In between sleeping and waking I kept getting flashes of the same subconscious image: the picture of a young queen.
She wears a heavy and ornate gown from the 1700’s that is mainly white but trimmed in gold. The white bodice of the gown is decorated with golden bows. Her skin is like porcelain, and her hair is pure white, long and loose, cascading over her shoulders. She wears a dainty golden crown and holds a golden crook in her left hand, like some guiding shepherdess.
Once again came another static image.
It’s a man.
His stature is sculpted and strong, and he stands in a river with woods and mountains behind him. His skin is brown, warm and sunkissed. He may be tanned, but his brown is natural. He has delicate, handsome facial features, and his hair is a deep rich gold, long flowing, getting caught in the breeze.
This is his crown.
He’s mostly naked, with a wrap around his waist. It was linen, maybe?
I ran a hand through my long, straight, black hair.
I was just myself. Finally.
More specifically, in this dream I was approximately the 22/23 year-old version of myself.
Around that age, my hair was long, but in this dream it was even longer. It was as if I was an exaggerated, instinctual version of myself. I was walking around a two story restaurant enjoying the nice spring time weather, wearing cuffed denim shorts and a tucked in oversized t-shirt.
Twenty-two year old me would spend at least an hour in the morning doing her makeup. One of my closest friends at the time also made “Oops!…I Did It Again” my theme song. I was living that enneagram 3 life. Yes, I was a black Barbie. Don’t judge.
On the first floor of the restaurant was a patio with a white wooden lattice surrounding it. There was a singing event going on, kind of like a karaoke bar, but you had to be invited to perform.
One of my friends was singing, and I thought, “I wish they had invited me to sing,” but I didn’t make a big deal out of it. Besides, this wasn’t a friend that I knew from real life— this is one of those friends who appears in dreams only.
I listened to her sing as I climbed up the stairs to the second story of the busy restaurant. I milled around, checking things out.
When she finished that song, I heard her start another song I really wanted to sing. It was some random Ashlee Simpson song (So dating myself here). Although I wasn’t invited to sing, I thought it would be nice to go back down to where my friend was and sing along. Then I could support her while taking care of my itch to perform as well.
With that, I decided to rush to the downstairs patio, but the upper story of the restaurant was so crowded that getting there was difficult. Blocking my way was a table where a real-life old friend of my husband’s sat with some of his buddies. I asked him if they could move their table so I could get through. They kindly did so, and I jogged out to the patio of the second floor.
A white wooden lattice ran from the second story down to the first, so I decided to use that to climb down to the first floor patio. The climbing was quick and easy because I was a strong and lithe twenty-year old. After doing so, I made my way through the crowded area to where my friend was singing.
Fortunately, she hadn’t gotten too far into the song. I noticed she was struggling a little with this one, so I started to sing along as a gentle backup. Although I wanted to be the main singer, I knew trying to overshadow her wouldn’t be quite right. So I lent my voice instead for support.
A couple of other friends (dream-only) were there too, and as I sang, they started to sing along to support her as well. Eventually all four of us sang together, and at the end of the song, the audience was full of cheers and applause. Random strangers were like, “You all should make a group.” I just laughed and smiled with my friend. Then when no one was looking, I slipped out of the crowd and returned to the wooden lattice.
I climbed back up to the patio of the second floor, but as soon as I got there, I heard yet another song that I like start to play. I also heard someone else softly singing the song to themselves.
I turned to see another girl who was black like me. Her curly hair was cut very short, and she was a bit overweight. She was walking towards the stairs as she was singing. So I walked quickly to catch up to her and started singing along too, and she looked absolutely shocked, like, “Who is this girl singing along with me?”
I enjoyed her starstruck, deer-in-the-headlights expression so much that I laughed and kept singing the song as I went down the stairs.
After being sung to over and over again, I’m finally the one singing to someone else.
About time.
The dream shifted to a college campus setting.
I was walking downstairs to go to class when in an empty hallway I came across the black girl I had sung along with at the restaurant. I don’t remember our conversation clearly—we were only having some small talk. I casually mentioned how fun it was singing together, stuff like that.
I turned to keep walking, but then from behind she wrapped her arms around my waist and started biting my neck, which is impressive since I was taller than her. I wasn’t bothered by it, and as soon as I broke away, I planned on simply saying, “It was nice seeing you again,” before heading on to class.
