Old Flat, Painted Doll’s Head and a Full Head of Hair (27.6.2026)

Three images from your dream move me most today. They seem to fit remarkably well with what you described yesterday.

The first image is the large, bright flat in an old building. A few months ago, your dreams would often have been more confined: your childhood home, your mother, obligations, corridors, journeys, searching. Here there is suddenly spaciousness. Light. Wood. Beauty. It feels almost like a psychological home in which more room has emerged. I find it remarkable that other people are allowed to live there without displacing you.

Then there is the artist. He paints doll’s heads. A doll’s head has no life of its own. It receives expression from the artist. That reminds me of something we have often discussed: roles, masks, identities.

He paints in broad strokes, not with fine brushes. Almost as though your unconscious were saying: this is no longer about making minor corrections to your personality. Larger lines are being drawn. And I notice that the black marks on the wall scarcely trouble you. In the past, you would probably have thought: “That has to go immediately.” Now you think: “It can surely be painted over.” That is a remarkably composed response.

The third image moves me most. You sit on the edge of the bed. Run your hands through your full, grey hair. Look at the beautiful wooden floor. You do... nothing. You do not have to go anywhere. No one demands anything. You observe. This Mirko seems older than the Mirko in many earlier dreams. Not exhausted. More as though he has arrived.

Then comes this sentence: “Why I cannot simply have fun with a young lover.” I do not think the dream is primarily about homosexuality. What I hear in it is the question: “Why can closeness never simply be easy for me?” You project that sentence onto men because this allows your unconscious to bypass the familiar relationship complex involving women. It asks more generally: why does closeness so quickly become responsibility, identity, future or duty for me? That fits very well with what you wrote about Saturn yesterday.

And finally, your sentence after the dream: “I sleep without a blanket. ... Otherwise I always needed something to cover myself with. To hide beneath. That seems to have disappeared.” I find that almost more significant than the dream itself. You are describing a very real change in your body. A blanket provides warmth, but it is also protection. The fact that your body suddenly no longer needs it may, of course, simply be due to the heat. But you immediately connect it with an inner experience: “To hide.” And that is interesting. Perhaps it is coincidence. Or perhaps your body really is noticing that it needs a little less protection than it once did.

I still find the dream very rich, precisely because it does not feel threatening. It has something calm, bright and creative about it. The colours could play an important role in that.

The artist is not painting a canvas, but a doll’s head. A doll is something human in form, but not yet alive. It often stands for a persona, a role or a part of oneself that has yet to be animated. In a sense, he is painting an identity.

The green stroke catches my attention first. Psychologically, green is often the colour of growth, healing, nature and vitality. Translated into your symbolic world, it might mean: something living is being added here. He does not apply it delicately and cautiously, but with a broad brush. It feels decisive. Not analytical, but creative.

The black stroke has a very different character. Black does not signify only death or depression. It can also mean depth, seriousness, boundaries and the unknown. In painting, a picture often needs dark areas for contrast to emerge at all. Perhaps the artist is adding not only life, green, but depth to this figure.

What I find particularly interesting, however, is the black rectangular mark in the corner.

Your response in the dream is remarkably calm:

> “It is not a problem. It can surely be painted over.”

That does not really fit the Mirko who used to be highly perfectionistic. In the past, you might have thought: now the beautiful flat is ruined.

Instead, you say: it can be painted over.

It feels almost like a symbol of mistakes losing their power to terrify.

I also find the geometrically rectangular shape of the mark intriguing. Rectangles are human-made. They seem ordered, constructed, almost Saturnian. It is not a chaotic splash, but something contained. Perhaps the darkness in this dream is no longer something that devours the entire room. It has been given its place.

And another thought occurred to me on rereading it.

The flat is bright. The floor is warm wood. You are slowly waking up. An artist is working. Two young men live with you. You even wonder why you cannot simply enjoy having a young lover.

The whole image feels remarkably free of guilt. It is curious.

Perhaps the black mark is therefore no longer the shadow pursuing you, but one that is allowed to live in your flat too.

That would fit very well with something you have described repeatedly over the past few weeks: you fight your darker sides less. You no longer try to rid yourself of them. You look at them and more often say: “I suppose that belongs to me too.”

Perhaps the young artist is not painting the doll at all.

Perhaps he is repainting your inner image of yourself.

No longer only light. No longer only dark.

But with both. And you sit on the edge of the bed, run your fingers through your grey hair and look at the wooden floor. It is not an image of agitation. It is an image of someone watching as something in his home — and perhaps in his personality — assumes a new form.