By Dolores J. Nurss

Volume V: Sharing Insanity

Chapter 14




I dreamed specifically of Jake groping after some link between bad relationships with mothers, absent fathers, and the wrongness of the campus.  And separately, I dreamed of being Randy when my mother flirted with me, miserably trying not to connect the rather obvious dots.  Not surprisingly, I dreamed the latter in puberty, when I felt my tomboy status threatened by the unmistakable evidence of femininity—it just seemed all wrong!  My big brother wanted a little brother, after all

I dreamed, as Deirdre, of drunkenly stumbling through the night terrified of my lack of control, and finally taking refuge in a hollow tree.  And the amusing, embarrassing aftermath of emerging by daylight, in plain sight of camp.  That dream came in my teens, at the height of the Drug Revolution, reminding me of why I did not want to participate.

Much later than most of the Toulin dreams, I had a flash-dream of being George, and thinking, desperately, that Jake could save me.  I had, in waking life, conflicts between what I believed and what I'd been taught to believe, and I needed the perspective of Jake, whom I think of as my Reconciler of Opposites.

I dreamed of a scarred, bearded man killing a woman who argued with him and leading the rest away– a shocking moment!  Taking the beard as a symbol of maturity and the scars the hard road to experience, these needed to kill my reluctance to move forward, my passivity, unwilling to rebel.  I would have led a much happier and more productive life if I had, in the waking world, embraced the risks and the inevitable scars, and left my childhood home on adulthood.

            I have dreamed of flickering identities before.  Here I make the general pattern serve the story in Deirdre's dream.  I did not dream of whistling (I can't whistle) but I have had a similar enough experience.  Once, in an emergency situation, a family who didn't speak a word of English had to stay for awhile in my home.  I had begun my life speaking Spanish, but a trauma silenced me for three years, and when I resumed I could only speak English.  I took a number of Spanish classes since, but would forget almost everything as soon as the classes ended, from some mental block.  (It's easing up now, little by little.)  But on the night that these people arrived, I dreamed in Spanish, and in the morning I could converse with them, and remembered Spanish until they left, when  suddenly I forgot it all again.

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