Like silk
whispering across my skin;
a gentle mist
kissing my soul;
kindness unburdening me;
warmth, and cinnamon spice;
She comes.
Of the Earth, is She
whose heart beats with mine
a rhythm of life
renewal
and deepest bliss
Her essence luminous and night
shimmering at the water’s edge
or pulsating at the core
of darkness
Alive. Very much alive.
No fanfare proceeds Her,
No choir of angels.
In stillness, know Her.
In openness, receive Her.
She is here.
She is here.
Thor and I have dined in a high-end restaurant, and he has gone to pay the bill. I have chosen my food carefully to watch my intake, but still do not feel satisfied. I look around and spot a dessert counter, with many cakes, pies, and sweet buns. My husband is taking a while, and I am getting anxious. On an impulse, I lunge for the cinnamon buns at the front of the counter, reaching across the cakes and pies, with no regard for social propriety. I scoff the bun quickly, before anyone, especially my husband, can see me. I needn’t worry. He is nowhere in sight. The room we were dining in is in the basement of the building, with a walkout patio. Thor headed upstairs to the cashier’s desk. Embarrassed by my actions, I decide to follow him, but I cannot see him. I catch sight of him leaving by the front door. Has he forgotten me? I run to catch up with him and encounter two teenage boys, one of whom threatens to grab my breasts. Angry with Thor for leaving without me, I am enraged by this young boy’s brazen behaviour. “Do it and I’ll beat your head in,” I warn him. He makes the grab, and I retaliate by grasping one ear and twisting it, while simultaneously poking him in the eye with other. I knee him in the groin, and as he goes down, I slam his head against the wall. “That will teach you!” I conclude. I have caught my husband’s attention now, and we walk off together.
Restraint is obviously a theme in this dream: the ability to control my eating, and the need to control my anger.
Thor and I are in week four of Weight Watchers. He has very successfully been following the plan and losing weight. I am not faring as well. It is frustrating, to say the least.
Dining out is the base of our problems. I am vegetarian and Thor is meatatarian, and rather than cook two meals, it is just easier for us to dine out. With only 26 points allowance in my day, that is a difficult task. Last night, I had a veggie stir fry with the sauce on the side (8 points). Thor, on the other hand, had a seafood linguine with garlic bread. (He has 45 points in the day.) I went to bed hungry, while he had a midnight snack. As I often do when watching my food intake, I got cranky.
I am proud of my husband, don’t get me wrong. The changes he is making to his diet and daily routine are commendable. I do, however; feel a bit like the woman in my dream: left behind.
The two teenage boys in the dream are an interesting addition to this dilemma. When I was a teenager, with new, but fully developed breasts, a boy did grab my breast as he passed me on the sidewalk one day. I was so surprised that by the time I responded, he had fled. Thus began a series of sexual harassments that continued well into my twenties. In retrospect, it wasn’t until I had my third baby, and the weight stayed on that the unwanted advances stopped coming. This is an aha moment.
Could the anger that I feel when dieting be related to inappropriate attention? I clearly remember thinking, just yesterday, that the nice thing about being older is that you can be unattractive and get away with it.
I never felt attractive. One of four girls, I thought of myself as the dumpy one. I had reached full height in elementary school, and filled out way ahead of my older sisters, earning the nicknames ‘Moose’ and ‘Linebacker’. Whenever my sisters and I went anywhere together, everyone assumed I was the oldest, even though there were several years between us. While they received endless attention for their beauty, I was the goofy looking one. When I did bring boys home, I lost them once they caught sight of my siblings.
Despite my lack of self-esteem, or maybe because of it, I was always finding myself inappropriately propositioned. Fathers of children I babysat, employers, boys I went to school with, and later colleagues, as well as friends of my then husband. And, there was the rape. I was targeted out of a whole gathering of schoolgirls. I never understood it, but the more it happened, the angrier I became. Occasionally, I did retaliate physically, but mostly I internalized it. “Boys will be boys,” my mother would say. “It’s up to the woman to deter it.” Like my mother, I learned to be a victim.
Why would I want to lose weight only to make myself vulnerable again, must be the question running through my subconscious. No wonder I am cranky. Being overweight is not desirable, but neither is being desirable, literally!  Maybe, I need to have a little talk with myself, and remind my inner young woman that I am a lot older now, and have learned to ward off unwanted advances, and protect myself.
Who knew losing weight was this complicated.
A little restraint please!
