February 4, 2009
In the dream – well, before the dream, when I went to bed Indy [my cat of 12 years] settled between my body pillow and my belly, kind of propped on a hip and an elbow and my chest. I could feel her touching several places and knew if I shifted at all I’d disturb her, which I hate doing because it is so rare she sleeps on me rather than beside me. It was very cold night, on the below side of zero with gusting winds, and she was willing to share body heat. I think her position influenced the dream.
In it, Indy and I walked out of wherever we were for a stroll in a beautiful landscape. We were enjoying one another’s company, frisking and communing and feeling free and in sync. All of a sudden, when we were some way from the safety of the place we’d come from, a bunch of squirrels and four or five rabbits shot out from around corner and a hole/door in the structure we were just approaching. Some birds may have taken off, too. All these animals appeared and then zipped off across our path, obviously running for their lives. We were startled, maybe the fight-or-flight response already beginning in us. And then the predator appeared. A yellow-grey mountain bear\rottweiler\wolf\hellhound\lion\cheetah thing. He was a mix of all the scary wild animals I imagine, I guess. His fur was matted and dingy, yellow-gray rather than golden, but his eyes were pure gold. He’d been hot on the trail of the rabbits, but when he saw Indiana, who was much bigger than them and I guess therefore a better meal, he came to a dead stop.
Indy, in a crouch since the first startle of the animals, went completely frozen. I moved faster than I ever have in real life. I bent and grabbed her by the scruff of the neck – something I’ve never done and don’t think would be smart now, she’s so big. But I did, supporting her weight quickly with my other hand and pulling her tight against my body. She was just still and alert. Not a dead weight, and not trembling.
But now what? His attention had shifted to me. Previously he hadn’t really cared that I existed. Now he did, and he was laughing at me. Daring me to try anything. And he was right. I needed both of my hands to support Indy; if I let go with one, she’d either dig into my flesh with her claws so deeply the pain would distract and weaken me, or she’d fall and be eaten by the creature. I had my feet. I could kick, which I did the first time he took a step. I think I even connected with his muzzle, but all it really accomplished was to give him a measure of my strength. Or lack thereof. What could I do? I was getting really desperate. Terrified. I couldn’t turn and run back to where we’d come out of. I knew he’d attack then, kill or maim me then run off with the baby. My Indy.
I was wondering if there was some way I could turn Indy around too, let her natural attack abilities work with mine to help us escape while still protecting her. Or would that just get her killed? Was I going to get her killed anyway? No matter what I did?
I cannot convey how awful it was. How frightening. How helpless and frustrated I felt. Because the solution seemed just out of reach. A whole series of “if only’s” went through my mind. As I looked into the animal’s eyes, the certainty that I was trapped, largely by doing the only thing I could do – pick up my cat – my frozen cat, before she became someone’s dinner. And I woke up.
Indy was still there, which soothed me somewhat, but I could not shake off the effects of the dream. I was still full of adrenaline, still frightened, still feeling bereft. That piercing loss. Since Indy was with me, and purred as soon as she felt me wake, I began to worry that the dream signified the loss of someone else dear to me.
This morning, after telling the dream to J, I realized that Jung would advise me to analyze it as if I were playing all the key roles. J said, “Or just forget it.” But it was too powerful to just forget. Too emotional to be meaningless. To packed with meaning to perform no analysis. Some dreams are just a recycling of the day’s work, making sense of sensory input; mental housecleaning. And some dreams are not. Some are powerful, important, encoded messages from the unconscious, or pre or subconscious mind. I believe that because subjecting such dreams – mine and others – to analysis has produced tremendous insights in the past.
So, who am in the roles of myself, Indiana, and the predatory lion/wolf/creature? Well, what most terrifies and disgusts and threatens and disrupts my life right now? For many it might be the economy, their jobs or fear of losing them or something like that. But for me it is most definitely disease, pain, and illness. If we ran with that for a moment and said the predator is the part of me eaten up with pain and illness, threatened by disease, what does that make the other two?
At first I was tempted to say, “I am me,” but that is hardly illuminating. That was a part of me that responded quickly – first assessed the situation and determined the danger, responded decisevely and bravely, selflessly out of love for a friend. Her focus was intently on Indy. A warrior. But maybe too protective? Because she didn’t give Indy a chance to defend herself. Maybe Indy wasn’t frozen but biding her time? Waiting for the cat/wolf/thing to make the first move? The me-woman will never know now, since she intervened to “save” Indy and only ended by getting them both stuck.
Then who is Indy? Who is the best friend, with whom a simple walk is pure joy? Is that atman? Or maybe the part of me that is ready for yoga, wants to meditate every day, has the discipline to pull out the scripture each morning and will lead us to the new, healthier, more spiritually rich life? Indy was ahead, leading, by the way. So does that mean that the healer/yoga part of me is so vulnerable, so fragile or frightened that it is frozen by the sight of disease and pain?
I have certainly used it that way, saying I’ll begin seated meditation again and yoga once I’m healed up from this last surgery; or I’m in too much pain to focus right now . . . I use the mantra a lot, and nothing keeps me from intellecualizing the scriptures. But if Indy represnts the experiential part. . . could it be that the warrior part only thinks that joyful part is vulnerable and in need of protection? Maybe she was finally getting it when she realized she needed to allow that part, Indy, to help protect hersef, protect them both with her claws and her instincts.
I know I had a terrible fear that I was going to lose whatever Indy represented, in part because I had acted so quickly to protect it. Maybe there is a lesson there, too, about not being so frightened of the pain that I allow it to dictate my actions. Force myself to remain calm, assess, evaluate what is best in the long term for all, and only act then. Perhaps inserting that pause will enable me to see that the best course really is to meditate or pursue yoga, not see another doctor or read scary articles on WebMD or something like that. I confess that negative Pap is haunting me a bit. I know the answers – yoga and meditation. Why not start today?
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