I knew it was my old acreage house because of the sense of familiarity within me and the furniture and surroundings served as backup confirmation. As I crossed the threshold, I could hear some friends’ faint laughter coming from somewhere, but not from inside the house. A voice in my head told me a storm was coming and to get ready. I wondered where my girls were, but as swiftly as the concern entered my mind, I was comforted by somehow knowing they would be fine. I was the one that had to get ready for the storm.
Looking around I noticed a flower pot setting on the desk and I reminded myself I had to throw that plant out. Looking closer I realized it was marigold flowers and the heads were dried up. I must replant them. (Mom always showed me that they weren’t truly dead. She would pluck the heads off and store them in a plastic sandwich bag over the winter and replant them in the spring.) I stepped outside. Gazing over the hip roof barn at the northwest sky I could see the storm clouds rolling in and the wind was starting to pick up. I looked down at the pitted and cracked cement sidewalk that led away from the house and there to the right was the old, half- barrel flower pot waiting at the end. Off to left of the sidewalk, there were cigarette butts strewn all over the grass. I knew I had to get them picked up before someone saw them.
A golf course scene phased in. I was standing on a perfectly groomed fairway. It was sunny and warm. There was a crowd standing all around and a strong feeling that this game was being filmed set in. I felt a friend-like presence to my left. I was scanning the scene and in my head the warning that I shouldn’t be here resounded. I looked to see who it was standing next to me. It felt like my ex-husband, who I had divorced from a very short and painful marriage two years prior, but he looked different which puzzled me. The alarming thought that I should not be here came in again as the crowd started to chuckle. Confusion, uneasiness and a sense that I really didn’t want to be there anymore overwhelmed me.
Instantly a scene where I was riding a tricycle with an old woman in an oversized brown, scraggly-haired bear coat riding on back. I felt it was my mother, and then I wasn’t sure who I was giving a ride to, but it made sense that it was Mom. We were headed to the Congo Club to gamble on the nickel machines. The internal conversation began. Why didn’t I bring my pick up? I could have thrown this tricycle in the back and made this trip so much easier. I am going to lose control going down that hill. I will never be able to navigate that hill on this tricycle. This is so hard kept repeating as I pedaled onward all hunched over on this child’s toy. I was exhausted. I looked back and thought, “That doesn’t look like Mom, but I will keep going.” The internal conversation of this is so hard, I cannot do this and I am going to lose control kept looping. An immense amount of resistance was pulsating through my body.
A small wave of energy swept in which caused me to look down. What was a typical, tire-worn, cracked and patched road was now a flawlessly paved black top. Not a crack to be seen. No pores were visible. This was the most beautiful, blackest of black pavement I had ever witnessed. I looked around and the pigment and outline of the trees and grass were indescribably beautiful. It was as if they were glowing with colors not of this world. A silhouetted crowd lined each side of the road. Their laughter carried notes not of mocking, but of love and encouragement. Looking up ahead there stood a tall, majestic buck with his head decorated with a crown of antlers held high. He bent down to look at a small dog barking defensively at him. The buck stood there as if listening to the cries and complaints of this dog who was so desperately guarding his position on the road. This magnificent beast gracefully dropped his head and gently pushed the dog out of the way and as he did so he left droppings on the road. The little dog kept barking and before completely surrendering, quickly grabbed something out of the pile of droppings and darted off.
I watched this take place in front of me and realized this road I was on lead straight into this scene. I kept thinking that I didn’t want to ride in between that. I don’t want to interfere. That’s not for me to go through. I couldn’t stop myself from pedaling forward. As I reached the spot just before the buck, I looked around taking a final peak at grass the color of green I had never seen, pristine trees in the nearby background and the silhouettes with angelic voices standing by encouraging me to keep going. The instant I passed by the buck I glanced back and noticed the old woman was gone. As if cued, the colors returned to normal hues, the paved road regained the normal porous, milky black look of being well traveled with cracks and wear. The realization came to mind that I had made it down the hill on the tricycle that I was so afraid of losing control on and I felt the relief of an enormous weight had been lifted off me. The exhaustion was gone. Euphorically coasting along, I could still feel the wind blowing through my hair as I woke from this dream.
Upon opening my eyes, panic instantly overcame me. This was too real and my mind was trying desperately to make sense of it and convince myself that it was only a dream. Tears filled my eyes. I was shaken and I guess I felt almost fearful. What just happened was something I did not understand. My go to was to go smoke and figure this out right away.
Everyone was still sleeping so I grabbed a jacket out of the hall closet. It was Mom’s, but I could wash it after I was done smoking. I headed outside and tried to put logic and reason to what I just experienced. After going over the scenes of the dream and several cigarettes later, I went to head into the house. I kept thinking about how I could still feel the wind on my face and blowing my hair as I awoke from that dream. It was crazy real.
Everyone was up and visiting in the living room. I went to put Mom’s jacket into the washing machine with some other items that were in the laundry basket. I checked the pockets because Mom always had wadded up tissues in them and that makes such a mess in the washer. I grabbed a handful of tissues out of the right pocket and reached into the left pocket. What I pulled out rendered me speechless and frozen. In my hand was a little sandwich bag full of marigold heads and one nickel. I knew, with every ounce of my being, what I witnessed while I slept was way more than a dream. Way more!
(I will be breaking down each segment of this dream and sharing perspectives from various levels of awareness. Please check back.)