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Exploring Archetypes through Jungian Dream Analysis: My Hadrian’s Wall Triptych Journey

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A montage of Durham Cathedral and a holiday bus out of control

This morning, I dreamt myself into a crowded stage: guests and friends gathered, fathers offering contradictory advice, a precarious carriage tipping over a gorge, passengers vanishing into a riverbed but leaving their gifts behind. When I woke, what remained were not the people but the unwrapped offerings — brushes, pencils, tools.

In Jungian analysis, the dream opened into something larger. My father’s voice revealed its old contradictions, but also its fading hold. The overloaded vehicle mirrored my recent collapse after too many days at the pool. And the gifts, stripped of their wrapping, spoke plainly: what endures is the work, the art, the making.

That thought carried me to my Hadrian’s Wall Triptych — still in progress, but already gathering symbolic weight. The Wall as boundary, the Tree as axis, the Sky as compass. Perhaps even a mirror shard embedded, so that others — and I — might see ourselves reflected. Perhaps even a relic, like the adolescent crucifix I wore in Majorca, emptied of faith but charged with memory.

In the end, what began as a dream of collapse became a meditation on legacy. The unconscious may be bottomless, but my role is simpler: to unwrap the gifts given me, to cut and recut the wall, to let the tree and the sky orient me. A triptych in print or wood, modest or monumental, may stand as one of those gifts passed on — a legacy of a kind.

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Design Museum

Dream Burst: The Escape Bus

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I dreamt I was part of a group of enslaved people plotting to escape through a violent, desperate, necessary uprising. We were held in submission by a brutal force. I wasn’t the leader, but I helped design the route out. There was heroism, fear, and sacrifice. It played out like an epic film—heat, colour, urgency. A revolution was on the brink of success… or failure.

There was fire. Some enemies had fallen. The air was orange with smoke and possibility.

And then, oddly, we fled not by horse or aircraft but by clambering into a crowded single-decker bus. It wasn’t exciting. Ordinary. Forty or fifty of us packed into it—ragtag survivors, uncertain, determined. The driver was scared but willing. We didn’t know where we were going and couldn’t stay.

When I woke too early—3:30 am—I was too tired to re-enter the dream. But I carried the image: not the whole story, just the glow. The orange light of the threshold. A battle not quite won. An escape not yet complete.

Reflection: Archetypes in the Ashes

Looking at this dream through a Jungian lens, it’s clear that this isn’t just about revolt but the liberation of the Self. The “enslavement” mirrors how I’ve felt lately: spread too thin, caught in too many roles, pulled between service and depletion. Coaching, teaching, council duties, creative longing—I’ve been everywhere and nowhere, exhausted but still burning.

The uprising in the dream shows something within me, trying to fight back. To claim space. The Self is attempting to reclaim agency from the tyranny of duty.

That bus is essential. It wasn’t glamorous. But it moved. It carried many—just like I carry many parts of myself. It tells me I don’t need perfection. I need momentum.

There was no single love interest in the dream, but there was love—love for the people, the cause, and the whole ragged group. That kind of Eros pulls us toward wholeness, not just romance.

The orange glow still lingers. I think it’s the colour of transition—between burnout and breakthrough.

And I’m learning that the dream hasn't abandoned me even if I wake at 3:30 am. It’s just waiting for me to keep going.


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