9/4/07 Dream Journal: Eric Forman – That 70’s Show
There was a car accident where a young man was injured. It looked like a race car…white…or was it just a souped up street car? He was driving and it crashed. He lost a leg. I’m sitting on the landing of an outdoor staircase, watching as the accident happens and then he is brought to the stairway by someone and left there. Time has passed since the accident (dream magic) and his physical injuries have healed. He is still minus one leg and is having to learn how to get around on his own.
So he’s lying back on the stairs…like if you were to sit on a set of stairs and then lie back. And he begins to make his way toward me by putting his hands on the step just behind him and pulling himself up, making his way backward up the stairs. Apparently this is how he will have to get around for the rest of his life. He is not able to stand upright. He will forever have to navigate the world from this position. He is not even able to sit. He either can’t use his remaining leg to push himself or he is afraid to because he is doing all the work with his arms.
I feel bad for him, but know I cannot offer help because he needs to understand his limitations and learn how to live with them. I also have limitations. I also cannot walk upright (I don’t know why), but I can sit, and I have made my way from the bottom of the stairs to the landing on my own. I also have – and use – both my legs to help me move around.
I wait on the landing for him and when he gets there I speak with him briefly. It is mostly just positive message small talk, because I feel that is what he needs. I stay where I am as he continues around and up the remaining steps to the landing above, still one stair tread at a time on his behind, scooting backwards.
The building where we are is like a motel with an open air outdoor walkway and doors to individual rooms evenly spaced along the walkway. The young man has now disappeared through a doorway at the top of the stairs. I begin to speak with someone else who has magically appeared and is standing next to me on the landing. I don’t know the topic of conversation, but I feel a sense of satisfaction that I was able to impart some positive energy on a poor lost soul.
All at once I see at the top of the stairs that the door to the young man’s room has opened and the end of a rifle is peeking out from the darkness beyond…very low to the floow. Five shots are fired in my direction. I take off down the stairs seeking shelter (still on my back, doing some sort of spider walk).
I am suddenly afraid of this young man, and very confused. How could he suddenty become so violent toward me? Even though he is clearly not very mobile, I feel I need to find better cover.
I am now on the ground floor…street level. I make my way across the parking lot in front, staying close to the building and now am heading up a hill on one end of the building which will allow me access to the second floor without using stairs. I see a deck area where people have gathered for a cookout, and I head in that direction. I come in quietly from the back side of the deck so as not to cause too much commotion – I don’t want the young man to know I’m here.
I want to speak with the people on the deck to let them know I am in danger…maybe they can protect me…or maybe I want to warn them…I don’t remember. As I am speaking with them we move inside the room they are staying in. They are all sitting around a dining room table. I am now on the floor next to the person sitting at the head of the table, that person (and the table) are between me and the motel room door. I can see the doorway through a sea of chair, table and people legs. I am speaking with the person at the head of the table, explaining that there is danger out there and we must be careful and quiet to remain safe.
All at once I see him…he is on a dolly…like the kind an auto mechanic would use to roll underneath a car. Someone is pushing him forward along the outdoor walkway. He is holding his rifle at the ready, his head cocked slightly and eyes focused on the walkway in front of him, searching for his prey. I hold my breath, hoping he will not see me in my hiding place behind the table. He rolls on past the doorway and is gone.
I wake up.
After “What the @$#%!” I thought, “Hey! That was Eric Foreman from That 70’s Show. Why was he in my dream?” Then I remembered I had watched a couple episodes of the show right before bed that night.
But why did I pull him in, and not one of the other characters? My guess is that I identify with him just a little because out of all the characters in that show, he seems to me to be the only one who doesn’t think he has everything worked out. He’s always a little behind…a little confused. Everyone else seems to have all the answers – at least most of the time.
But what is the underlying message here? Am I angry with myself for not being compassionate enough toward…me? Do I feel the compassion I have for others is not sincere? Am I tired of allowing myself to get in my own way? Am I scared shitless that if I stretch my wings too far I will be found out…I will be outed as a fraud?
This brings to mind a quote I received in my email not too long ago:
“Each time I write a book, every time I face that yellow pad, the challenge is so great. I have written eleven books, but each time Ithink, ‘Uh, oh, they’re going to find out now. I’ve run a game on everybody and they’re going to find me out.'”- Maya Angelou
I sent this to a friend of mine and she responded:
“It’s incredible no matter how old we are the child in us thinks ‘they’ will find out we’re just playing dress up. I’m always amazed at how those people we see as strong and successful struggle with self doubt too.”
I might be onto something here…