In a man’s dream, a woman goes the opposite way just to be apart from him. There’s a big fire where she’s heading. Though it sounds painful, the drama escalates even more when we realize that this woman is none other than the dreamer himself.
The whole scene is imbued with horror, yet there’s a certain serenity to it. Like going through sadness happily because we need closure. Or like crossing hell’s gate fearlessly because God is by our side.
While fire destructs, it also fortifies the soul, bends stiffness, melts hardness, and wipes out the old to make space for the new. When we remember it later on, warm spots and painless scars is all that remains in our dull memory.
In the dreamer’s forest, there’s this deafening silence that swallows the entire scene, but more importantly, there’s lovesickness despite the fact that none of the two love birds is actually in love. He’s trying to be rational. She’s not responding to reason. He’s trying to connect. She’s being pulled away.
However, the panic reaches its maximum when the dreamer suddenly realizes that the woman’s feelings for him are a reflection of his own feelings towards himself. “Dreams do not lie,” says the narrator. And so, it seems to us that the real problem is poor self-love rather than the lack of a woman’s affection.
But why should the alter ego in the man’s dream be a woman? I think it’s because women have always been perceived as nurturing and giving. Caring as they are, they cradle the inner child that is ever present inside our adult self – regardless of our sexual identity and social role.
If I follow this lead, I gather that each one of us is the motherly caretaker of his own person. Maybe that’s why people say it’s more important to love than to be loved.
No one is ever going to love you more than you love yourself. Which reminds me of American television personality Fred Rogers. He once said,
“Knowing that we can be loved exactly as we are gives us all the best opportunity for growing into the healthiest of people.”
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