I dreamt I had a pet anaconda. It was coiled around my waist, chest, and neck as I walked along the overgrown shore of a dark lake. I was slightly apprehensive of such a powerful beast, but it appeared to be quite shy. The snake’s head was always tucked away, presumably in my armpit. I was thus surprised when it popped out its head and started talking to me: “I am kind of hungry, and I hope you will soon find something tasty for me to eat.” Its head was that of an effeminate boy of about twelve or thirteen with disheveled reddish hair, pale face, and pointed chin sporting several pockmarks. There was something pampered and even spoiled in the anaconda’s high-pitched voice suggesting the first traces of puberty.

Addendum (February 3, 2000)

I sent this piece to Lauren together with a bunch of others. If I remember correctly, there were at least half-a-dozen pieces in the selection I sent her. Today she commented on my writings, but focused on my dream, which had captured her imagination:

I found the story about your dream of interest. I could not help but read our struggle into it somewhat. Using the classical model of psychotherapeutic theory on dreams—the one in which all the players are aspects of ourselves—then the anaconda/adolescent is a part of you. That it hungers for a victim is of interest as well. It may suggest that your tantrums, although fueled by a grown man’s intellect, are in fact adolescent. It may also suggest that there is a part of you stuck within yourself and that part is an early adolescent screaming out to be heard and noticed. What I can’t account for is how that may or may not fit into your own biography as an adolescent.

Whether dreams can be interpreted or not is a separate matter, but interpretations of dreams certainly can be interpreted. The first thing that struck me in Lauren’s analysis is that the anaconda/adolescent was looking for a victim, rather than being hungry pure and simple. Of course, Lauren has promptly projected herself into that dreadful rôle.