Meghan: Dreaming in many colors

It was a lazy summer afternoon in the afterlife when Joseph stepped into Mr. Freud’s Psychotherapeutic office. Sunbeams drifted in through the many windows and manic depressives rocked in the corners but Joseph didn’t see any of it; he was intent on the appointment that he had had to make months in advance. Dr. Freud was very popular and even Joseph of the many colored coat had had to scrounge to see him. Joseph had barely settled into a chair in the waiting room when the beady-eyed receptionist called him to the back rooms. Nervously, he reclined onto a comfortable couch and waited for the doctor to arrive.
When Dr. Freud entered the room Joseph sprang up to greet him.
“Doctor, it’s so good of you to see me!”
“Please lay back on the couch.” The doctor said, waving a hand holding a sheaf of notes, “Tell me what’s on your mind.”
“Well, it’s my dreams,” Joseph said nervously, lying back on the couch, “I’m worried I’ve lost my connection with God.”
Dr. Freud scribbled furiously on the papers he held, “God, you say?”
Joseph sighed, “Yes, normally he’s so straightforward and tells me what to do but I haven’t heard his voice in a while.”
Dr. Freud’s pen halted on the paper, “You hear his voice?” he asked in an interested tone.
“Yes.”
“I see.” More sounds of writing were heard, “Do you hear it in your dreams, or when you’re awake?”
“Both.”
“And what sorts of things does he tell you?”
“Well one time I dreamed that the sun, moon, and eleven stars were bowing down to me; which I think meant that God wanted my brothers to bow down to me.”
Dr. Freud cleared his throat, “Do you often think that others should bow down to you?”
Joseph furrowed his brow, “No, I don’t think that others should bow down to me, but if that’s what God wants, then…”
Dr. Freud sighed, “If we are to make progress delving into the depths of your psyche you must be honest with me Joseph.”
“I am being honest with you!” Joseph protested
“All right.” Dr. Freud soothed. He rang his receptionist to bring a soothing cup of tea for his patient before asking Joseph to continue describing what God had asked him to do.
“Well...” Joseph said as he sipped unsteadily at his tea, “One time he told me that a man I was imprisoned with was going to die while another one was going to live.”
“I see.”
“And he helped me to correctly interpret the pharaoh’s dream so I could become the pharaoh’s advisor.”
“Interesting.”
“But now his voice has abandoned me.” Joseph wailed, covering his face with his hands, “All I hear are the people around me and all I dream about are things like talking birds and purple ham. What is wrong with me?” He looked imploringly at Dr. Freud, who set down his pen and looked over his notes.
“I believe you have made a terrible mistake in taking what was meant to be symbolic seriously; that is, your dreams. It seems you have no filter for differentiating the fantastic unreal creations of your mind from reality. Your dreams as they are now, with no higher being communicating to you through them, that is how they should be interpreted. Mr. Joseph, I am not a member of the clergy and I can’t tell you that the voice in your head is the voice of God. To me, the voice in your head means that you are very sick.”
“What can I do about it?” Joseph asked sadly.
“I can give you some medicine so the voices don’t come back, or you can go to the church down the street.”
Joseph stood up and looked pensively down at Dr. Freud, “Thank you for your help, but I think I will go to the church. I think I am meant to be a holy man with a vision rather than a raving lunatic with a disease.”


-M