A DREAM
To recount a dream is a dangerous thing on so many levels. But this one is important for me, and I want to hold on to it. It wouldn’t take a psychiatrist to see why:
A school. I’m a pupil, although curiously ageless and definitely not a child. The teachers are both teacher and wardens. Those who rebel, or feel they are not free, are “dealt with”; one soon realises that this means being taken away and killed.
So the dream becomes a matter of racing against time. I know I need to do various things, and finds various objects (a written document, a magazine) in order to be able to escape.
And I also need a leap of faith. In order to escape I need to trust someone, something. Anyone. In order to trust them I need to allow my disquiet, my “rebellion” to take place and be seen. I need an allegiance.
I find I am not alone. There are others. We all want to escape. This makes me realise that even some of the wardens are on our side. There is no obvious reason why or definition of a friend or enemy, you have to search and trust.
Even so, I am against time. I keep needing to fulfil tasks before I would be able to get out, and there is a familiar “Dream” experience when there is always just one more thing to do, and that feeling in the pit of your stomach. Panic. It will never work before you wake up.
Except this time it does. I find myself in the basement; I find myself going through a tunnel; I find myself outside. Walking down a pavement, ordinary people paying me no attention. I still have the creepy-neck feeling of the dark behind me, that someone will run up and grab me, take me back. But no-one does.
And then I wake up.
My cancer is gone. I have no more. I will not have a recurrence. I have come out of the tunnel.
A mantra (starting with the Hawaiian ho’oponopono prayer):
I'm sorry, Please forgive me, Thank you, I love you.
I am enough. I am free. I am strong. I am me.