Muddied Dreams

Last night, I had a dream in two parts. In both parts, I was driving our mini-van. In Part I, the car is out of control, and I am heading over the side of the road and into a large body of water only to turn at the last minute and narrowly save myself and my family from a soggy demise.

In Part II, directly following Part I with little appreciation for scene transitions or bridges or flow, only Gabriella and I are in the mini-van. Always the mini-van. I’m driving along when I realize I’ve driven us into some sort of parade or march, the purpose unclear. The participants were happy enough, festive even. It was more of a circus vibe – people in fancy dress prancing – celebrating as opposed to protesting. The minivan did not belong there, but there was no way out.  We had no choice but to drive along the same route as the performers or clowns or Radical Faeries or whatever they were.

I drove us along hoping that we’d be able to find a side street only to come to another body of water, well mud really that was unavoidable. Don’t ask why I couldn’t have pulled over or anything practical like that. My subconscious clearly had a script that my conscious mind did not. I drove our mini-van right into the mud hole knowing that it would get stuck and that we’d have to leave the car in whatever kind of pit it was that was swallowing it whole.

By the time we got out of the mini-van, the mini-van had morphed into an enormous hippopotamus, and it was happy as could be in its mud bath. Even though the Ring Master or Grand Marshall or whoever was irritated that we had abandoned our hippo-car teat-deep in mud, we were happy to have left that mess behind.


I’ve always subscribed to the thinking that the subject matter of a dream is not as important as how you feel when you wake up after that dream.  So, if you dream you kill your father with a pickaxe, but some how you wake up with a smile on your face, your dream most likely had nothing to do with killing your father – unless you have murderous feelings towards your father in which case you may have some stuff to work out.

When I woke up, I felt fine, neither disturbed nor relieved. I searched for dream sites that could translate the seemingly symbolic scenes. Mud represents mixed feelings about unclear situations that require patience and practical thinking. Dreaming that I am driving means that I am literally in the driver’s seat of my life. Water symbolizes a variety of things, but in this case, I’m most likely avoiding emotional upheaval. Apparently, a hippopotamus represents aggressive nature and hidden strength.

So, it made sense that I was not afraid or freaked out when woke up because apparently, I’m in control of my own destiny. While there may be uncertainties along the way, I seem to be moving in the right direction.

But now after having really considered all the various elements of the dream and my feelings about driving and mud and hippopotamuses (or hippopotami) I am sure of one very significant truism.

I spend way too much time in my mini-van.

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