Dream Talk
I dreamt of a fox last night. A legitimate, came in from the woods to meet me fox, more or less.
Upon thinking about it, I realize that I've had foxes on the brain in one way or another for a few months. There was a the grey fox I glimpsed as he ducked into the woods. There was the fox that had crept into an English home through the cat door and into the bed of the man of the house, startling him when he woke and found his wife wasn't there, there was the conversation about Gene Wilder as the fox in the film version of The Little Prince, and there was the fox in my dreams.
I was visiting a friend, sitting on his or her (I can't remember) couch while he/she was fussing about in the bathroom. The only light in the room was that coming from the bathroom's cracked door. I'd never been to this friend's home before so I was sitting rather alertly, watching a couple of his cats wander around the living room, kings of their domain. And then, amongst them, not sure how I'd missed it, there was a fox. It leapt onto the sofa without my calling it, and looked alternatively into my eyes and slightly to the left of me, as if expecting something.
I was afraid to touch him, because he was not the well groomed, ginger colored dandy of a fox from children's books and old issues of Ranger Rick, but larger, greyer, unkempt, slightly dangerous looking. Not dangerous as in deceitful or malicious (the dream dictionary I consulted suggested that foxes in dreams represent deceit in your midst and if you kill the fox you believe you can overcome the danger. All this leads me to the already forming conclusion that dream dictionaries are mostly bullshit) but dangerous in a way that he was aware that the step he'd taken was risky, and if it proved unwise he might snap at me. I got over my fears enough to reach out and pet him, which he allowed, and smooth out the mats in his fur. That's really all I remember.
There are other pieces of dreams I remember from last night, which may have been connected to the same dream, or completely separate. Apparently my mind was busy last night.
There's the dream I had in which I found out that a dear friend of mine was in town working on a show, and had neglected to tell me. My mind and heart struggled with the desire to reach out to her at the same time that I was miffed by her not seeking me out. I knew she hadn't meant to hurt my feelings, but the thought that I hadn't even entered her mind was hurtful nonetheless.
There's also the dream in which I happened on a pornographic video of one of my exes. He'd been a very sweet, incredibly smart psychology student, a poet, handsome with strong features, thick brown hair, and a gregarious nature. What I saw in the video was some wild man in an oatmeal colored sweater with a thick, matted beard getting ready to engage in a random encounter, which I didn't watch. It made me sad. It made me wonder what had happened to the open hearted idealistic guy I had known. Had he changed, or had he only ever existed in my head? Which truth was worse? But I wasn't just sad about that, but sad because he was obviously living a life without me, even if it wasn't the kind of life I wanted myself or would have chosen for him.
I'm sure there's a way in which these bits and pieces twine together to say something about the churning thoughts in my subconscious at this particular time, but I can only grasp at straws right now as to what that way is.
Upon thinking about it, I realize that I've had foxes on the brain in one way or another for a few months. There was a the grey fox I glimpsed as he ducked into the woods. There was the fox that had crept into an English home through the cat door and into the bed of the man of the house, startling him when he woke and found his wife wasn't there, there was the conversation about Gene Wilder as the fox in the film version of The Little Prince, and there was the fox in my dreams.
I was visiting a friend, sitting on his or her (I can't remember) couch while he/she was fussing about in the bathroom. The only light in the room was that coming from the bathroom's cracked door. I'd never been to this friend's home before so I was sitting rather alertly, watching a couple of his cats wander around the living room, kings of their domain. And then, amongst them, not sure how I'd missed it, there was a fox. It leapt onto the sofa without my calling it, and looked alternatively into my eyes and slightly to the left of me, as if expecting something. I was afraid to touch him, because he was not the well groomed, ginger colored dandy of a fox from children's books and old issues of Ranger Rick, but larger, greyer, unkempt, slightly dangerous looking. Not dangerous as in deceitful or malicious (the dream dictionary I consulted suggested that foxes in dreams represent deceit in your midst and if you kill the fox you believe you can overcome the danger. All this leads me to the already forming conclusion that dream dictionaries are mostly bullshit) but dangerous in a way that he was aware that the step he'd taken was risky, and if it proved unwise he might snap at me. I got over my fears enough to reach out and pet him, which he allowed, and smooth out the mats in his fur. That's really all I remember.
There are other pieces of dreams I remember from last night, which may have been connected to the same dream, or completely separate. Apparently my mind was busy last night.
There's the dream I had in which I found out that a dear friend of mine was in town working on a show, and had neglected to tell me. My mind and heart struggled with the desire to reach out to her at the same time that I was miffed by her not seeking me out. I knew she hadn't meant to hurt my feelings, but the thought that I hadn't even entered her mind was hurtful nonetheless.
There's also the dream in which I happened on a pornographic video of one of my exes. He'd been a very sweet, incredibly smart psychology student, a poet, handsome with strong features, thick brown hair, and a gregarious nature. What I saw in the video was some wild man in an oatmeal colored sweater with a thick, matted beard getting ready to engage in a random encounter, which I didn't watch. It made me sad. It made me wonder what had happened to the open hearted idealistic guy I had known. Had he changed, or had he only ever existed in my head? Which truth was worse? But I wasn't just sad about that, but sad because he was obviously living a life without me, even if it wasn't the kind of life I wanted myself or would have chosen for him.
I'm sure there's a way in which these bits and pieces twine together to say something about the churning thoughts in my subconscious at this particular time, but I can only grasp at straws right now as to what that way is.