Date: 09-06-2017
This was an interesting dream. I was in the ‘Rijksmuseum’ (a famous Dutch museum, I’ve never visited), but in the dream this place had nothing to do with the actual ‘Rijksmuseum’ as it is in real life. In this dream it was a sort of VIP place where famous people and ‘collectors’ could meet. I was with someone; a renowned and highly skilled collector. I was his pupil and he my teacher. The collectors brought the things they had collected to that museum so that famous/important people could view them or even take some with them. The head administrator of the museum was there too when I came to visit with my teacher, and he was present while I was looking around. The head administrator looked like a very classy waiter. Everything he did – every move he made – he did so from the highest form of etiquette; extremely polite and aware. He and I talked, and in that conversation I tried to do my best to be as polite and classy as I could. But I stood in his shadow. Compared to him I felt like I was trash, but still he was so incredibly nice and polite to me, despite my shortcomings of applying his level of etiquette to our interaction. In our conversation I painted myself as not belonging there. “I’m just a simple collector, nothing more. I stand in the shadow of everyone here.” But he disagreed! “On the contrary. The collectors are famous among the famous. Each has a role to play.” His comment was uplifting. I felt a little less out of place.
After our conversation I browsed around in the museum, when I unexpectedly encountered my mother there. She was there with my dad, and they had found things from their past in the museum. That was one of the things people could do there. There was a kind of photo archive, and you were allowed to check whether it held any photos of your past. You were allowed to take them if you found them. My mom had a photo in her hand. She asked me: “Have a look. Do you recognise it?” I recognised the place in the photo immediately. This was the little square in front of the garage door. But now things got a little more interesting. This was an obvious old photo. It was in colour, but the technology for personal colour photography was in its infancy when this photo was taken. But despite that, the garage on the photo looked as it did after my dad had put a second floor on it. It should’ve shown the garage with a flat roof. The photo was taken from ground level, as if the camera was on the ground itself, and it was taken from the side of the neighbours’ house facing the direction of the garage. The garage door was the old one, with vertical green and white stripes. On the picture there were clothing racks in front of that garage door, and on those racks hung all kinds of dress up clothing (cowboy, Indian, police officer, etc.). Dad, looking like he did in the 80s (beard, moustache, sideburns, which I know from old photos, haha), stood near the racks and was playing dress up with a couple of other people I didn’t know.
He was wearing cowboy clothing. This was all the way in the background of the photo. But very near the camera was a tiny little mouse. In the dream I recognised it as one of their house pets, that they supposedly used to have (which they didn’t in real life as far as I know). In the dream it was known to me they had this mouse from stories they told us, like the stories and pictures of dogs my parents used to have before we were born. I exclaimed excitedly: “Hey!! Isn’t that…?” “Yes.” My mother replied, adding: “We only just got him back then.” But then the photo became animated like it was a video. I looked at the video. On the video you could see the little mouse was scared and it looked around. Its innocence in world affairs couldn’t have been more evident. Then my very young looking mother entered the frame of the photo. She petted the little mouse, and gave it a soft loving kiss on its little head. I could see she really loved this little creature. It was an interesting peek into a past before my time. The collector now stood next to me, while I was watching the photo/video. He was done with whatever he had planned to do, and said: “We have to move on. Are you ready?” I handed the photo back to mom and said goodbye. Dad was there too somewhere but I didn’t speak to him. I woke up just after following the collector on his way out.
Analysis:
On the Chinese calender I am a mouse according to the date of my birth. I was born in 1984. I know this through my brother’s Chinese girlfriend. The photo/video my mom showed me was taken in the 80s. I am pretty confident to say that little mouse was me.
It showed my mother when she was young. Maybe she was different back then. This dream showed me my mother wasn’t always who she eventually became. She plainly loved me when I was small, fragile, and innocent, and she didn’t play any games. Her love for me was real and pure. Untainted.
Dad was playing dress up. I recall that from the photo as it started to play like a video that my dad was showing off to those other people. That was kind of how he was back then. I take after him in that regard. I love being in the spotlight and getting the attention with humorous and witty comments.
Dress up is in fact dressing up and pretending to be someone or something you are not. And that might be something interesting. My mom has told us (children) that dad didn’t want any children. She was the one that really wanted to have kids. I think it was a wish he did not want to take from her. But when my mom revealed this, things did fall in to place some more. It made sense. Our dad wasn’t a typical dad. He was there on important moments, like graduations and birthdays, but often absent in the smaller less obvious moments. Maybe this dream depicted him playing his dad role but maybe it was something he felt didn’t come natural to him.
The collector who had me under his wing was a kind and wise old man. I think this was a depiction of my guide, or one of them. I think this guide is helping me to let go of my past. The museum was perhaps a place where you could look back at your life to help you progress spiritually.
