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Welcome to Dream Interpretation for Dummies, where Dear Abby meets Native Americana. Come to the campfire, peer into the yawning grave, and take a dive into the collective subconscious… or maybe just explore some weird clown imagery. We’ll wait for you here.
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CW: Mentions of violence, guns, cannibalism, and apocalypse.
Dear Howdy,
I'm writing to you with a dream from earlier this year—most of my dreams are forgotten moments after I dream them, but a few (like this one) stay with me, playing over and over in my head until I don't know whether they are real or imagined.
So the dream: I lived (mostly alone, and sometimes with my mom, aunts, and female cousins) in an abandoned white farmhouse in rural Alabama. The apocalypse had come (quite recently), and we were figuring out how to take care of each other while seeking shelter in this empty, sunny house. We would go out on supply runs, take in strangers, cook meals—all the things you imagine doing in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. Somehow my phone still worked, and I still got text messages.
At the time of this dream, I was in a years-long, long-distance friendship that meandered in and out of romance in ways that I still find hard to describe. In the dream world, this friend (we'll call him Jesse) got in touch to tell me he was living on a beach in eastern Canada. I was so relieved—from the earliest moments of the dream, I was desperate to find him.
One day it became clear that our hiding place had been discovered, and that there was some strange mob coming for us. We had to leave. As luck would have it, my mom's brother and parents were holed up in Manhattan, so we trekked to see them. In reality (if there is such a thing), both of my mom's parents are dead, and she has no brothers.
A travel montage ensued. We arrived in a bombed-out Manhattan to find my "uncle" and "grandfather" (neither of whom had faces I recognize in real life) holed up in a dark but luxurious apartment. There was strange meat on the table, and when my grandmother was nowhere to be found, I had a sinking suspicion that this family had resorted to cannibalism.
We traveled again, this time to the Canadian beach where Jesse was living. He welcomed my mom and me with open arms, introducing us to the people he was living with—a right-wing cult of gun-toting doomsday preppers. He kept insisting that I meet the group's charismatic leader, and I kept trying to explain to him that he had been indoctrinated into a violent cult. He never believed me.
At one point a small child arrived toting a machine gun, and we ran behind a dune to escape him. We heard gunfire, and knew that the people Jesse had been living with were dead. We cautiously looked up and saw, over the hill, a strange building covered in neon lights built in the middle of a lake filled with lily pads—it was one of those old tunnel of love rides, where two people in a small boat were carried through a dark, romantic scene. There might have been fireworks, or maybe gunfire. Then the dream ended and I awoke. It hasn't left my head since.
Do you have any thoughts for me?
Thank you so much for all you do,
Nora
Dear Nora,
Thank you for the gift of your dream. I have lots of thoughts for you, some of which I hope will be useful. It’s good to be back, despite the heavy blanket over my shoulders. It is traditional for the departed to have a blanket, you know. A handmade one, or something like it, for their journey. In my more self-pitying moments, I think why me? Why must I travel through this world like this? But then, something like this, and I remember. This all to say, I’m honored that this dream, the one that stayed with you, passed into my hands.
So, not dragging our feet, into your dream we go: This dream, because you remember it, must be at least a little important. You find yourself in a womanly coven, of sorts, at the end of the world. Despite this, you receive missives that should be impossible, from the only non-woman in your life (for now). This speaks to me, to start, of the ways in which you are making connections with women, how you’re building them — do not forget them, for in times of desperation you will surely need them. And, not to disregard messages that come from unexpected places.
I know a little about romantic friendships myself, Nora. But that’s a story for another time. Still, Jesse, here, represents something you’re chasing, perhaps a goal, and Canada, yes, Canada, represents the mystical faraway land in which you think this goal lives. You are hungry for this, for this (seemingly) impossible possibility, ringed in by an alternate reality in which the dead are living and extras are added. What are you seeking? Why don’t you think you can have it?
Another question: Who doesn’t love a travel montage? Especially with strange faces. It’s extra strange to sound excited about cannibalism, of all things, but this is the first time a Dreamer has gifted me something with the ultimate taboo within. This tells me that you are preoccupied with boundaries, and though you may have done work to set them up, there is still much work to do. Do not let others take of you, of your flesh and spirit, as if it is their own. Protect your vital and soft parts, even if it feels like the end of the world doing so.
It feels especially tragic that after your long journey, Jesse, and the faraway land he inhabits, are not what they seem. I could write to you, dear Dreamer, about the grass being greener, about adjusting your expectations, but I have a feeling you have had enough of that already, so I won’t. This is something, no matter the scenery, that you know.
Instead, let us see the child and the death surrounding the child. Innocence and loss thereof. I do not want to send you back too far in the past, but there is a pivotal moment here, one that may or may not be worth remembering. A place where you had faith, or whimsy, and a place where that was taken from you. You cannot, I am sorry to say, go back again, to before. But, through the lily pads, the reflection of the lake, the tunnel of love, you see that joy, even in the darkest moments, can be had again. Carry that with you.
I hope this helped. I hope you can be clear-eyed for kindness even though you may face despair and hurts. I’m sending you a dream of another lake, one from my childhood. You cannot see who you are swimming with, but it is crisp and clear and cold. You are not afraid of the fish, of what swims beneath. Let me know if you get it.
See you on the other side,
Howdy
~Ask Howdy~
Q: I don't know how long this has been happening, but it's been at least a month, maybe two. I don't always dream about Christmas specifically, but in my dreams, it is winter, and Christmas is coming sometime soon. I feel as though my subconscious has been time-displaced by five months. Any thoughts on what this might mean?
A: Oh, so many! But, to keep it brief, I believe that this speaks to your preoccupation with pleasing others. For me, the holidays are always a time for stress, for micromanaging my own emotions, that time when the pressure to keep everyone happy makes me want to pop. Perhaps your subconscious is hopping forward to match your emotions with a season, with a looming task that is just getting more heart-pounding.
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