Dream Journal Twenty-two.

 Last night was shared, in succession, by two dreams,the one interrupted by waking near the break of dawn, which was followed promptly by the other.

A little background: Following a brief but heated altercation with Maria, which I might have handled more heroically but recovered from more slowly, our father and mother returned home after several hours had elapsed and told us that a police search for a criminal in our area was in progress. This had prompted Maria to invite me to imagine just how scared everyone would be if I had not been home, and I told her, without turning to face her, not to worry.

In the first dream, I had been Tom Waits. Like a cinematic piece, the dream began, I think, with me murdering two police officers, unnoticed at first but bound to be in a mere matter of time,in a populated area akin to a shopping mall. I must have passed right by the young, Hispanic, female cop that would inevitably find out what I had done and spell my doom, as I ambled towards the parking lot with little hope of saving myself.

The perspective of the dream changed – again,cinematically – and I was interviewing Tom.I do not recall who I was, but my identity appeared insubstantial. I had probably been a passerby.

Tom explained the background of his life and work. His father had been a gold miner. One day, he fell downalong shaft and broke bothof his legs*, crippling him and rendering him unable to climb backout. Because every miner was forbidden to

* An homage to a scene from ‘the Dark Knight’ that I had found unsettling.

set foot on another miner’s claim, Tom’s father became,in that instant, a prisoner of his own mining shaft, sentenced to death as his food dissipated. During the time he spent down in the hole, he wrote several songs on his acoustic guitar, which he recorded on a tape deck.*

* Aprobable homage to the lead singer of Social Distortion,who–as I had inform-ed Maria the previous evening,as we listened to a Green Day song which I had properly (and to her delight) identified as a Social D cover—had written most of his early work in prison,.

Shortly thereafter, I became Elliott Smith, yet I was charged with the same predicament as Tom had been.As I mused on my own gentleness, my regret and self-pity became unbearable.

Ultimately, though, I think that I may have been exonerated, or otherwise escaped.

*The fate of the dream subject seemed to have been shared by Tom, Elliott, and perhaps even the interviewer. They were like a trinity.

 

The second dream  is more vague, yet the predominant mood had beenone of Solar,almost extraverted victory over a hostile feminine force,directly parallelingmy  decision, during my Dark Night of the Soul in the morning, to repress my negative Anima.

Of the dream details, I can remember a shopping mall,akin to those in Las Vegas, suggesting that this dream may have been a continuation of the previous night’s dream, although this may be a tricked played by my memory.

The essential detail that seemed to represent my victory was a credit card, particularly the motion of sliding it, which would occur repeatedly. dm.A.A.