Clothing Optional Orgy

For nearly my entire life I haven’t been able to recollect a single detail from my dreams. As a dabbler is Jungian psychology, I’ve always been jealous of those who were able to deconstruct the symbolism of their unconscious mind. I felt as though I was missing out on something that – when studied – could change my life.

It wasn’t until I started taking medication – and getting a full night’s rest – that I could remember what happened while I was asleep.


Now I get to psychoanalyze myself…

Last night I had a dream that I was at a party with nearly everyone I’ve ever been friends with. I was walking around the room with my wife when someone announced that it was “time for the orgy!”

No one got naked, but everyone schmoozed each other.

My wife and I kept walking through the room when I overheard one friend say, “oh when (Bruce) is trying to impress someone, he tries to make them laugh.”

As the party continued, no one got naked and I found myself with my head wedged between two cinderblocks, unable to pull myself free.

Eventually I was unstuck and the dream ended with no orgy, or at least not the orgy I expected.


I opened my eyes and immediately thought that a dream of an orgy with no sex MUST represent sexual repression. It seemed obvious.

That hasty interpretation didn’t move me, so I dug a bit deeper.

Why was my head stuck in between two cinderblocks? Obviously, something is STUCK. My head – seemingly – could symbolize my mind, but why my head and not something more phallic in nature (if I’m sexually repressed)?


Maybe I AM sexually repressed in that there is some strange, unspoken fetish of mine that hasn’t been realized?

But again, I didn’t feel that response, either.

Then it hit me!

Being a creative thinker, my mind is what defines me! It is my mind! I have been stuck inside my head for the last two years as I’ve recovered. Though – while I’ve been stuck in my head – nothing creative has trickled out.

But what does that have to do with a climax-free orgy?

I wasn’t sure, so I did what we all do; Google. The interpretations were all “you’re sexually repressed, dummy” but it seemed like an effortless answer – the same flimsy conclusion I’d jumped to – and it lacked validity, plus the shoddy, 90s style websites I read it from furthered my distrust of their “expertise.”

I dusted off a few books and after an hour or so I found what I was looking for.

An orgy can symbolize the REPRESSION OF CREATIVE ENERGIES!


For the last two years, my creativity has been stifled by unforeseen circumstances and it has been devastating, to say the least. I’ve felt like I had lost a piece of me when I couldn’t write, read, draw or create music. Slowly, it’s coming back, but – admittedly – I’ve been hesitant because it’s been so long that I couldn’t coherently express myself that I fear failure (not to mention I’ve been grotesquely vulnerable with what I have wrote, and it’s slightly embarrassing).

My dream was telling me that I’m creatively repressed and have been so my entire life.

Which is (mostly) true.

Even my “friends” haven’t seen the true, artistic me because I’ve held back in fear of ridicule, failure and fear of being seen as weird.


For over thirty-years I’ve been missing out on nightly insights like this!

I’m jelly…

Meditative Psychosis

It’s been a while since I’ve written ANYTHING. I needed a break from thinking, so I quit writing.

The last two-years have been filled with TOO MUCH introspection. I dug too deep into my own psyche searching for the proverbial golden egg of repression that my ego’s been hiding. I knew that mushy nugget was weighing me down. I found it. My ego skedaddled and hasn’t been seen since. I carried that lopsided egg to the surface and stared at it, transfixed and afraid.

Then I dropped it, cracked it open and its vile goo paralyzed my rubbery limbs.

I cracked my own psyche and slipped into madness, or so it’s been diagnosed.

I assumed – along with family, friends, nurses, doctors, counsellors, psychologists and psychiatrists alike – that it (psychosis) was mainly caused by my past traumatic brain injury.

What else could it have been?

All I did for nearly a year was meditate for up to fourteen hours on some days. So long that I’d open my eyes and there were no longer defining edges or lines to the objects around me, only wavy vibrational squiggles like the calm waves of a pond after you’ve tossed a pebble in its center.

I thought that I’d reached Nirvana, but later understood that those vibrational fields were hallucinations caused by psychosis, not some spiritual awakening.

Today, while reading “Be Here Now, Be Now Here” by Dr. Richard Alpert, Ph.D. – a book about spiritual awakening – I read the following passage;

Going thru it, you have touched a place inside yourself that has an intuitive validity. It’s intuitively valid inside you. Know it’s right. I’ve been with well over 100 people who have had such an experience which was powerful and valid, but was so discontinuous with their normal consciousness that they screamed for help. The help that was available to them was a group of minds which said, ‘that’s all right, you’ve just gone crazy.’ That is ‘the experience you’ve just had is the experience of psychosis.’”


Did a spiritual awakening – or whatever it was that I experienced after extreme solitude and meditation – push me into insanity?

Can meditation cause psychosis?

The answer is YES.

It’s been said that TOO MUCH meditation can – in some people – cause the opposite of what practitioners are attempting to achieve; anxiety, depression, obsessive compulsive disorder, twitches, psychosis and schizophrenia.

From personal experience, as I meditated more and longer, I felt like my ego was dissolving until one day it was gone and I didn’t know who I was anymore (in the DSM that is called “disassociation,” which is also a symptom of psychosis).

This all leaves me with MORE questions than I had before, but most importantly;

“Are the symptoms of madness similar with what it means to dissolve the ego and awaken in a world that still sleeps?”

Questions like this are why I took a break from writing…

Smudgy Outlook

For the last two years I wore glasses that I could hardly see out of. I could’ve replaced them. All it took was going to the optometrist for an eye exam and then I was eligible for new glasses. I didn’t. I couldn’t. Frankly, I didn’t care that I couldn’t see. It was the least of my worries. Everything was smudged. Scratched. Blurry. Then, I fell asleep in my glasses and broke them beyond repair and, mysteriously the triage of effort was no longer too much to think about and I did it. I got new glasses and I could see, again. The world wasn’t as dull and damaged as I came to believe. There was beauty in the grass.

brain worms

There is an infestation of worms that have burrowed deep in my brain.

A mushy ball of slimy, dormant belly crawlers who are blind and unable to find food.

Until it rains.

Then they follow the pattering vibrations of the raindrops.

They wriggle and squirm to the surface  of my brain and drink the waters of my emotions.

I used to allow them to feast, undisturbed.

Their gummy bites would numb me until I was drooling from the eyes, powerless.

I was simply a limp host who’d been programed to find the wormy pollution their daily nutrients by stirring emotion outside of me.

I now see them slurping my puddles of pain.

And I know that they cannot see me.

I have begun to observe their feeding habits, their mating cycles and I’ve found the burrow where they hide their summertime reserve of moldy grub.

Now, when I’m flooded with emotions, I kneel in the darkness and wait patiently to pluck them out, one-by-one.

I drop them into a rusty bucket and use them as bait to go after bigger fish in the murky pond.