Mommie dearest revisited, or the real face of terror?
My worst nightmare ever: just having boasted yesterday that there seemed no such thing as a 'bad dream', only good, if worked through, it seems as if I live back 'home' with my mother, and she seems a really demented witch/hag, throwing all manner of abuse at me. When I criticize the rubbish she watches on TV (channel 9), she virtually accuses me of somehow having responsibility for that (as if!), and then hurls strange, made-up words at me, worse than any I have encountered in literati, such as "her-e-tic" (with the stress on the middle e), supposedly meaning "ir(e)n", with the stress on the first, short i, supposedly meaning, "basically tolerant of evil". It seems she could never understand the dialectical richness of Anne Rice, this devoutly Catholic, Christian woman, for whom good and evil represent absolutes, and not the two sides of the same coin they represent to me, and Anne; Ansur and I have so much in common, he with his devoutly and hypocritically Protestant, Christian mother, but unlike him, catch me nursing her in her dying days! Even my sisters seem oddly sympathetic and supportive next to her, as they and a friend bundle up my bedclothes to take into my (old) bedroom, but I retrieve them, and bring them back into the lounge, setting up a small and narrow bed for myself on the mantelpiece, hoping to gain a little warmth? She seizes them, and wraps them around herself, to carry them away again, and I think how oddly she resembles a stereotypical terrorist, as I begin to unwind them from her again...
Comment: I have tried to re-enter this dream using active imagination, to calmly walk from the room and retire to my bedroom, or even leave the house, but the feeling of bottomless rage, despair and, yes, terror still remain. I probably should not blog this, but I have to, to get it somehow out of my system and off my chest, and it seems unlikely she, as a total Luddite, will ever see this anyway. There you have it, my own worst nightmare, the witch's own demented hag, in the person of a mother scarier to her even than Sybil's mother, or Joan Crawford in Mommie Dearest (and I thought them pretty terrifying at the time, the two scariest movies ever?). I found Sybil's mother in particular the only one who had ever made me afraid of the dark, but now... How can I return to the dark? The best I can do seems to continue to avoid her, like the plague? ;-P
(Today's cyber-Tarot, Queen of Swords, definitely had something to do with this dream - ignore their interpretation! Queen of Swords represents both my mum, a widow, and me, separated. In my Tarot, the goddess Athene represents her: the only goddess who had it in for Arachne, and therefore the only goddess Arachne still has it in for? Not that I mind life as a spider, mind... just keep Athene away! Possibly this dream represents an actual psychic attack by her?) ;-))
Weird sequel to dream, later in the night/earlier in the morning: Found myself out driving with Sebi, on some sort of weird Gawith Villa daytrip (!), and, having subsidised Sebi's petrol (from "Frankston-Rye"), had bought two slabs of Toohey's beer, and stood them beside my bag, foolishly not locking them safely in the car. A, a client, wanted to make off with one. B, a worker, wanted to "steal" it back off her in turn. When we caught up with her, by car, A began calmly unpacking my beer into her bag, unchallenged by B. I felt furious, and began screaming that I could not call her (A) my friend any more.
Comment and interpretation: Reminds me of Hank's dreams re alcohol when supposedly in detox. Questions regarding alcohol interfere with friendship, and professional life, on all levels?
I tend also to regard this dream as maybe physically therapeutic; maybe client in dream symbolised whatever caused my health scare on the weekend, and I "screamed" at "her" to "banish" her, much as cancer patients use visualization devices against their cancer cells, i.e. nothing "robs" me of the right to enjoy my alcohol ;-))