“Now I find myself in some sort of junction on the road, where I can take more than two (three actually) paths and I have to choose which path to go on. There’s nobody there and not even an animal, I’m just alone in a car and on the road.
These three paths shine different types of light on me, but if the lights separate I might go into repeat again; therefore, I feel there is no need to choose where to turn, because all I want to do is stand at this junction and observe. It’s night time and the road shines in moonlight. There’s no fear there, just some normal obscurity. So I stay there all night, just looking at the night sky from within my car. I parked by the road, on the grass. I’m drinking (I should have left that one out, but this is a dream so you can’t have dream police arrest you) and thinking. I’m wearing worn out boots. When the morning comes, it’s time to drive. A man comes and offers to keep me company. I think this man might be my animus. He’s plain, he’s not an old fatso, he’s a good friend and all he wants to do is to keep me company because he thinks although I’m able to go there myself it does not make any sense whatsoever that a person like me would not have company to get to where she wants to go which would sound outrageous when pronounced.
I already know where I’m going. There was never any doubt when I was standing at the junction, that was a service of contemplation. An exercise. And a good part of me will always contemplate and go back to this junction. I find the choice easy because the road is only one, and the different paths will lead to whatever destination I decided to go in the first place. So, we go. He really just wants to be of company because that is only logical”.
The junction is a reference to the Devil on the crossroad. The separation of light equals Sades battling Eros for dominance. The obscurity is the Moon. It’s normal. The grass is the fear of Death overcome by Mother Earth. Alcohol is sacrificial ritual, sacrificial blood. The boots are always Rock’n’Roll. Driving is getting on with your life. A man is your animus, always, if you’re a woman. Or if you’re a man but secretly living one of your past lives as a woman. The plain man is the simplification of the old man. The rest is all my opinion.