The Stuff of Dreams

For the most part, I believe dreams are nothing more than the brain's daily method of defragmenting and organizing data.  I think this explains why in a dream something that happened when you were a child is suddenly juxtaposed with something that happened the previous afternoon.

But every once in a while, I think the imagery in a dream is so profound that it's nothing short of your unconscious screaming out for attention.  Case in point, the dream I had right before waking this morning.

A little back story: before we left Phoenix, I left all my tropical fish with my sister. Ordinarily I would've moved them with us (as I have many times in the past), but since we were initially heading for a hotel, I knew that wouldn't be possible.

I've also learned from past dreams about aquariums and their finned residents is that they are symbols for my general level of emotional comfort and well-being.  When I dream of vibrant, healthy aquariums, I'm usually in a pretty good space emotionally. When I dream of dirty or half-filled green-water aquariums and dead or dying fish, I'm not in the best of spaces.

Last night I dreamt I'd returned to Phoenix to retrieve my fish and three huge, beautiful tanks I'd left with my sister.  (In real life I have just one tank and I gave her only the fish, with absolutely no plans to return for them.)

In the dream, when I first arrived at her house, she was moving fish between the tanks because "they need to get out more." She was also providing them a daily smorgasbord of food choices.  And she flat out refused to return them to me.

I went to our Mom (who was apparently back from the grave and visiting), hoping to get her to act as arbitrator.  She said, "You're both adults. Work it out yourselves."

I pleaded. I begged. I offered money. My sister was having none of it. I went to look at the largest of the three tanks, where my prized fish—three huge, gorgeous clown loaches—were, and when I saw them snuggling up against each other (as they often did), I dropped to my knees and started sobbing uncontrollably. I woke up at that point.

The meaning of this dream is obvious to me.

It's no secret that I'm still not completely happy with Denver. I realize that we haven't even been here six months yet, but the symbolism of not even having aquarium(s) or fish in my possession (based on their known interpretation) is clear. (It also doesn't help that I come home every day to a still-empty tank sitting on the dresser, and I have no idea whatsoever when I'm going to be able to get it back up and running again.)

Secondly, the fact that in the dream my sister was refusing to return these items to me (something she would never do in real life) speaks volumes about her perceived view about my move to Denver. While she has been outwardly supportive, I've felt an undercurrent of hostility from the first mention of it, as if she resented the fact that I was giving up so much stability in my life to follow Ben on this adventure—as well as leaving her as the potential sole first-response caregiver if anything happens to our dad.

Or perhaps it's subconscious guilt on my part that I left her to take on that role?

In either case, this dream shows me that I really need to get my aquariums refilled, both physically and metaphorically…and the sooner, the better.