But when I turned to look at her, I realized that she wasn’t really a she, but a short, round, black guy who seemed feminine. I still said, “I was nice seeing you again,” but as soon as those words left my lips, I felt a twist in my gut. I knew I would regret saying that. It felt like committing to something that was asking for more than I was willing to give.
And in my dream universe, usually I’m the only one who swaps genders…
Anyways, I needed to get downstairs quickly before I was late for class. The stairwells for these buildings were outdoors, and just like at the restaurant there was a white wooden lattice I could climb down instead of taking the stairs.
So I climbed down, but as I did so I realized that this lattice wasn’t taking me exactly where I wanted to go. There was a smaller, thinner lattice that could take me right down to the ground. It was a bit flimsy, and I wasn’t sure for how long it could hold my weight, but it was a viable option.
So I switched to the thinner lattice. The finger holes were much smaller and the frame was weaker, so I had to descend quickly.
“Move faster, move faster,” I heard a warm male voice say, and I listened because he was right.
When I got down safely, I was met by a black man who was blindingly beautiful. Tall and athletic with flawless caramel skin and a handsome smile, he was wearing a light weight bomber jacket that fit him well. This guy could lend me his umbrella on a rainy day anytime, for real.
Anyways despite all of that, in this dream he was just a friend, and I thanked him for the advice. He grinned at me and said, “I see you’re still teaching us how to climb.”
I laughed, because that’s the only way I could handle such an unnecessary and kind of teasing compliment. I climb way too much in my dreams in general.
“I’ll see you around,” he said, and I stood there and watched him as he walked away to go to his next class. My twenty-three year old heart was still crushing when I woke up.
But something about the way he phrased that.
Still teaching us…
Sounding so much like “you and I.” It was as if he was watching and learning from me…
It was nice seeing you again…
I’ll see you around.
The way he walked away from me, just like how I had walked away from…
Rewind this dream.
The only person who swaps genders in my dreams is still ME.
The feminine presenting male was a part myself that was hungry, grasping, and weighed down. This part of my psyche was watching and admiring the way my more integrated feminine self moves, to the point that it tried to merge with me—unsuccessfully. Within me, it represents desire that’s never satisfied.
When that attempt failed and I left, it took a lesson from my intuitive movements. By learning to get back into motion—to move instead of just desire—it was able to find lightness.
So at the end of the dream this part of myself met me again, but with agency instead of as a victim consumed by endless hunger. He could acknowledge me with admiration, but he could also walk away without desperate attachment. Bottomless desire is no longer driving the show.
When desire is put into its proper place and proportion, it becomes direction. When desire goes from being a devouring presence to a secure and gentle voice of navigation and admiration, it’s astoundingly beautiful. Like the man standing in the river, sensing the flow of life, with his naturalness as his crown.
This masculine part of me that was undifferentiated, carrying a lot, and always desiring more, finally found freedom. And that’s not even touching the underlying racial symbolism. It’s a kind of freedom of the inner self that runs too deep to fathom.
# A Ridiculous Parody
In a follow up dream, I was sitting at a desk in a classroom with some other people. We were part of an audience for a performance that was being put on that had the exploration of different archetypes as the theme.
So a slightly overweight Hispanic guy without a shirt walked into the classroom as a performer. He had dark hair, a beard and zero muscle tone. His arms were bound with rope and tied over his head.
Then came in another performer who looked similar to him, but this guy I recognized right away. He was a friend of mine who I had known since kindergarten. I even saw him a few times after graduating high school, but he has since moved out of the area, and I haven’t seen him for many years.
Anyways, in this performance he was the double of the guy who was tied up. They both looked very similar: dark haired, Hispanic, slightly overweight but typical for American men. He was also bearded and shirtless, except unlike the other guy, his arms weren’t tied above his head.
So he came into the classroom and the song “Right Here Waiting” started playing. He sung much of the song himself, but at the bridge, the song inexplicably switched to a female singer’s voice so he lipsynced to her voice since he didn’t have the singing range.
As he sang, he danced interpretatively while standing in one place with his arms raised and body writhing in trying to communicate the emotion—the hungry desire that was stuck in one place without clear directional movement.
I thought that he was going to dance on over there and free the other guy—his double—from bondage but that never happened. And I began to wake up after the lipsyncing part because it was just too funny.
I get what the guys were trying to convey, but it wasn’t quite like the original dream.
And was my singing friend supposed to be playing me? I know I basically sang to the emotionally bound part of myself, but still what in the heck…