Last night's dream was an action-packed but rather silly affair in which Ellen and my gran and I tried to escape from Grendel, the monster out of Beowulf (in the dream, a large, green creature with pointy teeth and spiky hair). Most of the dream involved us being chased around a field behind my parents' house. By turning herself invisible, my gran managed to leave the field and find a car. She soon returned and tried to run Grendel down. He dodged her, but Ellen and I were able to get into the car as well and we all drove off. Better luck next time, Grendel!
Notes for Freudian Analysis
The gran in the dream was my mum's mum, dead since 1983, whose funeral I imagined in the dream that I linked to in the previous entry.
In real life, there is a graveyard behind my parents' house. The field in the dream, however, I recognised as being a field elsewhere in Fife, where Kirsten and I were chased by a herd of cows when we were walking through it to look at a group of standing stones.
Ellen and I were in the flat the other night when a gust of wind shook the front door in its frame and rattled the letter box. "That'll be the wolves at the door," I said -- I think that that was connected to what we were talking about in some way. As I spoke, it occurred to me that there was probably a pun waiting to be made about people trying to keep Beowulf from the door, which brought to mind an illustration that I'd seen as a child of Grendel smashing his way into the hall of the Danes. I'm not very good at puns, but I don't mind.