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May 6, 2019 | by  | in Dream Diagnosis |
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Dream Diagnosis – Horsing Around

DREAMER: I was in my late great-grandmother’s room. I sat on her bed with a dark blue, 15 cm horse. The horse was locked in a translucent box; I let it out. Minutes later, the horse was nowhere to be found. Searching all around, I started to panic. I found the horse just outside of the room in the corridor. I put the horse back in my big mama’s room, realising that if there was no barrier, I might lose it forever. 

 

DIAGNOSER:  

Dear dreamer,

Let’s start with the positives—luckily for you, the horse wasn’t white. Had it been, death would be cantering at your door. Instead, we have a boxed blue horse—visible and tantalising—which you release, lose, panic, then find again. A quaint version of Pandora’s box? Good lord.

Horse symbolism usually ties in with freedom and power. Now note the setting—your great-grandmother’s room. It’s clear you’re afraid; afraid the power and freedom that swells from something inherent, passed down in your lineage, is going to fade away. But power is fleeting. Whoever you (or your family) were, or whatever they had, that time is nearly up. Your great-grandmother is from generations past. Generations! Surely you could just accept equality, and what it means in all its forms and doses, and allow the former power—name, class, skin, or whatever—to slowly seep away into the sand (and yes, I know you’re sitting down at Oriental Bay as you read this crisp edition).

You know, I actually believed all wasn’t lost until you headed out into the corridor. Success in dreams is a terrible sign. Life’s not black and white and dreams are meant to be odd! That you manage to safely secure the blue horse screams fucking cop-out and makes me think that if we met, I wouldn’t like you. Hell, I’d probably despise you. Your victory against the onslaught, your scrambling return up the ivory tower, repulses me. The fact you’re rewarded for going the extra mile when you should have left the horse in the box, then smashed it, is a sign of your rampant delusion.

So the next time you close your delicate wee eyelids and enter the dreamscape—when you find yourself gripping tight to the box, I say let the horse go, pal; let it wander away. Cherish whatever you’re left with, even if it’s nothing more than some shit-filled fields that can now finally grow in peace. Isn’t that better than abusing power? Better than privileging your freedom over others?

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