The King sat at his favourite lookout pondering his life. He rested his chin on the large gold ring that adorned his index finger and adjusted his ermine cloak around him, as a chill ran over him. An omen? he wondered. He sighed. What is the matter with me? My queen loves me…well, at least when she’s not preoccupied with all the other commitments she makes. Not many kings can say that. Â
He looked out over the vast valley below him, and couldn’t help but feel pride that all this belonged to him. A mist hung over the village, but it was early yet, and all that would soon dissipate and the sun would shine once again on his kingdom.
My son is off at University, bettering himself, his thoughts continued. What more could one expect from a future King, even if he is forty? I just wish he’d settle on something! The King sighed again. The chill came once more. Maybe I’m coming down with something. I’ll have to call the Royal Physician.
The mountains that surrounded his kingdom were now emerging from the fog, He loved these mountains. They were like old friends that never faltered: strong and bold. He could stare at their magnificence all day.
He continued to take inventory of his life. My daughter is as a princess should be: beautiful, articulate, kind; I just wish she would come down from that tower!  Admittedly, he’d locked her there years ago, after that awful incidence with that man – and a peasant, too – but she wasn’t getting any younger, and, well…… He sighed again, looking heavenwards.  So much for one man to manage, God. Â
At least my kingdom is at peace. The thought warmed him. He loved his people. He loved their industry, their loyalty, and above all, he loved it when they were all content. It had been over thirteen years since they’d suffered any strife. He didn’t want to think about those times. Four years the battle had gone on, and while they won, they had also lost so much. Ah, well, such is the price of war. Â
The King shifted his position. He was feeling it again: the restlessness. He hated this sensation; it made him feel as if he wasn’t in control, and he couldn’t abide that. Two weeks ago he’d sent the Royal Page out on a mission to find something to cure this abomination, but the boy had not yet returned. Blasted child! the King thought to himself. I should have sent a man. Or maybe a woman. But who else could be trusted?
Wrestling with his thoughts, the King failed to notice that the sky had cleared and the valley was now in full view. All was not calm. There, in the middle of town, stood an eight-foot-tall dragon, breathing fire, and lashing his long spiky tail in a wide, destructive arc. People were fleeing in droves, their cries filling the air.
At first, the King thought it was the cry of the morning birds he was hearing, but soon he recognized the sounds of panic. Alert once more, he spotted the source of the problem. What the…..? “Guards!” The King was up and running.
A call went out in the castle, and all available knights mounted their steeds in a race to save the kingdom.
But this was no ordinary dragon. He moved with the agility of a trained martial artist: eluding the knights lances, and scorching them as they passed. Within the hour the streets had cleared, and no one dared approach the beast. It looked as if the town was lost.
Then one lone figure stepped out from the shadows. Bare legs and arms revealed the slender figure of a young woman. Clad only in a deerskin tunic, her hair pulled back in tidy braids, she held what looked like a tree branch at her side. She approached the dragon from the side, and all gasped as the dragon caught the young woman in his peripheral vision. Ten feet away, she stopped and nodded slightly to the beast, holding her hand up, palm towards him, as if in greeting.
The beast groaned, but seemed to settle.
The woman spoke a few words that surely only the dragon could hear. The dragon let out a howl, and the crowd screamed in response, but the young woman remained calm, gesturing to the crowd to stay back and be quiet.
She took another step. The dragon shifted its weight, angling slightly towards her. The crowd held its breath. The King too.
Then the young woman did an extraordinary thing. She sat down.
The dragon sat down.
She stretched out her legs, and leaned back on her arms, in a state of repose.
The dragon stretched his paws out before him, and laid his head on the ground before him.
The young woman then laid herself down and gently rolled over, closing in on the dragon. To the amazement of all gathered there the dragon didn’t flinch, in fact, some would say later that the dragon itself, moved towards her, but the King was so excited by what was happening, that he didn’t see any of that. He’d run off to the stables to get himself a horse. He needed to meet this dragon-tamer, and now!
By the time the King caught up them, the young woman had mounted the back of the dragon, who was contentedly munching on the tree branch.
“Stop!”
The dragon and his rider blinked in unison, turning their heads to find the source of this command. The woman whispered to the dragon and he stopped eating. She stayed where she was.
“Your Majesty,” she bowed her head out of courtesy.
“What is going on here?”
“I am Sheboygan, and this is my friend, the dragon.”
“Your friend! Did you cause this destruction?”
“Oh no!” protested Sheboygan. “I have no desire to destroy your kingdom. I noticed that the dragon was missing and I came in search of him. That is all.”
“Explain yourself, young lady.”
