For years I've been having bad dreams. Not nightmares. Just generic-human bad dreams, blurry with fear, neglect, abuse, sadness, pointlessness. Dreams of cars breaking down, stuck in snow or mud or going off cliffs, of being left in the middle of a deserted town, of mean faces, of tidal waves, of fences that keep the sharks out finally giving way. The kind of dreams where you wake up in the morning and feel anxious, or dulled, the vapor trails making you dread the coming day.
And then, about six weeks ago, I had a marvelous dream:
This morning, I woke up from a dream that gave me everything that I search for in this life: security, love, understanding, acceptance. I was who I used to be when I was young, and eager, and utterly open, but it was now, and I was me. Yes was all around me, in me. There wasn't anything to fear because everything was taken care of.
And so I lay in bed for a while, simply happy To Be. Then, what else do you do when it's all done and Yes? You do the next thing. So I got up, brushed the teeth, pooperscooped, fed the weasels, ate some fruit, surfed the net, and left the house to run some errands, though, really still in that dreamy half-state of Yes, Yes, Yes . . .
At first, I titled the post "Prince Universe". But then I felt like I wanted to hold a piece of it back, keep it inside of me, private, because it felt like a precious mystery, so rare, and special. So I changed the post title to hide the truth of it. Because the dream was actually about a man that I was in love with, who was in love with me, though I didn't know him in this life, though when I woke from the dream I knew him, of course I knew him, he was my love.
The energy of that dream carried me for days. Then Calhoon began bleeding, and the dreams began coming every night. And the closer he came to death, the more full of love the dreams became.
Do you remember when you were small? Was Disney something absorbed into your heart, beamed back out as utter belief in the power of truth, beauty, dreams, the triumph of good over evil? Did the princesses and princes speak to you of something so total, so full of quantum sparkle and deep cellular magic and all-every-always-Yes that what you most wanted was to be absorbed into their story, their world? People are so quick to say Disney is biased pap, but it speaks to something, speaks to something real, of surrender to something we need to wake up to.
The dreams have felt like that. So clear and clean and gentle. But not the same man. Every night, a different man is there. Even as the dream is essentially the same. We're married or living together or dating or simply in that first bloom of Hot Sweet Dang. We're always in love, always in that space of Yes. There's a sweetness present. He's always one of The Good Guys. I look into his eyes and see love. His hand touches my face and love is there. My heart feels soft, open. I'm smiling, or laughing, or sighing in release.
I've thought of how the dreams might be coming out of how close to death I've been the past month, how the life force asserts itself in balance. But as I've swum this endless channel of grief, of despair, of god awful blankness, I think now that the dreams are keeping me alive somehow.
When I'm at the holistic center, working, everything is okay. I'm plugged into some space of connection. But holistic work is slow, and when I'm not working, when I'm here at the house, I'm dealing with the emptiness of Hooness, of not being able to move his things, and so his insulin is still in the fridge, the syringes still on the counter, his brush by my desk. I make myself write, craft a query letter, do research on agents. I cry in the bathroom. Then put together class handout packets. When I'm out running errands, it hits me like a flash flood, and I'm drowning, driving down the road, because in your car, no one can hear you howl. Then I return the library dvds.
I avoid other people as much as possible. For different reasons, it hurts too much, is too much to carry, too much to bear or hide or face. Some people have just been jerks. Other people have been kind. Both hurt. And so I back away.
One night, I think it was last Thursday night, The Hoon showed up in a dream. He didn't acknowledge that he saw me, just stood on the periphery as I interacted with the latest incarnation of He.
Some nights the dreams don't come. I don't see a pattern to why they come or go. I don't know who they are, or what they mean.
But I'm grateful for them. So dang grateful. It's the one place love can still find me. The one place that's safe.