I dream of….. Hellboy?
Freud believed that everything you do is premeditated; every action and thought is motivated by your unconscious, even your dreams. He believed that man has many urges, animalistic, instinctual etc, but in order to live in a civilized society, those urges must be suppressed. However, these urges and impulses bubble to the surface in the symbolic language of dreams. He believed that individuals are truly themselves only in their dreams.
Jung had a slightly different view about dreams. He believed that it was a way to communicate and acquaint yourself with your spiritual conscious. According to him, dreams are not attempts to conceal your true nature from the society, but rather it is a window to your unconscious. They serve to guide one to achieve wholeness and offer a solution to a problem one is facing in your real life.
Out of these two, Jung probably had the more accurate idea. We lie fast asleep in bed, all snuggled up in our blankets dreaming our Alice-in-wonderland dreams with bunnies and rainbows and suddenly, BAM, down the wrong rabbit hole and we're being chased by an evil Hellboy driving a big red hummer or wielding a machete.
But what does that really mean?
Here, the ten most common nightmares' messages are explained.
Boyfriend/Girlfriend Breaking Up With You
Teeth Falling Out
Being Naked in Public
Missing a Plane, Train, etc.
Contacted By the Dead
Recurring nightmares? That means your subconscious is trying to tell you something. When you finally get the message, the dreams will stop. Or revert back to the happy rainbow-butterfly-bunny dreams.
So, welcome nightmares, it is only your subconscious trying to help you out.
By Musarrat Rahman
MY nine-year-old cousin sister calls me 'butch'. Short for butcher. Well, can't really blame her; I do lean towards that profession, take up the knife and jump into action every other Eid.
She thinks it's insanely cruel. “You killed my 'stishie'. You bad man”. Jawaerea was only six and too young to pick up on her 'swear word' vocab. Truth be told, I did slaughter the little, black goat, the object of her week-long obsession.
This however is not about Billy goats; it's about cows, and my passion for them. Yes! I know, I slaughter them with my own hands. But that is for a higher cause! It is through sacrifice, sometimes, that true love takes form.
As a child I used to roam around the city, sitting on my father's shoulders, I went through the busy cattle-markets and learnt a few tricks on buying cows. It was like a family heirloom, a sacred knowledge, and the haggling skill for the sacrificial cow, handed down from one generation to another, only through the lineage of blood.
After the death of my father, annual visits to the haat were accompanied with elder cousins- all of whom I must add, were seasoned hagglers. They could bargain and bring down a prized bull in the order of thousands.
“Chacha, apnar bari koi?” The conversation would start.
“Really! Small world. Which Zilla?” We were from Comilla, but the fact at that point had become irrelevant and totally lacked importance.
-Bhangura. The aged merchant would reply taking a long drag of the bidi he was smoking.
“I am from Shujanagor. That makes us deshi, so how much is the Ox…the small red one”. In fact it was the biggest cattle the old chap was selling.
Hindol bhai, my cousin brother had this unbelievable command of geography. How he managed it, beats me till this day. If the seller had said he was from Ranigram, Manikganj I could bet my life that he would have been able to name a locality in that vicinity.
Now, for those who think I am trying to pull your leg, I do understand that this whole tete-e-tete was totally pointless and had no effect on the price of the cow in question. But love for the bovine kind has its eccentricities!
Veterans in this field would however tell you, its not all fun and no pun.
Gabtoli of course has a place that bears special meaning to all cow-lovers. If you are not there, you are nowhere! Many years ago, we bought a cow from Gabtoli, like we do every year. Now there is nothing abnormal about it. That's what people do. Buy cows, from cattle-markets! But this was no ordinary cow. Believe me when I say, we bought a huge, grey hi-breed for 16.5 that was worth at least 25k. For once, haggling skills defied our own expectations.
The money was transferred, the seller counted the bills and...RAN! Like there was no tomorrow!
Now this is something one is not accustomed to, no matter how big a kahuna you are in the field of buying cows. We all stood in a moment of silence in the sheer astonishment of what had exactly happened. Before we could move an inch, the seller had vanished in the thick crowd, with the prized ox standing firmly on the ground, safely tied to the pole. Fellow sellers were equally amazed. Or so they pretended! This was indeed a well-planned routine. A young bloke volunteered to act as the vendor while we pay the toll or 'hasil' as it is called, after much persistence. Hindol bhai went with him as I stood alone, gently patting the cow. Hindol bhai returned like a victor, now that the cow was legally ours, we untied the rope, the cow took some feeble steps and fainted. Right in the middle of Gabtoli, two days before E-day, we had a semi-dead cow in our hands and no idea what-so-ever as what should be done. Hindol bhai was visibly perspiring. I could only manage, "Amma will kill us." People soon gathered at the site, some even teased at our achievement in buying a semi-dead cow. People poured water on the cow's head, some tried to give an awkward twist to its tail. But to no avail. It shivered and was making a scary sound. Death was close, we all imagined.
They say necessity is the mother of all invention. True! Believe me...its true.
Now, we waited. Five minutes. Nothing. Fifteen minutes...nothing. But gradually the shivering stopped, and after more than an hour the cow finally stood up. We were relieved to say the least. The cow had finally over come the seizure. But the ordeal of bringing a 'semi-dead-cow-that-was-now-semi-alive' all the way from Gabtoli to Shantinagar had fallen upon us. Over 15 miles, if not more. How we managed is another story, but to keep the story short-on a three-wheeler van!
By The Lizard King
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