“I am Sheboygan,” she repeated with authority. “I live beyond the woods, near the body of water over there.” She pointed to the west. “The dragon is my neighbour. I know him to be peaceful and loving, but when I saw he was gone, I knew something must be wrong. So I came in search of him.”
“If this dragon is peaceful, why did he just threaten my village?”
“He didn’t mean to, your Majesty. He was only looking for food.”
“For food? What does he eat, children?”
“No, not at all. He is vegetarian. He eats only the fruit and berries of a particular tree. But sometime in the night, all those trees were cut down. He must have been awfully hungry to show such anger here.”
The King started to say something, but found he was at a loss for words. A vegetarian fire-breathing dragon? Who’d ever heard of such a thing? Was he dreaming?!
“I don’t understand. Who would cut down those alleged trees, and why?”
“You’ll have to look to your own people, King, to answer that question.” And with that, dragon and rider ambled off.
The King, who didn’t like it when things happened without his knowing, called an immediate meeting of his advisors. While the men were assembling, the King spotted his Page sneaking in through the a side door.
“Halt, there! I’ve been looking for you.”
The Page looked exhausted. His hair was all array, and bits of twigs and leaves clung to his tunic.
“What is this?” the King demanded, pointing to a saw the young man was holding. “What have you been up to? Cutting down trees, perhaps?”
The young man couldn’t tell a lie, especially to his ruler.  Holding up the saw, he proclaimed: ” I was finding a cure for your restlessness, you Majesty.”
“Yes, yes I’d say!” remarked the King. “Effectively so, and you almost caused me my kingdom.”
“Oh, no, Sire! The dragon was harmless! I swear!”
“Well, you certainly shook things up young man. Now tell me, who was the young woman that saved the day?”
“Sheboygan? She’s a friend of mine, Sire. A very worthy young woman.”
“Worthy, indeed. In fact, I’d say the two of you are just what this kingdom needs. Clean yourself boy, and get some sleep. I’ll be expecting yourself and your young maiden friend at supper this evening. Now go!”
With that the King spun on his heels and strode into the council chambers where his advisers were gathered. “Gentleman,” the King began, “today marks a time of change, and as with all change, there must be death before there can be rebirth. While we have known peace in this kingdom for some time, we have also grown stagnant, and that can be a problem unto itself. Today, in a time of real need, no one was able to rise to the occasion and defend this kingdom but one lone young woman. None of our forces, and certainly none of you, were of help. It took the energy and willingness of the young to make a difference.”
“But, your Majesty, the dragon was a formidable foe, even our best knights could not defeat him. What were we to do?”
“The dragon appeared to be an insurmountable force, but you, like many of us, were fooled by appearances. I pay you to see beyond appearances. Your job is tell me what is really happening. I have not felt at peace for sometime, and I now realize why : I have been depending on men whose heads are in the sand, men who are not informed enough to give me the right advice when I need it.”
“But, your Grace…..”
“But nothing. This dragon has lived on the fringe of our community for some time, yet none of you took the time to find about it. A young woman did what none of you, and a legion of men could not!” The King’s anger was rising, the veins in his neck popping as he raged. “From this moment, you are all demoted! I’ll let you know your new positions, when I’ve had time to think.”
Heads hung in shame throughout the room. The men daren’t look at one another, knowing full well that what the King had said was true. They had been lax. They had wiled away their days with trivial activities, sated with complacency. The King was right; they deserved to be disciplined.
“In the meantime, I have found myself two new advisers, and we shall be welcoming them at a feast tonight. Busy yourself with the preparation, and make it fitting for a young woman and man of their nature. Have the Royal Guest rooms prepared, and make arrangements for the young woman to be properly attired.” Then on second thought, the King added: “No, scratch that. Let her come in the style she chooses. Find appropriate entertainment. Now be on your way. I must advise the Queen.”
Solemnly, the group of men began to disperse. They were not happy with the outcome, but they knew their King to be just. In time; all in good time, they told themselves.
“Oh, and would someone please remind the Princess that the door to the Tower is no longer locked, and suggest that she might want to join us.”
