Anxiety and Dreams
Lately every dream I’ve had has involved the world ending or losing my luggage/guitar on the road. Last night my suitcase left me in an 18 wheeler bound for Portland while I sat unaware at the Flying J eating a bastardized version of moons over my hammy. My only hope was for the concierge, (yes, this TRUCK STOP had a CONCIERGE!?!?!?) Who Happened to be Jon Stewart, to radio the trucker to either leave my luggage somewhere for me further up the road or somehow mail it back to me. It was a long shot.
It was slightly less scary than the dream the night before, this one was that the world was ending and the horizon looked like a piece of paper slowly burning while I sat on a couch with distant relatives in a wood-paneled living room straight from 1978 watching a much younger Alex Trebek quiz contestants on Jeopardy. We were all going to die, but we had to finish the episode.
As against Freud’s view that the dream is essentially a wish-fulfillment, I hold that the dream is a spontaneous self-portrayal, in symbolic form, of the actual situation in the unconscious.
“General Aspects of Dream Psychology” (1916) Carl Jung
Today I’m going to hi-five myself until I dream tonight of being a hyped up blend of Bono and Rambo. Saving hostages and Playing Red Rocks, all. Day. Long.
