Warning: You may not want to read this while eating.
The night before last my dad finally spoke to me in a dream. He was here at the house, early in the morning-- still dark outside. He was dressed in a blue suit. In real life, I'm not sure I ever saw my dad wear a suit. This one was hideously bright blue, and my dad was young and thin with long blond hair and bucked teeth, the way he looked when I was five.
I was making pasta for some reason, standing at the kitchen table testing it for doneness. My dad came in from the back of the house carrying a square, black composting bin. He set it down on the table and said, "Don't you think it's time you start taking care of this?" The bin was empty and the worms were crawling out of it on all sides trying to escape.
I freaked out about the bin being so close to my food and then I was worried that the noodle I was chewing was actually a worm, and I spit it out.
I was so mad that he brought that bin into my house, and I was thinking, I do not have time to deal with this. I grabbed the bin, being careful not to touch the worms, carried it out the front door and threw it as far as I could over the front porch.
Unfortunately, I'm not so strong even in dream land, so the bin landed with a thud on its side right next to the house. I looked at it sitting there in the dark with the worms crawling over it, and I realized I'd have to clean it all up later, and I was angry.
If that's not a symbolic dream I don't know what.
At first I thought my dad came all this way to tell me I need to take out the garbage, but then I realized it wasn't just garbage it was the organics. I do have a whole love-hate relationship with the composting pile in the woods behind the house. I know it's a good thing, and I'm glad we throw our food scraps out there, but I don't want to see it. I don't want to smell it, and I certainly don't want to know if there are worms in it. I know worms are happy and they're doing good stuff to the earth, making nice rich soil. Still, yuck. When I have to empty the organics bucket I try not to breath. I lift the lid on the pile to one side so that I can't see what's on the other side, and sometimes I even close my eyes.
I'm not as bad as Sweet Potato. She wraps a scarf around her mouth and nose, wears rubber gloves and a hoodie.
Anyway, I think my dad made a deal with the devil or maybe he had become the devil so he could be who he was before the drugs and alcohol, and that's why the blue suit. He was telling me to get the rot out, to stop being afraid of the worms because they need to do their thing to make it all better. Maybe. I'm still angry about the criticism. He could have at least said, "Hey, I've missed ya darlin."
The night before last my dad finally spoke to me in a dream. He was here at the house, early in the morning-- still dark outside. He was dressed in a blue suit. In real life, I'm not sure I ever saw my dad wear a suit. This one was hideously bright blue, and my dad was young and thin with long blond hair and bucked teeth, the way he looked when I was five.
I was making pasta for some reason, standing at the kitchen table testing it for doneness. My dad came in from the back of the house carrying a square, black composting bin. He set it down on the table and said, "Don't you think it's time you start taking care of this?" The bin was empty and the worms were crawling out of it on all sides trying to escape.
I freaked out about the bin being so close to my food and then I was worried that the noodle I was chewing was actually a worm, and I spit it out.
I was so mad that he brought that bin into my house, and I was thinking, I do not have time to deal with this. I grabbed the bin, being careful not to touch the worms, carried it out the front door and threw it as far as I could over the front porch.
Unfortunately, I'm not so strong even in dream land, so the bin landed with a thud on its side right next to the house. I looked at it sitting there in the dark with the worms crawling over it, and I realized I'd have to clean it all up later, and I was angry.
If that's not a symbolic dream I don't know what.
At first I thought my dad came all this way to tell me I need to take out the garbage, but then I realized it wasn't just garbage it was the organics. I do have a whole love-hate relationship with the composting pile in the woods behind the house. I know it's a good thing, and I'm glad we throw our food scraps out there, but I don't want to see it. I don't want to smell it, and I certainly don't want to know if there are worms in it. I know worms are happy and they're doing good stuff to the earth, making nice rich soil. Still, yuck. When I have to empty the organics bucket I try not to breath. I lift the lid on the pile to one side so that I can't see what's on the other side, and sometimes I even close my eyes.
I'm not as bad as Sweet Potato. She wraps a scarf around her mouth and nose, wears rubber gloves and a hoodie.
Anyway, I think my dad made a deal with the devil or maybe he had become the devil so he could be who he was before the drugs and alcohol, and that's why the blue suit. He was telling me to get the rot out, to stop being afraid of the worms because they need to do their thing to make it all better. Maybe. I'm still angry about the criticism. He could have at least said, "Hey, I've missed ya darlin."
Comments
"It's not easy being green."
Kermit had it right. I wish for you dreams of soft, warm comforting thingys that envelope you in their simple love of life and living.
Sleep tight, FMF