* * * * * *
Part II – “The Valley”
The forest is thick with the smell of new leaves, tinged with the lingering winter musk. The trees here stretch endlessly upwards, their trunks a testimony to the timelessness of the place. Rays of warm sunlight reach downwards, creating pockets of warm glow. The soft moss and dry earth beneath my feet cushion my steps. Birdsong fills the air, adding to the aura of enchantment. I come here to meditate. This is my oasis: a calm, nurturing retreat where I can find renewal. I breathe deeply and allow all my senses to revel in the beauty.  A crackling of twigs alerts me to the presence of another. A horse and rider come into my line of vision and stop. The young man’s eyes meet mine, and there is a rush of recognition. He is young, maybe mid twenties, with thick dark hair, and dark eyes. I feel that I have known him many lifetimes, and that ours has been a relationship of deep and abiding love. “I am coming back to you,” is all he says, and I feel my heart leap with joy.Â
The unexpected vision and accompanying emotional surge forces me back to consciousness. The meditation had been so deep and relaxing that it find it hard to shake off the drowsiness. It was so real. I open my eyes to find my friend, Sam looking at me. “It’s a boy!” I blurt out. “You’re going to have a boy!”
I was right about the boy, but the message was not for my friend who was so desperately hoping for a child. It was for me, who although I thought I was finished my childbearing, was about to discover myself pregnant again. My dark haired, brown-eyed boy was born the next fall.
Mothers know that there is an unseen cord of consciousness that runs between them and their children. It is first experienced when they wake up seconds before their sleeping baby. Or maybe earlier, in the dream time.
I have retrieved my old bicycle and am happily pedaling down the street when I realize that the handlebars are missing. How could I not have noticed that my handlebars are missing? What have I been steering with? On closer examination, I notice that there is a partial bar protruding where the handlebars used to be, which seemed to be working for me, but how precarious! How did I expect to manoeuver over bumps without something solid to hang onto?Â
The question that arises for me is not whether or not I can “surf” the chaos – I know that I can – but how does someone raised in a pattern of chaos and dysfunction, learn to ride the calm of normalcy?
I am strong in the face of adversity, but not so strong when things are going well. There is an underlying anxiety, or nervousness that something is not right, or just around the corner. I would love to be able to embrace the joy of life, without fear of its instability.
The bike in my dream is reminiscent of the one I received for my ninth birthday. It had a big banana seat, and long looping handlebars, that rose up above the front tire, in a sweeping ‘u’. My first wheels of independence, I rode that bike everywhere, confident that I could outride anyone in the neighbourhood.  I still have visions of myself leading a pack of riders down some of our best hills. Such a feeling of freedom!
In those days, when my handlebars were intact, I was confident of my abilities. I had a strong sense of purpose, and felt ready to face the challenges ahead of me. I had a vision.
According to the dream, I gave that bicycle away at some point, and have only just now retrieved it, a little worse for wear. Amazingly, it still fits me. The tires are intact; and the seat supportive, but the big sweeping ‘you’ is missing. So, it is. Life’s bumps, and times where I no longer had ownership, have eroded that very mechanism that helped me navigate.
I don’t want to be nine again, but I would like to regain the momentum that allowed me to climb those steep hills and soar down those hills, fearless, impassioned, and in the moment: free.
If this bike is going to work for me, I’ll need something new to hang onto. Something more conservative and practical. Something that gives me stability and control, and supports me when choosing a direction.
I am with my son’s friend, and we are headed to meet John downtown where he will be competing in a skateboard competition. John is a very gifted skater and the odds are good that he will win, but he is nowhere to be found. As time passes, I feel more and more anxious that something has happened to him, and begin to search in closets and corners, anticipating I am going to find him dead. Suddenly, a car pulls up, dumps a body, and squeals away. A crowd gathers, and as I make way through, I know it is John. He is not dead, but severely beaten, enough to stop him from competing.
I wake up, immediately afraid for my son, but once I am conscious enough to remember the focus of today’s writing, I realize the dream is about me.
I was eight-years-old when school officials began to pull me out of class and subject me to a series of tests. “She is gifted,” they told my parents,” and we would like to accelerate her one grade and enroll her in a special class with her peers. She will have to attend school across town, and transportation is not provided.”
My mother didn’t know what to think. I was a girl, and according to her, girl’s who were smart did not do well in life. (Doing well, in my mother’s eyes, was being a stay-at-home mom with a husband who made a lot of money.) My father supported the decision.
Gifted children often feel like an anomaly, and I was no exception. I knew I didn’t fit in at the regular school, but I somehow always felt like they made a mistake with me and I didn’t belong in the gifted class either: these kids were so smart and, well, geeky. I didn’t think I fit the mold. Academically, however, I thrived. The self-contained classroom was far more engaging and intellectually stimulating. I loved school!
