Dream: The Chain Went Under a Car

I was at a wedding at the pub by the harbour, out in the car park, and my job was the kettle. It hung off a three-legged iron thing over a fire made of pallets, and it was the only kettle, all the tea for everybody had to come out of it, and it wouldn't boil. I kept lifting the lid. Steam, then not.

Everybody at the wedding was chained at the ankle to someone. Little gold chains, thin as necklaces. That's how you knew who was with who. I had one on too, and it went off across the tarmac and under a car, and I didn't follow it. I didn't want to know who, or that it was nobody.

There was something in my shoe. A tiny glass thing like a star but with spikes going every way, so whichever way it turned one was in my heel. I took the shoe off twice and shook it and nothing came out, and I put it back on and it was there.

The puddles in the car park were rock pools, proper ones, weed and those see-through shrimps, and kids crouched over them with nets. A man in a hired suit kept saying don't touch the red ones, they're venomy, like a joke he'd done before. Venomy. Everyone laughed every time.

A woman I sort of knew from the bus went round the tables with a brown bottle from her handbag, putting drops in people's cups to settle them. It smelled of the bathroom cabinet, pear drops and something under it. She got to me and I didn't have a cup because the kettle hadn't boiled, and she just stood there with the dropper, waiting.

The speeches started and I couldn't hear them over the fire. The chain on my ankle went tight. Not a tug, just tight, like whoever was on the other end had stood up. My heel was bleeding a bit into my sock, warm. The kettle started rattling at last, and I bent to get it off the hook with my sleeve over my hand, and the chain pulled again, harder, from under the car, and

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Day residue: "venomy shackledom", a dictionary pair (venomy, an old word for venomous; shackledom, being shackled, an old joke word for marriage) came in as a wedding where everyone was chained at the ankle and a man joking that the red ones in the pools were venomy; "brandreth" became the three-legged iron stand the kettle hung from, "chloral" the brown bottle of settling drops that smelled of the bathroom cabinet, "polyaxon" the glass spiky star in my shoe; tidal pools as the puddles in the car park.

Carrying forward: I kept it near 350 words, left last night's questions alone (nothing small leaned on me, nobody told me not to bother), and let the fear be of being tied to someone I couldn't see.

Waking up: My right heel. I actually reached down and rubbed it before I'd opened my eyes, expecting wet, and it was just a heel. Then my ankle, that tight feeling, like I'd been tugged. Heart ticking a bit fast, no jaw. I lay there waiting for the next pull.

What's still sharp: The chain going tight, not a yank, just somebody at the other end standing up. The glass star in my shoe that was always pointing at me however I turned it. The warm in my sock. The kettle rattling at last and my sleeve over my hand.

What's already gone: Who was at the speeches. Whether the woman ever got to tip her drops in anything. I can smell pear drops and the bathroom cabinet but I've lost her face again.

That's from yesterday: The odd words, easy: venomy, the iron stand, the spiky thing, the brown bottle. But the leaning is from the runt (220): something light on my leg that I let go. This time it's on my ankle, and I wouldn't look. Same church-hall tea, too, only a wedding, and the kettle won't boil, same as nobody quite finishing anything for her. The rock pools are 219 again.

In the light of day: A wedding in a car park with a fire made of pallets is funny. Everyone laughing at "venomy" every time is funny. Not following the chain isn't. I knew it went somewhere and chose not to look, for the whole dream, and that felt completely normal.

On waking: Still with me, because I can still feel the pull on my ankle and I never looked under the car.

Carrying forward: Whether I will look at who is on the other end when something is tugging me, or keep not wanting to know.

The items:

• The chain going under the car, "I didn't want to know who, or that it was nobody": Warning: being tied to someone unseen I planned, but not the second half. I'd rather not look than learn it leads nowhere.
• The chain pulling harder while I bent for the kettle: Warning: last time a stranger told me not to bother. Tonight nobody did, and I still turned to the chore. The not-looking is mine.
• The kettle that wouldn't boil, all the tea for everybody: Echo (115, 220): church-hall tea and a busy-hands job, like the weeding. It boiled just as the pull came.
• The glass star in my shoe, gone when shaken out, back when I walked, heel bleeding warm: Echo (110, 186, 219, 220), turned round: things used to change only when I looked away; this hurts only when I stop looking. I reached for it on waking.
• The woman from the bus waiting with her settling drops, me with no cup: Echo (207, 220): relief offered again. Last time I said "right" at once; tonight I couldn't take it, and her face went, like 211's.
• Rock pools in the car park, "venomy": Fog: 219's place as scenery, and a dice word.
• Speeches I couldn't hear over the fire: Fog: my usual missing words.

The whole dream: A Warning. I asked whether something would lean on me, whether I'd look, whether anyone would say don't bother. Nothing leaned, because I'd planned against it, but something pulled, nobody stopped me, and I still didn't look.

What we carry: When something tugs at me, I bury myself in a chore so I don't find out who it is, or that it's no one. That's my doing, not anyone's say-so.

One line to carry: When the chain goes tight, put the kettle down and look under the car.

Carrying forward: When someone or something tugs at me, I keep busy so I don't have to find out who it is, even when nobody is telling me not to look.

Archetypes present
A wedding is the oldest image of the coniunctio (the union of opposites the alchemists pictured as a marriage). Everyone is joined to someone, and only my chain goes out of sight. The woman with the brown bottle is the Great Mother (the one who comforts) at her darkest: she offers sleep, not tea.

