"What's in the Basket?"
Dreamed 2007/8/4 by ceridwens_descent
I am walking around with a bag in my hand--some kind of plastic atrocity. Within the bag is my head, which I cut off myself. Strange, I still have a head on my shoulders. What a relief! And the new one may even be an improvement, I think. Acquiring the ability to re-grow vital body parts is a plus, too. But we'll see (that is, I won't chop other bits of me off as a test...)
But I must dispose of the old head. My first inclination is to bury it. I'm not guilty, or fearing discovery; I just think people will be slow to believe that it's mine, and delay is a bad idea--the head is decomposing fast. The bag is starting to look a little gross. What if it bursts?
I'm around the bridge that crosses Lake Eucha, less than half a mile from my parents' house. I look out over the water. Someone suggests I throw the head into the lake. I don't want to do that; I worry that it may float and I'd see it. I do NOT want to look in that bag. Ten minutes ago, it felt like a pliant bowling ball; but now it starts feeling like I'm carrying around a bag of rotten vegetables, as if the mold is spreading.
After talking to some stereotypically mafia-esque man, I decide that I should lift the tiles off of a bathroom floor, drill through the concrete foundation, and then bury my head in the dirt. Of course I'd repair the cement and re-tile after burying my head. I mean, I think the bathroom is public...
I occasionally think "I'd like to see my new head." I picture it looking much the same yet somehow more refined, with a decidedly more attractive face. I feel excited and want to look, but I'm relishing the anticipation; I even hold off looking into the water, until I bury the old head. First things first.
After turning it over a time or two in my more awake head, I began to piece together a bit o' interpretation. This is one of the more overtly symbolic dreams I have had in a while, and I can't seem to stop thinking about it.
Obnoxiously in love, eh? (giggles). Sorry, I just love the phrase. Don't bite my head off!
Ahem, the dream, yes. Yeah, I've had these too--a gruesome, severed something-or-other (some of them painfully intimate something-or-others), that turns out to be a pretty auspicious omen of change when you stop to think about it.
About that bathroom: why do I have the feeling that Ceridwen will marry her guy, get stationed in Italy or Japan , look for off-base housing... and walk into her dream-bathroom halfway round the world? My dreams have played too many jokes of that sort on me, I guess. If my life were a popsong the chorus would be "So much for symbolism."
Oh, well. Off with the old head, on with the new...
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