by Dmetri Kakmi
I was heavily pregnant in hospital. A male friend was there, wearing the green hospital clothes, like doctors wear. Though I acknowledged him as my friend, he was my doctor. It felt as if I had known him for years and I felt very safe. I seemed to be in labour, though we were are all pretty calm about it. I was more worried about the book that I had with me (I can’t remember the title). I was supposed to review it with my friend. But he was busy taking care of me during my labour, while I was trying to talk about the book. I was quite enthusiastic about it. The dream faded with me trying to get his attention, while at the same time my feelings towards him became intimate.
The book at its deepest level is a symbol of the universe and is often aligned with the tree of life. The letters in a book, like the leaves on a tree, represent creation’s totality, divine secrets that can be revealed to initiates. Closed, the book is virgin matter. An open book has been fertilised. It is a revelation that can be shared.
You have read the book and want to discuss it with an individual who is, interestingly, garbed in pale green. Green is a holy colour for Muslims. Elsewhere it is a kind of miracle colour. It spreads over a wintry landscape, bringing life to what was arid. It represents fertility, the unstoppable life force spreading wildly in all directions. But it can also swing across to the opposite pole. Green can also represent illness, slime, mould, decay, the face of monstrous threat — the face of the Wicked Witch of the West, for instance, is green.
Your wish to discuss the book, the mysteries of the universe, shows a questing, curious nature. You want to expand the limits of every day experience, but you meet resistance, obstacles. Nevertheless your being is pervaded with a desire to be on intimate terms with universal truths, and with fruitful abundance. Persevere.
I dreamt I had inadvertently killed a baby. For some reason, I put it in a freezer thinking I could always thaw it later on. It was a big baby boy, probably a month old. I gradually realised that thawing wouldn’t bring it back to life. I was so relieved to wake up. I can still see the dead baby I was holding, as the truth dawned on me and I felt sick.
Have you smothered a vital quality, an ambition, a longing? Look in yourself. Is there regret, are you pining over an unfulfilled youthful enthusiasm? Or maybe you yearn for lost innocence?
In Christian symbolism angels are represented as babies or cherubs — a reference to a paradisal state. The child is pure, innocent. It exists in the present. There is no past or future. There is only now. No judgement. Only simplicity, spontaneity, self-containment. As we see in Blake’s art, the baby can also represent the spark of life or inspiration. Given that you are holding a frozen newborn, I hazard to say that you hesitated to act on a scheme, a mission, a goal. There is regret and remorse, but it is never too late. As long as you are alive, there is always hope. There’s always possibility. The dream does not herald an end. It’s an exhortation to act.
This is the final Dreamboat column. Thank you to every one who entrusted me with their innermost secrets over the last months. It was a privilege and an honour. I hope I did your dreams justice.
Dmetri Kakmi learned to tell fortunes and interpret dreams by observing his grandmother when he was growing up in Turkey. Nowadays he combines that fledgling knowledge with Jungian, ancient and traditional symbolism.
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