Dreamed 1994/12/4 by Wayan
I walk into the neighborhood bar where Dan O'Neill hangs out with all the other underground cartoonists. The piano-playing horse isn't there tonight, but O'Neill is, drinking in the corner.
On a stool at the bar is a girl in a miniskirt, obviously under age--15 or even younger. She's beautiful but very strange somehow--not physically, but something in her movements, posture, aura--what she notices and ignores, maybe? If she were a cat, the bar owner's pet, her actions would seem normal... but in a human, those silent stares and blinks look profoundly strange.
I go over and talk to her a little. (Yes, she does talk! I wondered.) She cheerfully offers me some drug she likes. Very innocently, helpfully, no hint of seductiveness or commercialism. I decline, as worried about drug allergies as I am about the law...
Next she says "Would you like to pet me?" I'm confused--she says it so matter-of-factly... not flirting. Shyly, I caress her like a cat. She casually rolls off the barstool down on the floor, and rubs against my leg. I kneel, and stroke her thighs and belly and breasts and pussy and thighs through her dress, enjoying it a lot--and very turned on. Still she seems to make no distinction between simple touch and blatant sexuality--enjoys them equally, casually, publically. Is she turned on, does she want to have sex? I can't tell! That's especially weird for me because I've MET cat people in dreams, and their body language made more sense. But here in waking life, I feel blind...
Despite my confusion I'm very excited. I think I can learn the meaning of her emotional cues, over time. I see them, I just can't interpret them yet--she's utterly new and makes no sense. A challenge in an area I take for granted! As exciting as sex, in a way...
The underground cartoonists in the back all watch me, glancing sharply every minute or so. They seem protective of her--like she's the bar's collective mascot or pet. Is she human, just lacking boundaries, because she was abused, or... could she just be one of them--another crazy cartoonist? Or is this normal for her species--whatever that is?
Cartoonist, pet... or cartoon? I just can't tell.
Yesterday I wrote up the notes about a shamanic dream, BLESS MY PHOBIA. In it, New Eve wants to marry a talking tiger, not New Adam--despite God and all the guardian angels... The message = I'm not normal, NOR a defective human, but a benign mutation. A normal... cat-person.
So in the bar dream, I'm seeing myself from outside--how I confuse others! Because the Bar Mascot behaved much the way I do with women I like... affectionate, sensual, but apparently confusing the hell out of them.
In hypnotherapy, I work on the dream of the underground cartoonists' bar with the strange girl--bar mascot, prostitute, runaway, cat in a human body?
My hypnotist Shelley tells "I saw this encounter in a cafe the other day--this guy was questioning a girl at the cashier, fishing for a date. She gave evasive answers... But you know, she was beaming at the attention! He recognized it wasn't rejection but testing, so he kept probing. Eventually, he got his date."
It's a great story, but I'm reluctant to apply the lesson. "I know you're saying that for singles, confusion's normal and persistence crucial. But in my dream, I wasn't really confused, but actively blinded by something."
So Shelley guides me through a dream re-entry. It's soon clear why I felt blind--I was hiding my own strangeness and playing human! I wasn't putting on this mask for her, but for the bartender and the cartoonists who seemed so protective of her! I stifled urges to act like a cat myself with her, rub up against her, pounce and play. Instead, I split my attention between her and the cartoonists.
When I rerun the dream, following my urges to question and play with her, all my confusion melts away.
It's time to give up on logic, and just explore my urges... they're not as confusing as I think.
It's trying to be normal that confuses me!
Don't worry. This couldn't possibly apply to you.
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