Usually I sleep quite well. I stay up late, but sleep soundly.
Not this week.
Last night I dabbed lavender scent on the cuffs of my nightshirt, on the edges of my pillowcase, in hopes of a better rest.
And I slept okay but for this damn dream: I was covering up the stabbing murder of an old boyfriend (been hearing his name—someone has the same one—on the radio in recent days so maybe this explains some of it), and was about to be questioned in court and was anxious about my role being found out.
This was so upsetting that I awoke, laid there awake, and had to calm myself by repeating that I had not hurt anybody. Even then I remained worked up!
From The Dreamer’s Dictionary by Lady Stearn Robinson & Tom Corbett:
Killing~ If you dreamed of killing someone, whether intentionally or by accident, it signifies a period of severe emotional stress during which you must make a heroic effort to control your temper. To dream of being a witness to a killing portends a change which will not be entirely to your liking.
Court~ A dream featuring a court of law predicts imminent financial reverses; however the longterm outlook is optimistic if you avoid wasting time and energy on vain regrets. Look forward!
From The Hidden Power of Dreams, by Denise Linn:
Killing someone may be a sign that you are releasing parts of yourself that aren’t necessary in your present evolution; killing off beliefs or behaviors that are no longer needed by you.
Do not feel guilty if you have a killing dream; it usually signifies the beginning of a great period of self-growth.
A positive symbol.
Hm. We’ll see. In the dream I felt more my desperate need to hide something than any regret about the act I was responsible for. Also the regret for having done something that can’t be undone. Heaven knows I’ve felt that quite intensely a few times in my life.
Do you ever have a dream similar to this? It’s one I have every few years. Of course the circumstances are different each time, but basically I am on the verge of being discovered to be the murderer of someone or having covered it up, and I’m just sick about it.
The photo above:
-made me think of the way people snicker about old men in nursing homes climbing into the beds of old women, as if it’s a joke, and realize that the snickering displays a really rather stupid lack of awareness that old men and old women still enjoy each other.
-was reflected this weekend when Fella laid to cuddle Mexi-dog on the office bed and I, migrainey, having taken an anti-inflammatory and a gravol pill, climbed under the blankets to let them work and invited Fella to join me. We had a nice little snuggly snooze. There is nothing, as far as I’m concerned, as healing and comforting as loving arms around you. And it has been a while since we have touched each other. Maybe three times in the past six weeks, which is sad and goes so against my grain. After all, that physical intimacy (not sex, just affection) is one of the great pleasures of life.
Well, I must get to work. I’m still in my housecoat and pyjamas, it’s 10:30, and I haven’t eaten breakfast. But Martin Short is about to be interviewed on the radio, and my job includes listening for information about his career.