I had the above dream about a month ago. Upon relating it to my shrink, a Jungian, his eyes grew wide and he replied, “You were riding Pegasus. Wow.” He went on to explain how Pegasus was the mount of the muses in Greek Mythology.
The story goes that Bellerophon was commanded by King Iobates to kill the Chimera, a hellish creature with a lion’s head, dragon’s tail, and goat’s body. For inspiration Bellerophon sleeps in the temple of Athena and in his dream she gives him a golden bridle. Upon awaking, the bridle from his dream by his side, Bellerophon finds Pegasus, who submits to his bridle and off they go to fight the Chimera. The Chimera’s fire breathing initially proves too much for Bellerophon but after mounting a large block of lead on his spear he manages to lodge it in the Chimera’s throat, which melts, cutting of its air passage, and killing the beast.
Bellerophon had many more journeys with Pegasus but upon attempting to reach the gods was struck down by a gadfly under Zeus’s command who bites Pegasus thereupon shaking Bellerophon off the winged horse. Pegasus was then stabled with Zeus’s other horses and in relation to that we have a constellation named Pegasus.
So, what, if anything can be made of all that?
To some dreams are not much more than the brain’s attempt to organize stimuli that occur while sleeping. To others they are a key to individual and collective unconscious. And to still others, they are no different from what we usually to refer to as ‘the real world.’ That is to say, reality is no more real than dreams therefore dreams are real.
Here’s what I make of it: I write. And my writing has taken on a deeper meaning in my life. With it I can aspire to great things, even accomplish some, like the elimination of hellish fantasies that plague me. But reach too far, aim too high, and I’m sure to fall with dire consequences.
Humility is not my strong suit. But I have been beaten into a state of surrender by circumstances, which is not a bad thing.
Funnily enough, I dreamed of a former love of mine last night. We were desperate to escape a prison camp by a river. At first searching the shore for a boat I finally stole a car and away we went.
As I was writing this she called me and I related the dream to her. She was happy we escaped by whatever means. I told her I had to go because I was writing this blog about my dreams, which are no less real than reality.
