I was divided on whether to make this post about tarot or dreams, and I had decided on tarot–but then for some reason dreams came back and said hello, and I found my mind changed.
But what shall I say about dreams? I’m not entirely sure, but I’ve never been against winging it when words seems to fail.
Dreams are a way for the mind to work things out internally. All the inner turmoil, arguments, put-downs and shore-ups come together in dreams and there find expression and hopefully resolution. Have you ever woken up after a dream (subject doesn’t matter) and felt that although your head feels a little painful, you feel sunnier inside? Or the opposite, when perhaps the dream had no resolution because even your internal self couldn’t find the answer just yet? That is, in one theory, the purpose of dreams.
I could definitely see that purpose. Aside from working out my problems in an internal and non-embarassing way that only my inner self understands (and really, it’s only my inner self that truly needs to understand what’s going on inside me), dreams can be fun. It’s when you bring the symbolism in that it gets complicated.
While the inner self may understand what’s happening without needing the pictures, the conscious part of the self that remembers the dream won’t understand without the internal pictures on the landscape of the mind. And even then, we don’t understand. I was once told that the person who had the dream likely will not be able to understand until someone else helps the interpretation along, because the dreamer is too close to the dream to be able to understand. Recently I had a dream in which I was riding a horse. The horse is stamina, generally, and as I was riding in the ring and going around in circles, the dream was probably telling me that I had endured the run-around long enough. And it was right. But why couldn’t it have just been a nice dream of me riding and doing something I love? The interpretation takes all the beauty from that dream.
Dreams can also be nightmares. I had a dream, also recently, in which I escaped the zombies but was forced to voluntarily leave my kitten behind–and the zombies (which were not the usual zombies) knew it. I adore my cat, she’s much beloved, and so that nightmare upset me a great deal, especially as it would be so out of character for me to do something like that. In the end, I decided the nightmare was a product of an over-worked and over-burdened mind.
So some dreams can really be just that–dreams (or nightmares).
*The title of the post is a quotation from one of the greatest love stories ever written (in my opinion), the 1950 movie ‘Cyrano de Bergerac.’ Everyone should see it.