"Dreaming the Dark"

I desperately wish that I had better honed my sketching skills when I was younger.
I don't have nearly enough time to do it now. But if I had, or did, I would constantly be sketching out the things that I dream.
Our subconscious speaks to us in the oddest ways. I am constantly mystified/bowled over/enthralled by how it manifests itself. It wakes me up(literally, figuratively, whatever) at the most random times. And it's often so wrapped up in tiny little locks within locks that I don't know that I'll ever find the right key to throw all the doors open.
That said, dreaming is my all-time favorite way of bearing witness to the power of the subconscious.
I've heard people bitch and moan about having to listen to other peoples dreams. That just ain't me.
I'll listen all you like...and then judge you accordingly (just kidding!).
I recommend keeping tabs on your dreams too. You never know...they may end up speaking volumes to you when you go back and analyze them. And if not, so what. Maybe you could use them for something creative...like sketching them out...making a children's book...a new name for a cocktail...a pillowcase...whatever.
My dreams almost always speak to me. Sometimes they even sneak in little glimpses of what my future holds. Prognostication or no, they're telling me something about myself.
My dream last night for example...I am not entirely sure what it's saying just yet...maybe I won't ever completely know. Regardless, I intend to finally make some time to sketch it out. It was just so beautiful and disturbing and odd.
For those of you who hate having dreams related to you, turn the page now.
For those of you that don't...here is a snippet of what was in my head while I was sleeping:


I was waiting for an appointment in a theater that would have been the place to go for fine gentleman's entertainment at the turn of the twentieth century. The velvet curtains were rotting and dusty...the gold paint was peeling...the wall paper was dripping off the walls in dark folds. Victorian settees and the like were split open and the stuffing (horses hair!) was pouring out. I didn't know what my appointment was for until I was approached by a long and lithe woman wearing an absolutely filthy nurses uniform. Her words were muffled by the mask covering her face.
"The doctor will see you now."
Behind velvet curtain number 245 was a series of rusting gynecological exam beds, heat lamps with noisy/flickering bulbs and a nice neat spread of scalpels, speculums, and forceps.
I was here for a lady appointment. Duhn, duhn, duhn.
Skipping over some un-pleasantries (my dreams are unbelievably graphic...I'll spare you those details)...I had my uterus taken out.
"Not to worry. We'll put it back in. But look here, love. You're riddled with an almost cancer."
And so I was.
Allow me to note that my uterus was not your average uterus.
As the doctor held it up for me to examine, I peered out at what very much resembled an octopus.
And it was indeed on the verge of cancerous deterioration.
Where the color should have been rose, it was white. Where the surface should have been slick and smooth, it was dry and mottled.
I was horrified.
And I was determined to rid myself of this invasion, but also felt a great sense of fear and desperation thinking of what I would have to let go of in order to stop the disease.
The doctor interrupted my panic by flipping the uterus over.
He/She was showing me a secret!
"Look inside", he/she said.
Curiouser and Curiouser...
Tucked carefully and perfectly inside this thing that came from the inside of me was a little amber orb.
The doctor took it out and let me hold it.
It glowed and glimmered.
"Some women sell these," the doctor says (and no, it wasn't an EGG...I don't know WTF it was).
Well, I knew that I couldn't ever sell it. Never ever ever. Because it was mine.
I was even a little sure that it would somehow help to cure me.

And then I woke up.
Believe it or not, I feel like this dream relates directly to some things that are going on in my life right at this very moment. I realize that may make me sound ridiculous or loopy or crazy.
Sooooo whaaaaat.

I looked up the symbology of the octopus.
I found this:
Octopus: shows us how to get what we want in an intelligent and efficient way. Octopus symbolizes intelligence, moving rapidly away from danger when needed, and the proper use of smoke screens (ink) in evading enemies.

I liked this definition. I even found it helpful.

Of course I also found something that said it was an anti-Semitic symbol...not so helpful.

Maybe I actually have cancer and should head in for my annual.
Maybe it means absolutely nothing at all.

Regardless...I'm going to set some time aside to draw it and other dreams.
And I've already come up with a new name for a cocktail...

The Octopussy:
Filled to the gills with baby octopi and other cancer fighting agents.
Cheers!