Old souls or dead fish?

 I was planning on writing this blog as a reflection on a book I just read, The Making of an Old Soul: Aging as the Fulfillment of Life’s Promise. The book itself sounded promising. As I got into it, I grew enthusiastic and began highlighting many sentences and even paragraphs. “This is good stuff,” I told myself, with my usual intellectual insight.

But before I finished, I was having second thoughts about the book. I was going to write the blog last night, but these pesky second thoughts were battling in my brain, so I decided to postpone the writing and sleep on it. A good night’s sleep often clarifies matters.

But I woke up early this morning with a crazy dream. I believe in the importance of dreams, the dreams you remember. Most of my dreams I forget the moment I wake up. They entice me and I want to hold onto them, but it’s like grabbing a fistful of mist. Nothing stays. But if a dream remains in my mind, I know it’s important. It might be a message from God. Seriously. Sometimes that happens. Mostly, though, my dreams tell me something about myself, something it would be good for me to attend to.

Dream analysis can be tricky and I’m no psychologist. Writing a dream usually helps me make sense of it. And, of course, if I don’t write it down immediately, I’ll forget it by the end of the morning. Even remembered dreams are elusive. They can slip away like a wet fish in the hand.

Speaking of fish, that’s what last night’s dream was about. And since I have not yet reached any conclusion about the old-souls book, I’m going to write my dream here in this blog and let you help me interpret it.

Okay. Here goes.

I was on a road trip with someone (who? the details are already slipping away), and we were parked in a small, run-down town out in nowhere. We got a meal in a local café and then were about to leave when we were apprehended by the law. With no explanations, the sheriff grabbed us and took us to the local jail. I was pleading for mercy. The sheriff impounded my car, put my companion in jail, and said he would go easy on me if I would do him the favor of delivering a load of fish to some restaurant in Los Angeles.

I agreed. The sheriff and his men then loaded a bunch of fish, including a huge tuna, into the back seat of a gold-painted station wagon, gave me the keys, and waved good-bye.

I drove off quickly, wanting to get away from the whole scene. Apparently, I didn’t give a thought to my companion back in the town jail. He just disappears from the dream. I also didn’t give a thought to the fact that these fish had not been packed in ice and placed in a container. They were just lying on the floor and back seat. 

It wasn’t too long before I did give that a thought.

I was driving through the desert. It looked like Death Valley (through which I have actually driven, in real life). As the day progressed and the sun got higher in the sky, I thought about those fish. My nose thought about them. Although the car had air-conditioning, it was so hot outside, the fish were beginning to stink. And it dawned on me just how mean and nasty that sheriff was. This fish delivery thing was merely revenge.

Soon I had to stop the car and do something about the whole mess. I had no idea how far it was to Los Angeles.  I got out. The desert sun beat down with such intensity it gave me a headache. I opened the back door and began tossing fish to the side of the road. It was hard when I got the huge tuna, but with lots of tugging and sweating and panting and cursing the sheriff, I managed to drag the thing out of the car. Only to discover that underneath all the fish lay a corpse.

On that note I woke up.

Can you see why I need help in interpretation?

I don’t think this dream was a message from God.

So, what is it trying to tell me about myself? Why was this dream important enough to be remembered? 

(At this point, you’re probably wishing I had stuck with a reflection on old souls.)

Interpretation begins with observations and questions. Who was my companion and why did he just disappear? Who was the sheriff? It seems obvious that he did not represent the law since justice never entered the dream. And the fish? The gold station-wagon? The desert? Who was the dead man?

Does this have anything to do with growing older?

Or is it something else?

A little while ago Hal came in from his early morning walk and I shared the dream with him. He’s the best dream-interpreter I know. He immediately connected the dream to the current political situation in our country and told me it could be a reflection of my fears. He might be right.

Last night I watched the evening news with Hal. I had previously decided I wouldn’t do that anymore as it can be too upsetting, but something seems to draw me to the TV. Partly it’s because it’s been our routine for years, to watch the evening news together and then discuss the issues. But because of the tension and chaos in our national life, I’d decided to take a break and get my news through other sources. Last night I gave in and joined Hal in front of the TV. It was, of course, upsetting.

Then we went to bed, but I couldn’t get to sleep, which is not surprising. So I got up and went out to the living room to pray. I prayed for our national leaders. I prayed for Congress and the Supreme Court. I prayed for all the people in other countries who are paying the consequences of the abrupt cutting off of aid. I prayed for the thousands of federal workers now without a job. I prayed for my Hispanic friends here in town who live with increased levels of fear and insecurity. I lamented and called out for mercy. Then I went back to bed and slept.

And early this morning—the dream.

Does the dream symbolically reflect reality? Or my perception of reality? It’s undoubtedly a projection of my fears.

And I need to face the fears.

I don’t think I’ll want to eat fish in the near future. That’s a problem since the retirement community serves lots of fish. I usually like it.

Next week’s blog—no fish or corpses. I promise. Old souls.

PS: Please let me know your take on the dream.