The Snow

I had a strange dream.

I drove into the mountains at night.  It was winter (it’s almost always wintertime in my dreams), and the snow was deep and heavy.  The sky had a million stars.  At this altitude, they’re very white and clear, as if God punctured the black silk tarp of the sky with a pick-axe.

It’s weird how the snow can cause a field to be illuminated, even in the blackest hour of night.

In my dream, I took off all of my clothes, folded them, and left them beside my car.  Then I walked out into the small meadow, which was surrounded by pine trees.

I lay down on my side in the snow, curled up like a shrimp.  At this point in my dream, it was as if I was watching myself from the outside–I could see myself lying in the snow.  I thought it was a beautiful  image, and I looked like a child again, but it was macabre.

At first, the cold hurt very badly…as it does. It burns.  It was snowing and the wind was blowing, and I felt it blowing snow, gradually, over my body.  Before it covered my face, I looked up at the stars.

When I got cold enough, the pain stopped.  I knew the symptoms of hypothermia (and I’ve had frostbite from doing biathlon with inadequate clothing protection).  The temperature spikes and then plummets as the circulation leaves the extremities and goes to the internal organs and the brain.

I stopped shivering, and things became peaceful.  The snow was like a blanket.

I wish that I knew what this dream means.  I’m confused about my life right now, but I’m not depressed, and I feel stable and certainly don’t want to die.  I don’t have bad anxiety.

My Jungian therapist believed that death dreams symbolize a spiritual or life transition.  Like you have to die to be reborn.  He was an unprofessional batshit-crazy philistine, but he wasn’t completely without talent, so maybe he was on to something.  I’m an atheist and a skeptic and I don’t believe in supernatural bullshit, but I acknowledge that there is something in the human experience and our biology/psychology which compromises the “soul.”  It’s where all art comes from, and the awe of beauty.

Laying in the snow, underneath my fluffy protective snowy blanket that was killing me, I was hoping that the stag with burning antlers would visit me again…but he didn’t.


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.