Dreams

In my dream I am crawling across the arches beneath an old, abandoned bridge. There is no way to cross the bridge’s surface. The road is permanently closed. Halfway across the bridge I encounter the most beautiful butterfly I have ever seen. It is resting on the arch in front of me, underneath the bridge. I must take its picture, but my camera is in my pocket and I need both of my hands to keep from falling. Somehow I get my camera out and snap the picture, but I’m worried that it won’t turn out very well. Still, the picture is in my brain. I turn around and crawl back the way I came, amazed that there are butterflies so beautiful, amazed that I was able to see one.

And you thought Freud was dead! Of course not. He lives on in our dreams. I’m sure my dream interpreter friends will have fun with this one, but I think Freud said it doesn’t matter what you think it means. What matters is what I associate with the dream. What I associate with the dream is that it’s very nice to be dreaming, seeing things I didn’t expect to see.