It was bound to happen some night and it happened last night. I had a dream with Donald J. Trump in it. As a longtime dream keeper and dream analyst, the dream with respect to psyche was transparent.
I climb the stairs of a house in an Frisco neighborhood. I’m on the way to help a friend with a rock band she is promoting.
I find her hanging out with the band in a bedroom. She’s sitting on the bed. The band of four hippie guys in their twenties is spread between a couch and a chair. I sit on the bed with her. She and the band are discussing ideas for a video.
“We have this great ’64 caddy. Maybe just shoot a video with us singing and playing as we drive around?”
She thinks for a moment, looks at me, turns back to the band and suggests,
“Good, but I can top it all off.”
“How so?” I ask her.
“I know Donald Trump. He can be the driver.”
Turning my head toward my friend, the bright and darkly pretty gal on the bed next to me, I raise my eyebrows in a silent, ‘You do?’
“Should I call him, see if he is available?”
The band collectively chuckles, and nods their assent.
After a few minutes on the phone, she ends the call, and announces, “He’ll be right over.”
(Surprise is the feeling tone.)
We all get up and file out down the narrow front stairs. A big maroon 1964 hard top Cadillac sits in the driveway, parked head first.
As the group gets to the car, a black limousine pulls up to the curb, a drive gets out, walks to the rear passenger door, and opens the door for Donald J Trump. He is dressed in a blue suit with a bright red tie.
We hail him, and I move toward the driver’s side of the caddy. Trump has walked briskly and his tiny hand reaches the door handle before my own (ummm, large,) hand does.
“I got this,” he tells me.
We pile into the car, with the band taking over the back seat, and me between my lady friend, and, behind the wheel, Trump. I have the best view as Trump takes the keys from one of the lads and tries to figure out where the key needs to be inserted to start the car.
Leaning toward him, he backs me off,
“I got this.”
He eventually finds the ignition slot and starts the car. He gingerly backs the car out of the driveway onto the street. I think to myself, that Trump seems a bit nervous, seems like he hasn’t driven a car recently. The car slowly backs up until the rear wheels crunch against the opposite curb. Trump looks at me and glares.
He manages to get the caddy faced in the correct lane of the street, and slowly he drives away. Reaching a cross street, he turns right.
(The scene changes. The street we’ve turned onto is a circular cul de sac, but now it is winter, and there is a little bit of snow on the ground and on the road.)
Trump is obviously nervous now and being careful. The caddy skids for a moment and bumps the curb. Now, I give him a look.
“I got this.”
But, the caddy gets sideways. Although it isn’t stuck because of the snow, the curve of the street is such that there isn’t enough room to maneuver, so Trump steers the car up and over a curb and attempts to turn it around.
I turn toward the band in the back seat. One of the hippies gives me a thumb’s up. I turn toward Trump,
“Do you need some help?” With this appeal, I am sure he hasn’t driven a car in a long long time.
A bit frustrated, Trump glances toward me,
“I got this!”
Conscious capacity for one-sidedness is a sign of the highest culture, but involuntary one-sidedness, i.e., inability to be anything but one-sided, is a sign of barbarism. (C.G. Jung, Psychological Types)