Last night was fitful. It was hot and humid, and I woke again and again, finally going out to the living room to try to sleep on the couch. I did sleep, but was awakened again around 3:00 am by a group, led by a loud male voice, singing Celtic music. It was not a peaceful night.
During its course, I had many complicated, disjointed dreams, but one of them came to the surface of my mind this morning and stayed. It was another in the series of infrequent but significant dreams I've had about seeing things in or above the water of the lake where I grew up.
In the dream, I am standing near the Boat Lot, an unbuilt piece of land held in common by the Lake Association for the purpose of launching boats by people who didn''t have water frontage. As it was when I was young, the sandy lot is covered with short scrubby weeds, and sloped downward toward the lake. There used to be a short dock, from which you could often see large carp in the warm shallows, gliding under the lily pads that covered this small cove, but there is no dock in the dream. Instead, I am standing up on the bank. Someone else is beside me, but I don't know who it is. Looking down toward the water, I see a large fish -- a huge fish -- moving slowly among pond weeds of the same brownish color as its back. Aloud, I say to my companion, look, look at that huge fish. The fish is the size of a dolphin, as mall whale, and it's definitely not a carp. It has a thick bony back with spiny protuberances, and a long tail. In the dream, I don't identify the fish, but on waking I know: it's one of these.
Then the sturgeon changes into a woman. I don't know how this is accomplished, and I don't exactly see it in the dream; I simply know it. Next I am in a dark room paneled with barn boards; perhaps it actually is a coverted barn or shed. The walls are covered with artwork: artwork done by this shape-shifting woman. My companion is no longer with me, but there is anolder man in the room; he is the woman's father who seems responsible for her. Somehow I learn that she has been ill -- some sort of cancer -- but she has recovered and continues to do this work, which I study on the walls. Although the images do not remain in the morning, in the dream I am moved by them, and tell her father that they are very powerful and beautiful. Only at that point does the woman herself enter the room; I encounter her indirectly, as if in my peripheral vision. She is in young middle age; has short blond hair and is wearing a white blouse; her presence is extremely beneficent. I repeat my feeling about her work and she smiles but does not speak, and I wake up.
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Tomorrow: my interpretation -- but feel free to offer yours!
Oh! Oh, this is beautiful and haunting and strange.
Posted by: Rachel Barenblat | June 20, 2012 at 05:47 PM
Fascinating dream, Beth, and so is your report of it. I wonder what Jung, or Freud would have made of it? It seems like a very significant and creative dream and the fish symbolism no doubt plays a part. What I would probably do is look up anything associated with that fish, as well as all the other symbols in the dream, and see if any clues emerge.
What I've noticed in my dreams is that whoever/whatever the Dream Producer is, he/she has a sense of humour, loves puns, rhymes and word-play, and sends messages in a code that is like a Surrealist game of random associations.
I can't presume to interpret your dream and would love to know how you read it.
Posted by: Natalie | June 20, 2012 at 08:15 PM
The shore is home/life, the sturgeon/woman is your mother (you are the caviar), and her father is God. The fish is enormous (in importance) and was, upon your sighting, dwelling in a world you may not fully inhabit. The artwork fits this interpretation, as your mother painted (and obviously created otherwise) The absence of the dock (it's still there).... perhaps representative of frustration or sadness, as your "access" to your mother's world is not facilitated as it once was. Short blonde hair/ white blouse? Youth/purity/soul.....I'm far enough out on my limb, thank you! The boat lot is ruled by Catbirds and their glorious calling.
Posted by: mike | June 20, 2012 at 08:37 PM
That makes me happy, Mike, as I've always felt the catbird was my totem. here: http://www.cassandrapages.com/the_cassandra_pages/2007/07/what-lasts.html and here: http://www.cassandrapages.com/the_cassandra_pages/2006/09/observances.html
Posted by: Beth | June 20, 2012 at 08:50 PM
A highly significant dream. Here's my little girl-fish poem (there are several missing dashes where sets of two words are joined, alas)--
http://www.booksandculture.com/articles/2005/janfeb/19.06.html
Posted by: marly youmans | June 28, 2012 at 11:55 PM
I'll answer your note about the poem here in case anybody else is interested--I meant to put the source in and forgot! Glad you liked it. It's actually in "The Throne of Psyche."
Child no 3 dreamed his older sister ran into the waves and turned into a fish (a Pokemon thing--goldine?) and swam away from him. He was six; she was twelve. So it seemed highly significant. His sister was at the age of puberty and, indeed, leaving him behind in some way and turning into something new.
But it's also proof that one can write a poem about anything. Pokemon!
Posted by: marly youmans | June 29, 2012 at 09:04 AM