I had this great dream the other night that left me wondering if it was really a dream at all. Maybe, just maybe it was a peak into the far ahead, the someday.
I woke in the morning and the first thought I had was, “so that’s where they went”.
And I felt peaceful.
This dream was in stark contrast to some of my crazier dreams; the recurring apocalyptic dreams or the ones where I am marching up a very steep hill, trying so hard to reach its peak. Some of my dreams leave me exhausted, having worked all night in them, flying over a raging river or driving a bus, or attending high school again, as if once wasn’t already enough. Then there are the storm dreams with twisters swirling above the horizon line. In them, I prepare for what is to come and I try to warn others but they don’t listen.
I’m telling you, sleep can sometimes be simply exhausting.
This dream however, was exceptional. I remember most every detail. I lay in bed at 4am, replaying it in my mind so that I wouldn’t forget. I will write it here, because I think it’s worth sharing.
And the music here- it’s George Winston- love this guy!!!! This is what the dream felt like- it’s the only way I can really describe it. I hope Mr. Winston doesn’t mind.
And so it goes………..
I’m walking in this drippy leafed wooded area. I don’t know if it has just stopped raining because the leaves on the trees are covered in droplets of moisture; they are heavy with the wetness and they glisten in the sun.
There is an opening under the arch of a large rough barked limb.
I step through it to see a little weathered shack across a thick patch of green grass. A stream wraps itself around the right side of this crickety- crackety structure and I don’t know where the stream starts or where it ends but it is there.
I see this older man sitting on the left hand side of a wooden platform. I think it is the porch area. He sits there, in monochromatic attire; an old greyish tan coloured coat, a cap with a narrow brim and some faded work pants- just like the ones that my father used to wear. I cannot tell if this man is white or black or brown. He is all colours of skin. He seems to be of all cultures. He is unshaven. I stand there, barefoot in the grass and he looks toward me and calls me closer to him. But he doesn’t use any words or voice to do so.
I move closer to him and see that he is spinning something, like a large wooden wheel and I wonder if he is spinning wool or might he be churning butter.
He stands up, he moves in towards me and holds open his arms and I move into them.
In my dream, I know he is God.
I give him all of my worries. I don’t say anything, nor does he. He just takes them from me; absorbs them.
And then out of the corner of my eye, I see my father, standing beyond the stream. He’s still wearing his navy blue spring coat. He smiles at me and I know he is ok and he is happy. He’s part of everything- the air and the foliage and yet I still see him there, in his full human form.
He begins to walk towards this open archway, light is streaming through it. He moves me to come along and I follow him for a short while walking on a path of soft brown mulch. We say nothing but we are together; the two of us, in the sunshine. There are blooms of both spring and summer flowers; clusters of phlox and forget me not’s, baby’s breath and daisy’s and roses in every hue.
I see a long white picket fence; some of the planks have cracked from the strength of the vine of the climbing roses. My father hurries ahead as if he is floating and I hurry along to catch up. Then he turns to me and looks at me with great love and calms me to take my time, he has to move ahead, but there is something else that is meant just for me to see.
We don’t speak at all but I hear everything he has to say.
He moves through another arbour and disappears.
I know I am safe.
I walk down the path and it carries me to another clearing. The white fence leads me to a pretty little white picket gate and there are climbing vines with yellow roses that have woven their way across the latch. It’s a tangled mess and I wonder how to open the gate.
I step back for a moment and allow it to open……and it does.
The gate opens up and I see a little table and 4 chairs set up in the shade, behind it stands a white garden shed with peeling paint. To the right of it is more white picket, a small gate and beyond it another garden. As I move closer to the little table, I see my dear friend Madeline.
She was an artist and died 10 years ago. I’ve written about her before.
She is standing behind the table; her long gauzy peasant skirt is blowing softly against her legs, like curtains do in the window of a morning spring breeze. She is pouring tea for us. She looks up and smiles at me and again, without words, welcomes me and says,” look who’s here”.
The gate opens up and in glides another friend of mine, Shirley.
She too was an artist, and died shortly after Madeline. She was about 40 some odd years older than I but something drew us together and we became fast friends speaking to each other weekly for well over 10 years. I didn’t quite believe that she could possibly die even after she shared her diagnosis with me. She was such a force.
Anyway…..she steps forward, through the gate in a grand sort of entrance. She is wearing a tilley hat with a high waist pair of pants. She looks like a gutsy woman, like Amelia Earhart. She puts her hands on her hips and begins to tell me what she thinks I should do-just as she did when she was on this earth. Madeline laughs and pours another cup of tea, telling Shirley to” leave her be.”
