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[These are the raw notes from the 'morning after' followed by the raw (initial) comments. Please bear with me.]
Huge, old-style steam engine made of very, very heavy thick metal (must be a power symbol, it’s what I think of when I recall Anne Carroll’s ‘thing’ for steam engines) For some reason, I got in the way of its manoeuvring (though it was not on a track, this is illogical I guess: it was moving across tarmac and tracks and barren earth all the same) I felt the safest thing would be to hide myself over the grid-thing in the front But it wasn’t altogether safe, its manoeuvring was getting apparently erratic, in that it was tearing down (on purpose?) all kinds of things, limits and fences (things like the handrails they put up to keep pedestrians ‘in check’ at the station etc.), pushing them really, not necessarily tearing them down though it could have I knew all along the engineer was a woman, very pretty, and I was supposed to have known her from before (archetypal image?) Later on in a train station café (my parents were there, somehow, again) I saw/met her, she was (supposedly) Gwyneth Paltrow, though she didn’t really look like her I had no way of letting her know I was there, now in danger of being crushed or maimed by what the engine was doing But people (mothers and daughters, some men in the background) warned her I don’t remember much of the rest here, memory jumps to a café.
Engine = power. Recently I’ve been concerned with the power inside, that of sexuality I imagine, as a raw energy/force. Perhaps I am thinking that it’s safe to hide somewhere on the front of this energy and ride it, but it seems that it’s actually dangerous. I felt all along that I should have known the woman engineer better somehow… and certainly it makes little sense to be riding (clandestinely) the front of a steam engine bent on demolition. Obviously, the steam engine wasn’t doing what it’s supposed to do, it was being misused. It’s supposed to lend its power to pushing or pulling freight trains, or passenger trains… to movement on a given track, not to demolition (off-track). I have been bent on demolition myself too, lately; more so than construction and forward movement. Concerned with others’ processes and very eager to knock down rules, to go beyond limits. That doesn’t seem wrong, but something like that simply should not be a concern; if you are just going to be essentially free (from rules or limitations), then be it, don’t work on knocking them down: you’ll end up being just as concerned with rules and limits as before, right? Except this time you’re hell-bent on bulldozing them down, while before you were trying to abide by them. The power (of sexuality?) pushes forward no matter what, but it needs direction—like the painting by Balasa, in Iasi, on the walls of the Lost Footsteps Corridor, of the beautiful long-haired little girl riding an incredibly powerful-looking bull. So, I think I can conclude that the dream was a depiction of a current situation (me riding this power-train almost oblivious to its strength and to the dangers that be), and a warning that the power-train itself is not exactly on track, that I am not in the place I should be (that I should be better acquainted with the engineer and work on steering the train somewhere else, together). |
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