“Crazy Horse dreamed and went into the world where there is nothing but the spirits of all things. That is the real world that is behind this one, and everything we see here is something like a shadow from that one.” –Black Elk
Vacations (even though I’ve technically been on vacation since October) cause me to remember my dreams fervently and explicitly. I experience them with my whole body, and, though I can’t be 100% sure how much of it is in my subconscious, I’ve had orgasms in dreams that feel every bit as real as those in life. Every undulation, the fibers of my skin pulling taut and releasing, the pinprick of ecstasy that kneads into my core and makes me unsure whether it’s pleasure or pain I’m feeling – I feel it all, acutely, in dreams.
Here’s the rub though, I only have dream orgasms when I am taking advantage of unattractive actors. I don’t even mean sexy ugly, I mean straight up UGLY. I’ve tied Steve Buscemi to a chair and had my way with him. Oh yes. This Steve Buscemi:
And more importantly, WHY? My friend Lauren said they could represent certain parts of my self, like deep down I am giving attention and validation to those parts of me that I’ve deemed unlovable or unattractive. Or, maybe sodomizing Steve Buscemi symbolizes my attempts to take back the power and agency I’ve lost as a woman in a patriarchal society. This makes some sense, especially when one considers the cop from True Blood, an obvious symbol of authority. But more often, I seem to prey on the weak, the easy targets. So, I don’t know.
Then there was the threesome dream. Ellie and I were involved in a vaguely sexual but not yet consummated relationship with a youngish guy, I’d say early twenties, sinewy, dark skinned, ambiguously ethnic, with a sliver of black, cropped hair and Frida eyebrows. He extolled our physical virtues and examined us, not unlike the prized pig competitions at the county fair, except we found it immensely flattering. I wanted to have sex, and Ellie didn’t, but she gave me the go-ahead and said she would watch instead.
What happened next, however, was that he poured coarse salt into my vagina, then each of them took turns spitting water into it, to moisten the salt and “prepare” my body for sex. It was very ritualistic and I could feel the salt, like rocks in a cement mixer, breaking down and churning inside me.
The internet has this to say about salt:
Salt in a dream is an unhappy symbol that brings chaos and discord with it. Dreaming of salt will denote that things around you will get a little fouled up and slightly askew, to put it mildly. You will find quarrels in the family and with friends break out at the drop of a hat with little or no provocation.
That’s not a very satisfying interpretation, however. This one is slightly more interesting:
There are more than 30 references to salt in the Bible, using expressions like “salt of the earth.” And there are many other literary and religious references to salt, including use of salt on altars representing purity, and use of “holy salt” by the Unification Church.
There were other dreams too, involving toothpaste-coated blow jobs, and a beautiful demon whose ass morphed into a droopy black hole, but I’m not going to go into THOSE. For, as Anais Nin said, “The dream was always running ahead of me. To catch up, to live for a moment in unison with it, that was the miracle.”
The experience is the miracle, not the interpretation, which should, no doubt, be taken with a grain of salt.