First Series of Dreams, March 2003

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Objective

   A lot of dreams, followed by free association. Perhaps you could speak about meditations, a description of my personal mental space, skipping from one subject to another. Beginning mostly about the first days after I was thrown into the world, or, concerning the creation of my world and the Big Bang.

I certainly don't want to present a symbol-book. It's my purpose to demonstrate what can be done with dream work; how my internal space is explored and becomes familiar by means of free association, and how that is feasible for every normal person as well. Knowing your own reference frame leads to acceptance, which in turn yields intimate relationships with others, the owners of an Other background.

Subjective

   In the beginning we see me as I was in the beginning of history, small and just born. You see the bed there in the antiques shop, while present day cars drive on and of in the background (or the foreground).

All depends on the viewpoint of the observer. We just try to read our personal book, and it automatically opens up on an early history page, with lots of links to everything else. It's like a website, looking a little bit like this one, organized in our head, and there they call it associational links instead of hyperlinks.

There you have the complete (four generation) family tree. On top me of course, because it's only possible to work with my personal dreams, if I want to work with my dreams. Immediately I come in contact with my parents, because they generated me, and then my grandparents, because they all hang around in my head. The further background disappears in the mist of the past: I never was in contact with my great-grandfather personally (just heard about him). Yet everything pops up out of the box.

12-03-2003

 Opening of the door. Being part of the town council, behind an MDF board with spy-holes in.

• Yet old memories are hanging around. The bottleneck between my head and my body is still there, although it feels no longer like a strangulation. It looks as if the hourglass is behind bars, a door in jail. It is my wish to open the door as far as possible, to free the words.

 Zone of Proximal Development, Lev Vygotsky, 1896 - 1934. The shit hits the fan.

• When I get into the shit, probably it will be my own responsibility, and also due to my environment. To see what is going on, I have to examine my medium (me in interaction with my direct environment), in order to find out what my share was later on. My first impression as a novice world citizen was that I was seen like a pile of shit left behind by the adults (some very important ones).

 Television, with a fat booklet.

• My father was very interested in his pigeons, just like the pastor in his sheep. Unfortunately for me, he forgot to learn me flying after having put me into the travel-basket. Perhaps I just was jealous, who knows? The ladies are unpacked too, whit there nylons and other disguise, showing up in my feelings of guilt and penalty.

 The vector for warmth in the living room.

• The living room was the bedroom, and there was a stove too, somewhere. A big piece of confusion after all, about beds end bodily warmth. The vector especially points to the transition object, the two dimensional teddy bear Bambi looking at me for a while, like a vague memory of something that never was there at last.

 Agnes, Juul's wife, has a lover, and goes away with him.

• The box of memories is completely opening up by now, like the smell of Triple Sec, and feelings of being born. The button box of my granny and the street in the vicinity. Juul sometimes came to cut my hair, and to chat with the others over my head.

 Edith lives in a house with an old renewed roof, with Flemish tiles.

• We are in the shit again (anal phase isn't it), but Willy comes looking from behind the corner, in the vapor of chloroform. Elian shows her pussy, and immediately repression comes in action, in the person of Bolly, aunt Bolly. There are memories of painted glass (or fantasies)... with more details in the future.

 The chicken can push her chicks in with a move of its paw.

• Mother hen pushes me in with one of her hind legs, and puts me brown glasses on my nose, hers, to ameliorate my view on the world a little bit. The way to the saloon is properly closed off with a stop sign: a board saying that it is completely wrong to have a toadstool (which has been removed later on anyway).

 I go for a big bottle of jenever and leave with it.

• The mirror came when I was about 18 months of age... then I recognize myself behind the glass in front of the glass, and I link my name with my person. The bottle, the cigarette, my father's rifle... my discovering the dovecot with chicks and raising birds and things like that, together with my father (in heaven) doesn't find favor with my mother. My toadstool is distasteful to her, and those of my father apparently also.

 I am at a lake, next to a strange city, Vienna (Wenen) I think.

• It is like a lake of sorrow, pain and humiliation. Having three years of age, I don't see any reason to name the drawing of a huge apple on the blackboard an apple. And a noise box pops up into consciousness (floating in a sea of objects) only after a strange button in it looks at me suddenly. The button of a girl's duster, known to me, because I had to wear one at that time there? Jesus begins his miraculous walk around.

 A woman wearing a cyan colored open dress is one of the two dentists.

• The link between my body and the outside world isn't very clear to me in the beginning. Everything just happens, and gets registered. Feelings, pain, impressions and experiences slowly get knitted in each other and catalogued. Now the door is the game an other time, but it is a front door with  a bell and a postbox and a milkman. Then the feature of men to cut off their beard (with a sharp knife).

 I drive our Kangoo in Bruges, in a small street.

• We go with the tram to Bruges, and it is raining into the water, without water. The machete of my mother, the cap of Ko the constable, the arrogant eyes of aunt Bolly... contrast with Snow White and aunt Miss. The head of the witch has to be cut off, but it is red cabbage — and my father didn't see anything.

A. Syberg, Belgium
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