After school was another matter. While I was driven across town each morning, I had to take two city buses home each afternoon, arriving long after my old classmates had been dismissed for the day. The bullies waited for me, and I soon became game for their taunting, and physical abuse.   When we moved out of town in the middle of grade eight, I was thrown in with the regular population and the rift was apparent. A town thug was hired to beat me up one day after school.
I learned to hide my abilities, and refrained from competing with others. I developed the expectation of being beaten, both literally and figuratively.
As I’ve mentioned before, John shares my introspective side – that part of me that doubts, questions, and turns things over and over. The friend that accompanied me in the dream suffers from depression and delusions. I have that side to myself also. Combine the introspection with the inability to see beyond negative thinking and there is an expectation of futility: why try?
John is a gifted skateboarder, and if the dream was real, I would encourage him to hire a bodyguard and go for it. By objectifying the issue, is the dream telling me the same? While you may have been beaten at times, you still hold the same bright potential, so don’t give up. Just let go of the expectations.
I have been invited to Scott L’s house and even though I haven’t seen him since high school, I am excited. I first met Scott in grade school, and fell in love immediately. While we would be best of friends throughout our school years, our love would never blossom. I am hoping the invitation now means that he is ready to reciprocate feelings and we will be together. I arrive at his home to find my cousin Serene. I am delighted to see her, and surprised that she and Scott know one another. Scott is not here yet, and while we wait for him, we are connecting the dots. How they know each other and why Serene is here. It turns out that they are about to get married and that is why I have been invited. I try to be happy for them, as I love them both, but I can’t help but feel disappointed. I have wished for this for so long.
We’ve all had those dreams of unrequited love from which we awaken sure that we are missing something that only the other person can give us. Wishful thinking is one of the evils that spiritual teachers will caution against. While the emotional pull is so strong, the temptation is only that: a threat to the self.
There is no moment but now, and how we respond to what we have is all that counts. The more I dream about a love that never was, but could be, or wish for that perfect job, or dream home, or other life, the less I am contributing to my current circumstances. I am unhappy because I am choosing to be.
When we remember an old love, we are remembering a person frozen in time, unchanged. We have not allowed for the fact that they, like us, have lived life, suffered losses, had successes, and built lives for themselves. We are not considering that their current life and self may not even resemble the person we once knew. Wishful thinking is all about the ideal and nothing to do with the reality. It is wasted energy.
If I look at the dream metaphorically instead, I will consider what I loved about these two people and how fitting this dream is for my life today. Scott was loyal, straightforward, and trustworthy. Serene is bubbly, optimistic, and warm. If the Scott part of me, the loyal, trustworthy side, were to marry the fun-loving, warm side what possibilities could that open in my life? Well, I finally made the commitment last night and joined Weight Watcher’s. Could this mean that with the right level of commitment and attitude, I can make it work?
Sounds like a marriage of success! Now, that I can get excited about.
Looking out from under the big white wooden chair, I can see Mickey Mouse approaching with a kettle of boiling water. He’s going to pour the water on me, and even though my family are all around, and I am screaming, no one notices.Â
“I had this dream repeatedly as a child, from about the age of five.”
“What is the significance of the white chair?”
“My father used that chair to teach us how to skate. We had to push it around the rink until we learned to stay up on our own. I remember being very frightened, because my father wasn’t a patient man and I didn’t want to upset him.”
“What would happen if you upset him?”
“He would yell, call us names, tell us how stupid and incompetent we were.”
“Why Mickey Mouse?”
“I don’t know. I’ve often wondered about that. Mickey Mouse would have been the prominent cartoon character back then, and I loved watching the Mickey Mouse Club on TV. I really wanted to be a Mouseketeer.”
“In Gestalt therapy, the belief is that each aspect of the dream represents a part of you. Would you be willing to try something with me?”
I nod.
“I want you to put yourself back in the dream and let me guide you. Imagine you are five years old again, and let me know when you can picture the scene.”
I close my eyes and remember. “Okay.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Frightened, very frightened.”
“Tell me what’s happening. Talk it out.”
“Mickey Mouse has a kettle of boiling water and he’s going to pour it on me. I scream, but no one is paying attention. I can see my Dad and my sister Joanne, but they are not looking my way.”
“What do you want to say to them?”
“Help me! Help me! Can’t you see I’m in trouble? Somebody stop this from happening!”
“Tell them what’s happening.”
“He’s going to hurt me. That man is going to hurt me. Please, somebody stop it! Listen to me!”
“Tell them what you need.”
“I need you to hear me. I need you to see what’s happening. I need you to see me. Nobody sees me….” I break off crying.
“Tell me why you are crying.”
