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Essays on dreams in psychology
Psychodynamic dream theory
Essays on dreams in psychology
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My eyes hollow, I went about my normal routines, preparing me for sleep, dreading the respite, pupils flickering unseeing before me, afraid to blink, fearing the darkness and the images spawning from it. My dreams played across the natural blinds, taunting me with each flutter of my lids, sparks of isolation, suffering, terror, all twisting and twining to form each strike at my heart, flashes of pure hateful white contrasting yet complementing the abandoned black.
As the memories returned, dreams collided with reality, the two fusing seamlessly together, my breath quickening, heart quivering in my chest, the fear beating its wings viciously, trying to escape the confines of my mind once again, craving the freedom it’s discovered in my sleeping horror. As the illusions began to conquer my brain, I receded into my mind, the loathing hate forming a heavy blanket over me, forcing my body into submission, drowning it in fearful sleep. The now familiar ache returned to my wrists, the dull pain spreading slowly, agonisingly, down my arms, reminiscent of the ropes curled around my wrists, the bounds that fasten me to my nightmares. The sleep more binding now, my body responding to the conjuring of my mind, only able to manage slight struggles in the waking world, as I’m held captive by the imaginings of the fear.
A small whimper escaped my lips, whether it was audible to the life outside of my head, I’m still unsure, time continued to flow about me in the physical universe, whilst in my head it swirled, spinning and turning, disorientating me completely, making minutes seem like hours, and hours appear eternal. I became aware of my surroundings slowly, moments crawling, fighting the time flow, elongated the torment of waiting, dr...
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...gh the darkness, his inner light banishing the darkness, the mere gleam from his metal-clad body spearing through the black. The next knock jolted through my body, the crate rocking slightly from the force of the blow, a mewl of protest slipping through my lips as my saviours efforts threw me from side to side.
The cruel laugh emitting from the outside realms of my mind stopped me in my tracks, my blood freezing in horror as I realised my mind was playing more tricks, the taunting chuckle flooding my darkened cell, each strike of my confines tossing me violently about. My limbs flailed as best they could, head smashing against the unyielding ceiling, crying out silently against my mental torture.
The hero turned assailant, betrayer, tirelessly threw himself again and again at my helpless self, contained as it was, my mind having far more strength than my body.
gave your life, for some reason, collapses. In a religious meaning, I believe it is best described by St. John of the Cross as “the soul’s journey to the divine union of the love of God” (Perrine). The darkness represents the hardships and difficulties the soul meets in detachment from the world and reaching t...
It is true that some dream in color, and some dream in black and white. Some dream in Sonic sounds, and some dream in silence. In Maxine Hong Kingston's literary works, the readers enter a soundless dream that is painted entirely in the color of black—different shades and blocks of pigments mixing and clashing with each other, opening up infinite possibilities for both beautiful if frightening nightmares and impossible dreams.
“I remained during the rest of the night…fearing each sound as if it were…the demoniacal corpse to which I had so miserably given life” (43).
“A stronger light pressed upon my nerves, so that I was obliged to shut my eyes. Darkness then came over me,
“So our nights drag on. The dream of Tantulus and the dream of the story are woven into a texture of more indistinct images: the suffering of the day, composed of hunger, blows, cold, exhaustion, fear and promiscuity, turns at nighttime into shapeless nightmare of unheard of violence, which in free life would only occur during a fever...
"....I feel no shame, with shield and sword and armor, against this monster: when he comes to me I mean to stand, not to run from his shooting flames, stand till fate decides which one of us wins. My heart is firm, my hands calm: I need no hot words. Wait for me close by, my friends. We shall see, soon, who will survive this bloody battle, stand when the fighting is done. No one else could do what I mean to, here, no man but me could hope to defeat this monster. No one could try..."
The night was tempestuous and my emotions were subtle, like the flame upon a torch. They blew out at the same time that my sense of tranquility dispersed, as if the winds had simply come and gone. The shrill scream of a young girl ricocheted off the walls and for a few brief seconds, it was the only sound that I could hear. It was then that the waves of turmoil commenced to crash upon me. It seemed as though every last one of my senses were succumbed to disperse from my reach completely. As everything blurred, I could just barely make out the slam of a door from somewhere alongside me and soon, the only thing that was left in its place was an ominous silence.
