Dreams are the royal road to the unconscious.
(Sigmund Freud)
Inconclusively, Konrad Schabunde was gazing at his notations. Had he captured all details of the dream? Probably not, it had been too much. But the main impressions he should have put on paper, some in words, most in sketches. And what the blazes did it mean? What had the pyre wanted to tell him?
It was not a story; there was no storyline. It was a picture made of pictures, a kind of wimmelpicture. Did it make any sense? Oneiromancy was not a science – and any witch doctor of old was possibly better in it than he. But this exceptional dream had to have significance.
However, inspiration wouldn’t come. Asking someone else wouldn’t help. They wouldn’t even understand his sketches. Flames and fumes… Patterns… Phew! – Not now, later perhaps… He should try to catch some more sleep. Well rested, he might eventually catch the idea. – Norbert was still snoring. He had missed the pyre and the flames altogether…
(Sigmund Freud)
Inconclusively, Konrad Schabunde was gazing at his notations. Had he captured all details of the dream? Probably not, it had been too much. But the main impressions he should have put on paper, some in words, most in sketches. And what the blazes did it mean? What had the pyre wanted to tell him?
It was not a story; there was no storyline. It was a picture made of pictures, a kind of wimmelpicture. Did it make any sense? Oneiromancy was not a science – and any witch doctor of old was possibly better in it than he. But this exceptional dream had to have significance.
However, inspiration wouldn’t come. Asking someone else wouldn’t help. They wouldn’t even understand his sketches. Flames and fumes… Patterns… Phew! – Not now, later perhaps… He should try to catch some more sleep. Well rested, he might eventually catch the idea. – Norbert was still snoring. He had missed the pyre and the flames altogether…