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Because I want to get back in the habit of cataloguing dreams, and doing so in LJ makes it more likely I will do so.
Context: I read a book a while back that was attempting to address the concept of an anima spirit or muse for women - so an animus - since so much of the imagery around that is very male-focused. It had a moderate amount of useful stuff. My daimon spirit shows up in dreams about once or twice a year; his appearance is a long story.
I suspect I was teenagerish in the dream. It was set in a variant of the summer camp I used to attend - the academic summer camp at Franklin and Marshall College in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. (Though I was older, I think, because the mandatory fun was not as tightly constrained - and the gender segregation stuff was a lot more like what was the case at Wellesley, so more on the "a guy can only be on the hall under escort" than "don't you dare cross that invisible line".)
I don't remember all the setup, just a lot of little vignettes: watching him down the slope of a movie-theatre room, suddenly realising that he was the only male entity present, and that he wasn't with anyone.
Trying to talk with him, getting a lot of "I don't have time for this" and also a lot of "but I'll walk with you for a little bit." And thus pursuing him, sometimes more overtly, sometimes more subtly, around a brickwork-and-open-space campus with a lot of ironwork. I needed to tell him that I loved him, or that I had loved him when I was eight, or that he was my muse, the foundation of a huge chunk of my everything, but people kept coming over and talking to us, or visibly trying to eavesdrop, or something.
At one point he went through or over a brick and ironwork fence and somehow stood on the other side, naked but turned away from me, and - this being the daimon thing, I was a wee bit distracted, well - but I couldn't get through the fence. There was a double layer of ironwork, and I could wriggle through one bit, I couldn't get up and over the other part, there just wasn't enough moving space. He laughed at me a bit, and came back (moderately more clothed, enough so that I was not sure if he had been nude a moment before), and came back through the fence through a wrought-iron gate. I extricated myself from the place where I was stuck and managed to catch up with him.
"I don't have time for this," he said, and then invited me in through a door to lunch.
I knew then was going to be my opportunity to tell him, and we went into the room.
At which point![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
artan_eter's fucking alarm went off, and I growled crankily at him. Never got back to that dream.
(... waugh, netstalking the face model for my daimon actually gets multiple hits now.)
Context: I read a book a while back that was attempting to address the concept of an anima spirit or muse for women - so an animus - since so much of the imagery around that is very male-focused. It had a moderate amount of useful stuff. My daimon spirit shows up in dreams about once or twice a year; his appearance is a long story.
I suspect I was teenagerish in the dream. It was set in a variant of the summer camp I used to attend - the academic summer camp at Franklin and Marshall College in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. (Though I was older, I think, because the mandatory fun was not as tightly constrained - and the gender segregation stuff was a lot more like what was the case at Wellesley, so more on the "a guy can only be on the hall under escort" than "don't you dare cross that invisible line".)
I don't remember all the setup, just a lot of little vignettes: watching him down the slope of a movie-theatre room, suddenly realising that he was the only male entity present, and that he wasn't with anyone.
Trying to talk with him, getting a lot of "I don't have time for this" and also a lot of "but I'll walk with you for a little bit." And thus pursuing him, sometimes more overtly, sometimes more subtly, around a brickwork-and-open-space campus with a lot of ironwork. I needed to tell him that I loved him, or that I had loved him when I was eight, or that he was my muse, the foundation of a huge chunk of my everything, but people kept coming over and talking to us, or visibly trying to eavesdrop, or something.
At one point he went through or over a brick and ironwork fence and somehow stood on the other side, naked but turned away from me, and - this being the daimon thing, I was a wee bit distracted, well - but I couldn't get through the fence. There was a double layer of ironwork, and I could wriggle through one bit, I couldn't get up and over the other part, there just wasn't enough moving space. He laughed at me a bit, and came back (moderately more clothed, enough so that I was not sure if he had been nude a moment before), and came back through the fence through a wrought-iron gate. I extricated myself from the place where I was stuck and managed to catch up with him.
"I don't have time for this," he said, and then invited me in through a door to lunch.
I knew then was going to be my opportunity to tell him, and we went into the room.
At which point
artan_eter's fucking alarm went off, and I growled crankily at him. Never got back to that dream.(... waugh, netstalking the face model for my daimon actually gets multiple hits now.)