Dear Dr. Ding
I need your wisdom Dr. Ding. I have had a very weird dream this week that
is confusing to me. I shoot myself in the head about 4 times. It
doesn’t hurt and I am fine. The only thing I remember being concerned
about is that one of the wounds was on my forehead and others would see it.
In the dream I was worried about what I would tell others about what had
happened.
I don’t remember feeling depressed or anything that would
make me want to hurt myself. I don’t think the process of shooting
myself was about killing me becuase that just doesn’t resonate with me.
I can’t figure out what it means. What is your intrepretation?
Hard Headed
Dear Hard Headed:
You think Dr. Ding has actual wisdom? May the Lords of Kobol and GirlJesus™ Herself bless you, but I suspect this assumption explains like 90% of your issues right there. I’ve got plenty of the following things: hair products, black clothing, red thumbtacks, the perfect moue of distaste when confronted with people that don’t think feminism is a good idea, KFC “fixin’s” and withering sarcasm. The whole wisdom thing is debatable and varies according to my mood, the planetary alignments, and whether or not I’m getting my fill of words that haven’t been used since Agatha Christie bought tampons.
In a nutshell, there is no one “system” of dream interpretation or dream analysis. There is, however, a Dingian System, which is closely related to a Tholian Web; stay too long inside, and it may drive you mad.
According to my tricorder readings, your dream is a major kick in the ass, or in your case, bullet in the brain. I think it’s telling you that you’ve quite literally killed your deep instincts, your own wisdom and inner knowing, your abilities to visualize clearly what’s happening in your life or perhaps within yourself. Your three other stigmata all disappeared except for the one located over your “third eye” area, a place commonly assocated with intuition, so it stands to Dingish reason that the damage must be located there.
Another interesting element in your dream logic was that it didn’t seem to much matter that YOU were both shooter and victim/survivor; what mattered was what others thought about the horrible injury. Does this match up with anything going on in your life, such as a tendency to focus too much on others’ opinions? Do you have difficulty caring for yourself or putting your own needs first? Listening and heeding your own hunches, feelings, and beliefs? Allowing others’ praise or censure dictate your self-valuation?
You seem to be insightful and psychologically-minded, Hard Headed, in that you’re aware this dream has something to teach you, and you’re curious enough about the possible lesson to write to Dr. Ding. One theory here is that possibly you feel intellectually disenfranchised , which is a term I made up in 1984 to try to explain to my truant officer why I chose to smoke mentholated cigarettes at the public library rather than attend school. This kind of boredom can be a symptom of the death of dreams, a pinched-off condition of the spirit. And I believe it’s more dangerous than most of us realize, more like that literal shot to the head than we’d like to admit.
Are you feeding your head by doing stuff like learning new things, having adventures, dreaming, fantasizing, daring, creating? Or are you stuck on some existential treadmill of birth-school-work-death that masquerades as your real life, numbly stumbling along, waiting for something to happen but not daring to hope?
Well, Hard Headed, something did happen. This heyoka, Trickster-energy dream happened. It’s what the Jungians might call a Big Dream, one with important implications for the survival of the soul, one with strong medicine, a bracing tonic for the psyche. It’s got your attention focused exactly where it should be: on yourself. Now keep it there. Avoid distraction. Meditate on your own interpretations now that you’ve read mine. You’re definitely equipped to do so.
The funny green glow you’re now noticing? That’s the inexorable Tholian Web of dinglogique closing in around you. Savor.
Etsy: QueenBodacious |
Dingalicious,
I had no idea you were The Source for dream interpretation. Man, I’ve got some doozies that I can lay on you, being-chased-by-wolves-while-naked-falling-without-a-parachute(-or-my-duck)-trying-to-hide-an-erection-from-the-goth-chick-and-her-poofy-haired-friend-in-my-German-class type dreams.
Public library? You too good for the smokin’ alley? Thought the park across the street was more your thing.
Agathy Christie’s tampons. Thanks for that.
-The Marvin Magdalene to your GJ
Ndbeasle aka Marvin Magdalene:
Holy smokes. Those are some weird dreams you’re having.
I used to skip school to go smoke purloined Salems at the Public Liberry, but I’m pretty sure that was before you knew me. Sometimes I went to the Pavillion, but there was too great a chance of being caught. It was all about survival back then, man. The mean streets of Shampoo-Banana were no place for a smartassed truant, let me tell you.
Is that pronounced hay-OCK-uh or hay-YOLK-uh?
Because if it’s the latter, I’m going to start choreographing a heyoka polka.
(If I have a nightmare about this, you’ll be hearing from me.)
This is one bet I’ll take, Epiphenita! Some day we shall dance a heyoka polka, and the world will cry with joy.