Where does all this new life come from? Well, that’s the Big Question isn’t it? The Mystery that’s always confounded us, the one we have yet to solve. We’ve always reflected on it, and when we’re deep in reverie, opening our minds and suspending our judgment, images rise into our awareness.
At the age of ten I dreamed my hero, the Lone Ranger, shot me. This big dream was more real than any other I’ve ever had. I was devastated to think he hated me so much he wanted to kill me and I couldn’t understand why. I had practically worshiped him, his beautiful horse Silver, and his trusty partner Tonto; yet he shot me! The injustice of this was intolerable!
The death goddesses and their myths are, in part, metaphors for loss: the loss of youth and innocence, of important roles and relationships, of personal power, of fertility. In dreams as in life, death symbols point to the outworn attitudes and assumptions we need to slough off, like a snake shedding a tight-fitting skin so it can keep growing.
If the entire psyche were to be compared to a mystery story, complete with plot, characters, and events, the ego would be the detective who can never know all the facts because s/he cannot inhabit the minds of the other characters or be everywhere at once to see all that happens behind the scenes.
Recently I wrote about my childhood dream in which the Lone Ranger shot me. This big dream was more real than any other I’ve ever had. I was devastated to think my hero hated me so much he wanted to kill me and I couldn’t understand why. I had practically worshiped him, Silver, and his trusty partner Tonto; yet he shot me! The injustice of this was intolerable.