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June 10, 2004
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The Golden Pen
I had a dream last night that is still present with me this evening.
It was very simple. In the dream, Linford mailed me a golden pen. That's pretty much the whole story. But the symbolism contained in the dream goes pretty deep.
As far as important psychological figures go, Linford is a giant in my life. I've written about him here and here. Despite what I've said about him, I've still not begun to account for the long shadow he has cast over me for the past 12 years, the sway he still holds. I've spent most of my adult life being haunted by this person.
Early in our relationship, I latched on to him as the involved, understanding father figure I had been missing all my life. And though we don't really speak now, he still wields mighty power over my subconscious. (Hmmm... I just realized that I now have an absent father as well as an absent father figure...)
I think that Linford stands for everything that I have always wanted to be, but have never quite become. Not yet, anyhow. He stands for inspiration, for courage, for honesty. When I think about him, I think about how much of myself I discovered under his care, how supported and and inspired I felt through the process. He made me braver and wiser and stronger. Even now, ten years after we stopped writing letters, he still stands for all those things.
The pen in the dream was gorgeous. A fountain pen with an engraved gold nib. I understood instinctively that it possessed magical qualities. And the pen was clearly ready for action: when it arrived in the mail, the ink had bled through the packaging and was spreading in a lavish pattern.
In the dream I remember feeling incredibly excited to receive the pen. I understood the importance of the moment: Linford was releasing me to create. As far as my psyche is concerned, Linford mailing me a pen is like God mailing me light. I mean, there's just no end to what you can do with that kind of pen.
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