The voices in my head become a swelling crescendo. I forcefully grab my head in between my hands as the words echo through my skull. Pain pulsates with every word. I squeeze my temples hard with my palms but the pain is unbearable. Clawing at my face, a scream rips through me; sapping every last drop of energy in my body. Like a rag doll, I collapse onto the cold concrete floor as a growing darkness overcomes me.
Have you ever had a moment in time that seems like minutes or hours even though it was only a few seconds? Have you ever seen everything before you play out in slow motion, where you are aware of everything around you, yet not knowing what was going on? I have, and as I look back on it, I feel very blessed and protected. On March 21, 1987, I decided to take a little swim in our swimming pool and almost drowned.
This morning I wake early from the light that creeps underneath my blinds and my bed next to the window. I wake floating on the streams of light, heated, like white wax spilled across the floor, dripping, soft. In bare feet I walk down the stairs, cold on the wood, and find my father in the kitchen, also awake early. Together, we leave the house, the house that my parents built with windows like walls, windows that show the water on either side of the island. We close the door quietly so as not to wake the sleepers. We walk down the pine-needle path, through the arch of trees, the steep wooden steps to the dock nestled in the sea-weed covered rocks. We sit silently on the bench, watch as the fog evaporates from the clear water. The trees and water are a painting in muted colors, silver and grays and greenish blue, hazy white above the trees.
We all remember these grey gloomy days filled with a feeling of despair that saddens the heart from top to bottom. Even though, there may be joy in one’s heart, the atmosphere turns the soul cold and inert. Autumn is the nest of this particular type of days despite its hidden beauty. The sun seems foreign, and the nights are darker than usual enveloped by a thrill that generates chills to travel through the spine leaving you with a feeling of insecurity. Nevertheless, the thinnest of light will always shine through the deepest darkness; in fact, darkness amplifies the beauty and intensity of a sparkle. There I found myself trapped within the four walls of my house, all alone, surrounded by the viscosity of this type of day. I could hear some horrifying voices going through my mind led by unappealing suicidal thought. Boredom had me encaged, completely at its mercy. I needed to go far away, and escape from this morbid house which was wearing me down to the grave. Hope was purely what I was seeking in the middle of the city. Outside, the air was heavy. No beautifully rounded clouds, nor sunrays where available to be admired through the thick grey coat formed by the mist embedded in the streets. Though, I felt quite relieved to notice that I was not alone to feel that emptiness inside myself as I was trying to engage merchant who shown similar “symptoms” of my condition. The atmosphere definitely had a contagious effect spreading through the hearts of every pedestrian that day. Very quickly, what seemed to be comforting me at first, turned out to be deepening me in solitude. In the city park, walking ahead of me, I saw a little boy who had long hair attached with a black bandana.
is suddenly deprived of illusions and of light, man feels a stranger. His is an irremediable exile,
A faint twinge of excitement floated through my body that night. A hint of anticipation of the coming day could not be suppressed; yet to be overcome with anxiety would not do at all. I arduously forced those pernicious thoughts from seeping in and overcoming my body and mind. I still wonder that I slept at all that night.
Something new and awkward was happening to me taking all my attention. Nevertheless, I tried hard to comfort myself by forcing in a simple sense that it will be all right. But, I couldn’t resist the undeniable feeling of my universe squeezing too much. A feeling that went for so long that I couldn’t remember what came before. A dreadful feeling that was continuously fed with an alarming wish to escape consuming my resistance and leaving me completely exhausted. I didn’t want to surrender, in a final attempt I kicked my legs out straight but nothing happened. I tried to stretch out, to escape to make the suffering stop and merge again with the universe I used to know.“Please stop!”, I closed my eyes firmly yet no sound came out. My mouth was firmly glued by thick layers of mud.… I had no choice but finally relenting.
...ed eyes, vision growing fainter, body becoming paralyzed, and the hum of the hospital machines muting to a dull throb. And slowly I rise, rise into the escape of pure bliss.