Imagine a field bordered on the right by a wood, as you look. With a long hedge, of about head height, coming out at right angles from the wood, dissecting the field. Earlier this week this was the setting for a dream, in which I stood quietly in the nearest of those right angles.
Over the hedge multiple sets of antlers were visible. There were no clues whether the deer were aware of my presence, but I assumed they were, given their ability to smell predators. The antlers looked as if they belonged to strong, healthy animals. They were moving slowly towards a passageway through the woods which linked into my location. It wasn’t certain that they would come through, it would be their choice. My role was to wait.
Whatever dreams are, we instinctively recognise those with a good feel. With propitious omens, or the presence of benevolence. I wrote this one down happily.
In my computer files there are various dream lists that I might get around to consolidating one day. The most recurrent, stretching over decades, has been the milkman dream, undoubtedly a legacy of some kind from my Chelmsford and South Woodham Ferrers milk rounds, which kept me employed from May 1986 until August 1993.
The round has cropped up time and time again in my night-time reveries, always with an unfinished aspect. I would guess more than a hundred times, which indicated to me that this was important. For instance, I might be sitting at home, and the phone would ring. The depot manager perhaps informing me that I had missed seven houses in South Woodham Ferrers, or a whole road on the Hylands estate, in Chelmsford.
Or I might remember, within the dream, that I had not delivered to a whole section of the round for so long that the customers had switched delivery firms. And maybe the float was now unavailable, or broken down.
These dreams have caused much head scratching and soul searching. I sense that certain dreams are there for the spiritual guidance that can be lacking in our everyday lives, trapped in matter. Did I need to go back to my past to re-examine issues, and try to resolve various hurts and aches? Or was I being told that my task in this life was so under-achieved that reincarnation would be necessary. If milk symbolises an archetype, was I not giving out enough love? Was my wellspring of love exhausted?
When I woke on January 18, 2018, the dream had changed. I was near the end of the round with about 14 loaves of bread spare, and just one more address where I knew it had been ordered.
Whatever that over-abundance might signify, it felt like massive progress.
The Biscuit Factory 