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I’ve had a number of cemetery dreams lately…
At one point in my life, dreams like this would have completely creeped me out, but after doing Jack Miller’s Phoenix Project (in 1994) and visiting Graceland Cemetery in Chicago as a way of honoring all those dreams with their recurring theme, the creep factor had completely disappeared…
Now it seems to have been replaced by a sense of discomfort that I have difficulty placing… The only thing I have to go on is that I can definitively recognize the graves in last night’s dream as being certain computer files… I really have to hand it to Psyche, the comedian, again… Those silly gray file icons on my Mac look close enough to headstones to qualify, but it was the names on them that made identification so easy…
Something about BBEdit, which is the program I use to work on the various revisions of an introduction to my jungian interpretation of Hansel and Gretel…
So…why in the hell am I meant to equate working on this introduction with death and funerals?? I’m not so sure yet, but this introduction is turning into a real monster of a task as I find myself trying to explain (to myself, of course) just what the interpretation of fairy tales is all about…from a jungian perspective, that is…
I do a lot of looking around on the internet for research material on fairy tales, and I’ve recently run across more academic folklorists like this… something about it feels just a little unpleasant, but this still doesn’t explain the visceral sense of difficulty that a dream cemetery seems to conjure up…
Last night, in particular, I saw a small number of men who had apparently spent the night resting under semi-elaborate headstones…it was as if they were homeless men who had found shelter in the cemetery…but the more disturbing thing was that there had been a huge rainstorm in the night, and much of the cemetery grounds were flooded…
There was even a grave-digger who was knocking on the door of the main office, wondering if he was going to be needed at work that day, considering that flooded grounds weren’t quite fit for digging into…
After I woke up I wondered if those homeless men weren’t actually the dead who had been buried… Sounds creepy, but really just indicates a living presence of some sort…
In any case, this introduction I’m writing seems to require me to explain not just why I think art appreciation is important…but what it actually is…
I guess it’s my funeral…one way or another…
kristo



