the same mould – the yin and the yang of bully/victim. I take it al,l day after day, week after week…yes, Year after year! Until…
Until I can take it no more. Something snaps. The fuse burns out, the safety valve blows and decades of rage, anger, ferocity and pure unadulterated venomous hate for my torturers burst forth wrapped in the blood stained fur of 1000 years of Celtic/Viking Warrior genetic coding and I go straight for the throat. I am never (was once, just once!) violent but I am a wordsmith and my sword is hardened in the fires of eloquence, my quiver stocked with arrows of golden adjectival phrases barbed with exquisite metaphors. I do not stop, unless stopped, until my prey is left a gibbering, sobbing wreck in a heap at my feet.
This may sound like an ideal outcome but no. I am afraid not. As we know revenge is a dish best served cold and in the heat of battle, fresh enemies are made – respect is lost. My evolution into a deranged lunatic bent on destroying “an innocent”, paints me as the bad guy in the eyes of onlookers who know not that the thin shell of self-respect has imploded, the thick crust of abuse embittered self-preservation has exploded, releasing a floodgate, a torrent of pain and anger that cannot be stopped once started. They know it not, they see it not, and they care not a jot!
They see me as the wrongdoer – I am forced to grovel and beg forgiveness from the victim and their allies and slink once more into the shadows, only permitted out to play when the social worthies deem it unavoidable or require my services. The victim heals faster, oh, far faster than I and soon returns with renewed vigour to tormenting me once again.And so it is… so it was a few short months past, so shall it be again in times to come…

So I think for once my dream was showing something real, showing me that side of me that I have to wary of and showing me that whilst vengeance may be mine there is, there is always, a price to pay – whether it is nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows – I cannot answer for you but for me, well sometimes turning the other cheek just gets you another slap but sometimes lashing out gets you a kick in the mouth.

And so to sleep, to sleep, perchance to dream and when we say sleep we mean to rest and when we say dream ’tis not of the undiscover’d country but of green pastures and…
…I hope it’s one of the flying ones. I love flying!

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2 Responses to Pondering the Meaning of Dreams

  1. dianadomino says:

    Iain, I wrote about dreams and archetypes as inspiration some time ago – you might like it. http://dianaterrill.wordpress.com/2012/06/03/inspiration-dreams-and-archetypes/
    I find myself fascinated with dreams and the symbolism of what the dreams mean, what our subconscious is trying to tell us.

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