Compensation: what the unconscious is supplying
Sorting it out, I called the kettle a chore I hid in. But the chain pulled harder at the very moment it boiled. A Jungian reading suggests the job and the tie were never rivals. What's at the other end waited until the tea was ready. And it isn't nobody. Something stood up.

Amplification
In a Tang Chinese tale an old man under the moon tells Wei Gu that a red cord ties the feet of people fated to marry., and Wei Gu can't escape his match. In the Odyssey (book 8), Hephaestus forges bonds as fine as cobwebs that can't be broken, and the gods laugh at the couple caught in them. Mine were as thin as necklaces, and the laughter at "venomy" came every time.

Me as one psyche
Sorting it out, I ruled the rock pools Fog: fair as a sign (a pointer to something known). As a symbol (an image still alive with meaning), the red ones are 219's red anemones from her drawer, now out on the tarmac, with a joke rule against touching them. The glass star is a sponge spicule, a sea creature's glass skeleton, with points going every way. Whole, hurting every way, and mine, so it won't shake out.

Across the series
My feet keep carrying it: bootless (107), the boot-shaped freckle (115), her sock (156), sand (211), numb (219). Tonight there's glass in my heel and a chain round my ankle. The rites keep coming: the godparent's promise I couldn't speak (208), and now speeches I can't hear. Church-hall tea (115, 220) has become wedding tea. My seed's hope that what I drop returns as growth went untested: nothing was dropped; I was bound.

Individuation: the task this dream sets
Carry the kettle, sleeve over my hand, and follow the chain under the car.

A question to carry
If mine was the only chain that went out of sight, and it pulled just as the tea was ready, who am I afraid to find I'm still tied to: her, or nobody?

Carrying forward: I may be avoiding finding out whether the bond I still feel leads to my grandmother or to no one, and the pull seems to come just as I finish the busy work I hide in.

Manifest content
At a wedding in the harbour pub's car park I'm in charge of the only kettle, hung from an iron tripod over burning pallets. It won't boil; I keep lifting the lid. Everyone is chained at the ankle to their partner. Mine runs under a car and I don't follow it. A glass star in my shoe cuts my heel. A woman goes round with settling drops; I have no cup. The chain tightens, the kettle rattles, the chain pulls harder.

Day residue
Shackledom (a joke word for marriage) gave the wedding and chains. Chloral is an old sedative, so the drops are for settling a person, not for flavouring tea.

The dream-work
Condensation (ideas fused into one image): the kettle is the urn at a funeral tea (115, 220). Lifting the lid for steam that comes and goes is lifting 207's tea towels to check she was still breathing. And at the end it rattles, as a dying person's breath does.
Displacement (feeling moved onto something minor): dread of what's under the car goes onto a splinter I can keep checking, as I pressed my glands in 208.

The latent wish
A Freudian reading suggests the wish was not to find out. "Who, or that it was nobody": her, or no one any more. Not looking keeps both open, so the tie stays tied. That's 156's disavowal (knowing and not knowing at once).

The apparatus at work
Asleep, my id gave everyone a partner. Waking, my superego said only the not-looking wasn't funny. Sorting it out, my ego's secondary revision (tidying a dream into sense) wrote "it boiled just as the pull came". It never boils. It rattles.

What is being resisted
That rattle, and the speeches I "couldn't hear over the fire". A wedding speech sits close to a eulogy; ruling them Fog repeats 208's "just say the words".

Across the series
Change only while I look away (110, 186, 219, 220) becomes a watched pot that never boils: I watched the kettle so I wouldn't watch the chain. In 220 a stranger said don't bother; tonight relief was held out and I had nothing to take it in. Caveat: a wedding where everyone is paired may be plain loneliness, not only grief. That's as unfalsifiable as the rest.

A question to carry
When the kettle rattled just as the chain pulled hardest, which sound was I bending over the kettle so as not to hear?

Carrying forward: I may avoid finding out whether my bond with my grandmother still leads to anyone, because not knowing lets me stay tied to her, and seeing everyone else paired may also simply leave me lonely.

What I dreamed: I was at a wedding in a pub car park, and my job was one kettle that would not boil. Everyone was tied at the ankle to a partner with a thin gold chain. Mine ran off under a car, and I would not look to see who was on the other end.

What I thought about it:

• Waking up: My heel hurt and my ankle felt tugged, and I never did look under the car.
• Sorting it out: Nobody told me not to look this time. I chose to stay busy with the kettle, and that was my own choice.
• Thinking like Jung: The chain pulled hardest just as the tea was ready, so maybe the chore and the tie were never opposites. Whatever is on the other end stood up.
• Thinking like Freud: Part of me may not want to know whether the chain leads to my grandmother or to no one, because not knowing keeps me tied to her.

Where I agreed with myself, and where I didn't: I agreed the not-looking was mine, not anyone else's. I argued over the kettle: one part of me said it boiled, but it only rattled. The Freud part also said all those paired-up people might just make me feel lonely.

What's new since last time: Last time a stranger told me not to bother and I agreed. This time nobody said anything, and I still looked away.

The one thing to remember: When something tugs at me, I should put down what I'm busy with and look to see who is there.

Carrying forward: I may be avoiding finding out whether the bond I still feel leads to my grandmother or to no one, and I keep busy so I don't have to look.