The Reality In Dreams

The conversation with myself

Me: That stupid dream that I realize I now hate. How dare it…

Me: Oh sweetie hate is such a strong and unwieldy word, maybe you only don’t like it because it feels so real, inside the dream?

Me: It feels real in me. I don’t like that. It’s supposed to only be the REM sleep kind of dream, not the “I have to do this because my heart and soul will cease the desire to be if I don’t” kind of dream. And it’s that kind of dream too.

Me: Yes sweetie is it that kind of dream too. Show up. Stay. Finish.

Me: Hmpf. Pfft. Sigh …  Sigh …

The REM sleep Dream that makes me believe it’s a Real Dream

I’m in a tower.

(Unnecessary and unwanted visual imagery, mental commentary to myself:  No don’t do it. Do. Not. Think. It. I am not Rapunzel. I am not trapped there. I am in a tower on purpose, for a purpose. I chose to be in the tower. )

The tower has a 360 degree view of a sea or an ocean.

Tall rock formations meet sandy beaches under a slightly overcast sky.

It is cool. My husband is wearing an eggshell cable knit sweater and khaki cords. He is walking on the beach.

Only one of the dogs is with him. I wonder where the other dog is.

A woman appears from the other side of the tall rocks, walking towards my husband. I see the other dog. The dogs greet each other.

My husband perks up when he sees her.

The dogs leave the frame beyond the tall rocks.

My husband walks toward her. They both stop in greeting. She turns and they begin walking in the direction she came from.

They are almost to the edge of the frame. I’ll lose visual in mere seconds.

Just before they reach the edge of the frame, they link arms, laughing merrily, lovingly looking at each other. His left hand reaches for hers. Their arms remain locked. She has all of him. He has all of her.

I know this. I sense it in my core.

I am devastated. I am sitting in my tower, where I am supposed to be, chose to be, writing and I am crushed.

I am crying. A deluge of tears cuts down my face. Sobs wrack my body. I can’t believe this. I wish that were his mother. I pray, hope, plead with the dream world that it is wrong.

I moan.  I write this and right it.

I sit in my tower, alone, crying, wanting it to be different. Knowing it’s a dream and yet it feels so very real. Much too real to be a dream.

He has a mistress. He used to look at me and laugh with me that way. She has stolen him. He allowed himself to leave. Did I push him away? These thoughts occur to me as I am waking from the dream.

I wake up and notice  my pillow is soaked with tears. I am again myself. I again believe.

Gah this dream.

What made this feel so real?

First in these moments of the present, there is no husband. There is no 360 degree tower.

And this “supposed to be writing” thing, locked inside a tower. I keep asking myself what this is about.

Oh, it’s the writing of what I see that I’ve locked away.

Then I realize, the dream has rubbed raw, my fear of abandonment.

If I pursue what I want, I will lose those I love. If I don’t pursue it, I will lose myself. Either way I will be locked in a tower of my own making.

Or it could be some premonition for a life yet to reveal itself. There may be a husband on the beach who lights up when he sees me because I am the woman he loves. Or worse there may be a me, watching my husband on the beach light up at the sight of a new woman he loves who is not me.

What, though, if it is me, meeting a part of myself, one I obviously love, while I also view the meeting from above.

Is there another story to be told from the dream scene, a perspective I am overlooking?

Possibly, yet the meeting of self feels like home and like the story I much prefer. Which provides me with the Heart. Faith. Love. Trust. Belief. Acceptance. Acknowledgment I need.

What about the tears?

I realize the tears aren’t tears of sorrow or abandonment in the story I’m taking as my own. They are tears of understanding, release, a coming back to wholeness. Yes there is pain. Pain and grief over the time spent separated from these parts of myself.

They are also tears of joy to have found each other again.

My heart sits in my throat as I write those words.

What realities are your dreams revealing? And what stories are you believing, which just aren’t your truth?