Dreaming of Pigs

One of the things I write about in the journals I keep by my bed is any interesting dream I happen to have. Well last night was a doozy.

I dreamed that I was getting ready to dissect pigs with my students. The most natural thing in the world, right? An English teacher dissecting pigs. Yeah. So, I went to my instructional facilitator to get the supplies I needed to dissect the pigs. Pig cadavers, of course. And whatever else science teachers use. So, she gave me everything except there weren’t enough pigs.

So I had to go find some more pigs so I would have enough for all the students. I took what I had gotten from the instructional facilitator to my classroom (in actuality the apartment I lived in when I was in elementary school) and then went looking for pigs. As I was walking I kept stumbling upon “nests” of piglets. I would scoop up four or five of the baby pigs and then head back to my classroom. Making the trips until I had enough. But when I would go back to add the piglets to the ones I already had, I would always take a long, indirect route to my classroom. I ended up climbing up on railings and walking through alleyways, before eventually ending up back at my classroom.

Right before I woke, I remember feeling disturbed because I was going to have to murder all those piglets. The kids have to dissect cadavers. I couldn’t give them live pigs to dissect. And I was just standing there trying to gather the courage to kill the pigs.

I don’t know if I ever found the courage. I woke up, but before I did I remember a voice saying, “I gave you all you needed to get the job done, but now you have to do your part.” This is true. I didn’t have to work too hard to find the pigs. All I had to do was walk and there they were right there for me to pick up.

I have been trying to figure out what the dream could possibly mean, but honestly I have no idea. I came up with several interpretations but none seems to mesh with the dream. Maybe it was just a dream, but I don’t believe that. I believe my dreams are manifestations of my own thoughts, things that are bothering me, or conveyors of meaning, to answer a question that I have. You can tell when something is purely incidental, and to me, this one was not.

In the meantime, I have decided that it stems from the conversation I had with a good friend earlier this week. I was telling him about a story I was working on and the difficulty I was having with getting it written. I told him that it had occurred to me that I don’t make my characters work hard enough. Like an overprotective mother, I try to control how bad the situation is my character finds himself or herself in. And, we both agreed, that maybe that’s why I’m sometimes not satisfied with how my stories turn out. Maybe I realize that it’s a good story, but that it lacks tension that would make it so much better. So, he has agreed to read this story for me and keep pushing me until I give it my all. I’m going to “get my character up a tree and then throw rocks at him.” And my writing partner and best friend is going to help me keep throwing rocks at him until he figures out how to get down out the tree or is knocked out the tree.

Gotta get to work loves! Do something you love for someone you love because all you have is today. Tomorrow is not promised. Right? Right.

Peace & Love,

baby pigs


About Rosalind Guy

I'm broken & my soul is weary/ my weary soul rebels, fights/ anything & anyone who tries to heal me/I beat my head against a wall of memories/ trying hard to break free from the chain of memories/ I can only be free by saying it so/ i weave a necklace from words and finally/ I find freedom/ free free free. As you can see, words are powerful to me. As Maya Angelou said, words are wallpaper of the soul. I have lots of nightmarish memories that threaten to break me, but I learned a long time ago about the power of words. They can be used to heal and destroy anything that threatens to destroy the person. Words coupled with love have the power to save and heal. I am author of three books: Skinny Dipping in the Pool of Womanhood, Tattered Butterfly Wings, and Blues of a Love Junkie. I am a high school English teacher. I am a former reporter. I am a mother. I am a woman. I am a fierce advocate for those who cannot speak for themselves, those who's voices go unheard. Check out my Amazon author page at the following link: http://www.amazon.com/Rosalind-Guy/e/B00BGH5F88/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1432491754&sr=8-1.
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