I can’t believe they are both here and came to see me. I wonder if this is where they live.
They say they gather here and they point to the garden on the other side of the gated fence.
Then I see them. The garden is packed full of artists. I see them all, in various dress, seemingly from all time periods. I can hear the tinkling of their glasses and hear the mumbles of conversation and laughter. I imagine they are all talking art. They are full of life. It seems to be a gathering of minds at a wonderful garden party.
I look at my two friends and the leaves rustle in the trees. They smile at me. I smell summer.
I woke up then, crying.
I haven’t cried like that in some time. But they were happy tears.
I wonder…..could it be possible…….that maybe……just maybe…….I saw a glimpse of where life continues.
This place in my dreams was just like here, with all of the beauty that is already here, on this earth. There was no large kingdom filled with gold and jewels other than the golden sun that was shining through the trees and sparkling on incandescent drops of moisture. It could have been my backyard or your backyard, after the rain. It was just simple and perfect, fresh and clear.
And God was not standing on the red carpet, or sitting on a gilded throne, He was a regular man, like the man next door or the man I see in the morning, outside the corner store that tips his hat at me every time I walk by.
Maybe we all see glimpses of it, that place that is beyond what we know. Maybe it comes to us in our dreams because that’s the only way the human mind can comprehend it, would acknowledge it or consider it.
Maybe the only way to be fully awake and aware is sometimes when we’re sleeping.
That’s a thought!
And here’s another one that’s obvious. At the same time, when we arise from our beds in the morning and spend our days appearing in the human world to be awake, it’s at that time that we’re most likely sleeping.
The human world tells us that we live and then we die. That’s it, that’s all, we just disappear.
I grew up in a traditional Catholic household so we were taught that when we die, we go to heaven but….no one really knows what that is or can explain it sufficiently. The gist is….it’s a place that you go after you die. But it is separated by this event- this death event- which if you ask me sounds so…..unpleasant……undesirable and I’ll go so far as to say….something one would like to avoid….at all costs.
Even with all of the religious training and instruction, even after years of my own searching and journey of faith, I can’t count the number of times that I’ve wondered, is there a heaven? Is there someplace else after this?
And then I wonder…..
Maybe it doesn’t actually exist; death that is. It’s just a word to describe a change in circumstance and surrounding. Maybe it’s just a word to describe the separation we feel when we can no longer see the physical construction of the people we once loved. It’s our word, to describe how we feel, but it’s not a real thing.
I think about my dream and the possibility that it was a little visit from the ones that I miss so very much.
I think about the numerous times that I have experienced something that I could only describe as “supranatural “which is very different from supernatural.
Just because we don’t see something doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist; that it isn’t there.
Think about air. It surrounds us yet we don’t see it. There’s a whole wack of air between you and me but it’s not visible to the naked eye. Yet we still, without question, believe it to be there and we, in good faith that it is, and with this amazing body that is wired for life, breathe it in and out all day long, without thinking.
What about faith or love or anger or sadness. We know those things exist because we feel them but we don’t see them….unless someone were to take the feeling and convert it to a concrete physical action to demonstrate the feeling they were feeling by way of an embrace or a punch in the nose.
You don’t always see something but you believe that it exists because you feel it and you sense it and you know it’s there because…… it just is.
According to the laws of physics, we are all made up entirely of energy and energy cannot be destroyed. Which means energy doesn’t die. Nope- it can’t. It can only change form.
That being said, if we are energy and energy cannot die, then we cannot die, we can only change form.
Which makes a lot of sense.
How many times have you lost someone, through “death”, yet you still feel them around you or sense they are near even though you don’t see them with your naked eye. You can’t explain it; you just know that you know.
People have shared stories with me over the years of losing someone and occasionally smelling their scent or sensing their presence or coming to them in a dream or getting a tingling feeling in their body after hearing their favourite piece of music. The common thought is, you feel them as if you would while they were still alive.
I think they are, still alive that is, but different from the aliveness I understand on this earthly plain. They’re just beyond the ability of my naked eye to see them right now.
Who can really say that when people die, they actually die?
Let’s face it….there are plenty of people here on this earth who though appearing to live by the attributes that we as humans have ascribed as living, are actually closer to death than somebody who is dead.
Maybe, all this time, after someone I have known and loved has died; when I have wondered, and asked the question, “Where did they go”.
Maybe the answer is; they didn’t actually leave, or die or disappear or cease to exist; they just went on to more life.
And these are things I think of on a snowy Saturday in February! Whew!!!!
Tell me your thoughts, will ya? I’d love to hear them!!!!