Billy Bing is an entity; entities are not to be trusted for serious life advice. The Witches of Grimoire encourage you to seek out the services of licensed therapists and other avenues of support for that sort of thing, not internet entities who may or may not be a human with a dream encyclopedia. We care about you.
Dear Billy,
I hardly ever remember my dreams, but this one remained with me after I woke, so I wanted to share. I dreamed an entire Samuel Beckett play. If only I could remember the dialogue.
I was in a theater. I think I was alone in the auditorium. For the longest time, the stage was dark and silent. Then two spotlights came on, revealing a pair of severed heads placed at either side of the stage. The heads began speaking about their lives, how they’d died, and how they’d come to be beheaded. I remember their words being bleakly funny, absurd, profound, and quite brilliant. Alas, I can't remember any of the details of what they actually said. At the end, the two heads fell silent and simply stared directly at me. The curtain didn't fall, and for a while I didn't realize the play was over. But eventually I stood up to leave. I can't remember if I clapped.
That's it. I'd love to know what you think it means. It feels important somehow.
Best wishes,
A Two-headed Beckett Fan
Billy says: Bravo, and welcome to the show of your life. When you find yourself in a theater, you are being reminded of how admiration of others can bring you happiness. You take deep pleasure in the contradictory, unpredictable, and playful aspects of Beckettian language.
The dominant emotion for much of this dream is admiration. Who in your life do you admire for their qualities of profundity, genius, and bleak humor? Who in your life talks enough for two mouths? There are two severed heads, which may refer to a two-faced person, or mayhap you have “couple friends” who entered your life as a pair. These heads are severed–an opportunity and a caution. You don’t know where the bodies are.
You could choose to preserve and grow this friendship and put flesh on those bones. Certainly there’s much to admire: they share your passion for absurdity. But there’s a reason you shift from admiration to confusion, unsure of whether the play has ended or no. The skulls pierce you with their gaze; they expect something of you, perhaps a reciprocity of intimacy you are not yet prepared to give.
Instead, you are feeling them out, waiting and watching. The curtain hasn’t fallen on this opportunity for connection; the play is still ongoing. It will be up to you to decide whether you wish to applaud their performance, or exit the theater.
This relationship has brought invigorating intellect into your life, but there’s a veiled threat. It’s always a difficult choice with such people. When their intellect plays nicely, they are the most fun people on the planet. But when that critical eye falls on you, it can blister. You wish to be seen, not scalded. It is up to you to decide if this friendship is meant to be, or not to be. Pull the curtain when you want this play’s run to close.
❧
Dear Billy,
Summer, 8:00 am. I tossed aside the upper sheet and sat at the edge of my bed. I was fifteen years old. I noticed a bulge in the middle of the fitted sheet. When I lifted it, I saw a white egg lying on the mattress. I jumped to my feet and called out to my mother in a panic: “Mama, come to the bedroom! There is an egg on my bed!”
She walked in, took one look, and calmly said, “Somebody must have thrown it through the open window.”
Her explanation didn’t make any sense to me. “But Mama, I slept on that egg without breaking it!”
She glanced one more time at the egg and said, “Bring it to the kitchen. I don’t have time to talk about it now. Ilonka is visiting us and is waiting for me in the kitchen.”
Ilonka was a Hungarian who had lived in the States for many years. She spoke English with such a heavy accent that it was hard to understand her. I remember her as a short, rotund woman in her fifties who would offer homemade cookies made from quince fruit to her guests.
“Perhaps she placed that egg in my bed. But why?” I wondered.
Fifty years later, I am still not sure if I dreamt the entire event or if that darn egg really existed. Ilonka is real, but her visit was improbable because my mother lost contact with her years ago. My egg mystery remains unsolved. Help me solve it!
—Scrambled Eggs
Billy says: A mother bird is going peck, peck, peck on your little eggshell right now. It’s time to crack open and come out. You are surprised by these noises, by this pressure to begin your life as yourself, as a bird who might have your own eggs to worry over. But you are not entirely averse to these new possibilities.
You’ve nested in a bed of sorrow and loneliness, but you’ve found a surprise laid there– yourself, as one who has survived. Mothers in dreams are often a message for us to change, to clean ourselves up and fly right. Your mother’s justification here is nonsensical, of course, but the miracle of yourself is real, and somehow intact despite all your wallowing around in the night.
Then she invites you into the kitchen–interestingly, kitchens are about unexpected guests. Billy wonders if you have recently been surprised by someone who has arrived in your life to offer comfort and care, as well as support during your transformation. Eggs in dreams are a good omen of prosperity, and sometimes procreation. It doesn’t matter where the egg came from; what matters is that you accept it – your new self – as a gift.