Dream interpretation is a primitive art that originated thousands of years ago, back when a hodgepodge of superstition, folklore, and generally crazy ideas abounded to explain the unexplainable in the absence of modern scientific methods. For example, astronomical, planetary and earthly phenomena were rationalized by mythical stories. “Dad, where does fire come from?” “Well, son, Prometheus stole it from the Gods.” “What about ambrosia?” “Tantalus stole it from the Gods.” “Why do we fight wars?” “The Gods.” “Why does it rain?” “The Gods.” “Why do we dream?” “Gods. Any more questions?”
Today, though it is commonly accepted that the constellation of Orion is not the bodily remnants of a gigantic hunter who was cast into the sky by the Gods, people are still certain that their dreams hold profound, mystical, and/or prophetic meanings. This belief gained widespread acceptance when a certain Viennese coke-head applied psychoanalysis to the dreams of his patients in order to forge a portal into the unconscious mind’s forbidden wishes, fears, and anxieties, all of which involved phalluses and wombs.
The latest dream research suggests that dreams are not cryptic symbolic riddles to be decoded, but rather just the cerebral cortex’s way of trying to create a story out of the fragmented brain activity during REM sleep. So while your brain is repairing and optimizing its neuronal connections, your dreams are being scripted from all these random mental flashes that most probably come from your short-term rather than long-term memory.
In other words, when I have nightmares about my upcoming wedding, maybe it’s not my unconscious soul revealing my anxieties about married life, but rather a direct byproduct of the wedding planning process that has taken over most of my free time. I had a dream that, during the reception at the French chateau, the dance floor kept spurting deep, abyssal holes that swallowed guests and resulted in my arrest and imprisonment. Perhaps the dream came from a discussion about hiring a French DJ. (Freud would say that I was a closet whore.)
I had a dream that I had decorated the invitations by smearing peanut butter on them to attain a distinct burnt orange sheen. Perhaps the dream came from a prolonged discussion about the layout, wording and styles of French versus American wedding invitations. (Freud would say that I had scatological hang-ups.)
And last night, I had a dream that, as I walked down the aisle, I wore a bright-yellow bolero jacket, a matching baseball cap to hold my hair up, and green eye shadow that extended halfway up my forehead. Perhaps the dream was inspired by a magazine article I read about brides who do their own hair and make-up to save money. (Freud would say that I want to castrate my groom.)
