Little Women's Dreaming Glasses

Kasey Cox

I have always had extremely vivid dreams. While asleep, I have been known to shout out loud to people in my life who are hard-of-hearing; speak French; throw punches; laugh; and carry on lengthy one-sided conversations. Throughout these dramas, I am treated to Technicolor images playing on the back of my eyelids.

At one point in my life, a friend suggested I talk with a psychologist who was well-known for her expertise in deciphering dreams. To be honest, I was pretty skeptical. It sounded like either fortune-telling, or a waste of my time, or perhaps both. Talking with this woman, however, turned out to be incredibly helpful. She did not tell me about myself, my life, or my dreams: instead, as the best guides do, she gave me the tools to find my own insights.

Surely, this is what our best writers and most influential teachers have done for us, as well. When people write a good story, or help us to interpret those stories, they are offering us a new set of glasses to try on – a set of glasses through which we may catch a different way of looking at ourselves and our world. These glasses, whether they are labeled “Marxist”, “Christian”, “Feminist”, “Jungian”, or what-have-you, may give us deeper insight into parts of our own personality, or they may give us a view of a part of the world we’ve never even considered.

In the case of the above-mentioned psychologist, she suggested I look at each object or person in my dream and see it as a representation of …ME. So, the ugly couch is me; the thunderstorm in the background is me; the broken teapot is me, as is the table it is sitting on …. This may not help me understand every aspect of my dreams, nor every dream I have, but it is a great starting point. I have also found this to be true in my personal reading. Even if the purpose of reading a certain book is to learn about something completely foreign to you, it helps to get a foothold by finding a familiar aspect, something to which you can relate.

Recently, I started reading Louisa May Alcott’s “Little Women”. This lovely little book is, unfortunately, one of many of the “classics” that I have never read. Despite the fact that I love to read, I do find “The Canon” (capitals completely intentional) rather daunting. I was surprised, then, to find myself wholly sucked in to what could be criticized as a overly simple, moralizing story, written too long ago to be relevant, in words which may now seem stilted. What could Jo, Amy, Beth, and Meg have to say to a modern woman, more than 130 years later? Why, as I devour the pages of their story, do I feel such love and sympathy for them?

And then, I realize, in the clarity of thought that often comes as I put down a book for the night and just before sleep takes me, that these characters are … ME. Scholars and historians who have studied the life and writings of Louisa May Alcott attest to the autobiographical aspects of “Little Women”, and how Louisa created the character of “Jo” to represent herself. As I am reading, I sympathize with Jo – her stubbornness, her tomboyish ways, her fierce loyalty to her sisters and her family, her writing, her bossiness. So, at first, I say, “I am Jo.” But then I realize I relate to Beth, too, especially as members of her family protect her, with her perhaps overly sensitive heart, and her health problems. And – admit it, ladies, even the toughest among us – who doesn’t want, in some corner of her soul, to be “petted” and admired at times, like the little princess Amy wants to be; or to be the nurturer, older sister, eventual wife and mother, Meg. And, hey, guys, who knew that “Little Women” might be a better guide to understanding the females in your life than anything contemporary pop psychologists are writing?

And so, with the help of this classic, I have touched base with parts of myself I haven’t acknowledged in a while. The way symbols and themes and people may show up in your dreams, though you haven’t consciously thought of them for a long time. This is why the great stories truly last.