“My childhood home was very chaotic. There was always lots of fighting going on, and although I don’t remember much of the early years, my mother says I was always tossed over the fence to the neighbour’s house, so they could look after me. ”
“Why do you think this dream has stayed with you?”
“I never felt like I mattered in my family growing up. There was so much going on that I felt insignificant.”
“In every family there is a rivalry for attention. How did that play out for you?”
“Well my oldest sister was always sick, so she got most of the attention, and my next sister withdrew into herself, and later we found out she was schizophrenic. My youngest sister was a handful, throwing tantrums and being difficult to get along with. I tried to stay out of the way, and not cause any more trouble.”
“So what did you try to do to get noticed?”
“Achieve. I tried to be the smartest and the most successful?”
“How did that work for you?”
“It didn’t. I never felt like I could be good enough, and when I did do something worthwhile I got shot down for bragging about it.”
“Do you still feel that way?”
“Not so much. I’ve struggled with not feeling good enough, but I don’t need the glory anymore.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“Maturity. Life experience. When I first learned how to do Therapeutic Touch I did a lot of volunteer work, and I soon realized that there were many people whose lives were worse off than mine, and that by giving a little bit of my time, I could make a difference. It felt so amazingly rewarding to help another, that I realized how unimportant everything else was.”
“So what would you tell that little girl today?”
“Well, first of all, I’d reach in under that chair and offer her my hand; then I’d pull her to me and give her a great big hug and tell her that I love her.”
“Tell her as if she is here.”
Come on, Sweetheart, lets walk away from all this commotion. You are okay now. I am here, and I can see you, and I’m not going to let that man hurt you.Â
Why doesn’t anyone see me?
Because they can’t right now, Honey. They can only see their own pain, but that doesn’t mean you’re not important. You matter very much.Â
Are things going to get better?
Eventually, but not for a long time. But I want you know that you will be okay. You will be better than okay.Â
Why are you here?
Because I think it’s important that you know you are perfect just the way you are.Â
“Do you feel better?”
“I feel like I have had a breakthrough.”
“How so?”
“I understand now that the little girl in me sought attention for a long, long time, and I don’t need to do that anymore. It feels lighter. Achievement is good in and of itself. The need for glory only taints it.”
“And Mickey Mouse?”
“Well that’s just what we become when we seek out fame and fortune, I guess. Burned.”
There is a house that I often visit in my dreamtime. I am either thinking about buying it, or have just moved in. It is set in the country, high up on a bluff overlooking the water. It is not a new house, nor does it stand alone; it shares the quiet street with other houses, different from itself. Tall trees line the street, and green sloping lawns surround the house. The setting is idyllic, but I have concerns about the house. Sometimes the house appears as a yellow brick, two-story, older style home; other times it is a small white raised ranch. Every time, I worry that the house is not big enough for comfort.
When I enter, the main living area appears cosy, and has a certain charm. It is liveable, I think to myself. Then I look around, and am amazed to find that there is so much more to this house than I first thought. Always there is a second kitchen and living area, as well as endless bedrooms and bathrooms. I awaken with a feeling of pleasant surprise and a longing to explore more.
* * * * *
None of the houses, nor the setting in the dream are places I’ve been to in my lifetime, however; there is a certain familiarity. The setting is a feel good place: quiet and serene, and off the beaten path. Years ago, as a single mother, I used to drive up to the lake and admire the houses on the bluff, wishing one day that I could live there. I would dream of a simpler life, where I could be close to nature, and write.
The old, yellow house reminds me of a rental property my former husband and I bought, hoping it would be an investment that we would profit from. The house turned out to be a money pit and a bit of a nightmare. We just didn’t know enough about real estate values at the time.
The white house reminds me of the home my parents bought at the lake for their retirement; a home that became a wonderful gathering place for friends and family.
Often, I think the house in my dream represents me: aging, and plain on the outside, although surrounded by beauty and comfort. Inside, I appear uncomplicated at first, yet there is more to me than even I know. I love the idea that there are many more rooms to discover within.
Taylor was diagnosed with lung cancer at the age of twenty-one. Although he never smoked a day in his life, his father’s family were heavy smokers, and he suffered for it. He was my cousin Lynn’s only son.
I belonged to a weekly meditation circle at the time, and Taylor, who was studying to be a physicist, asked if he could join. I told him that we not only meditated, but liked to explore the realm of intuition as well, and he said that was fine with him. So week after week, Taylor would join in and add his scientific musings to our experience. He told me that while he was skeptical, he was sure physics was going to bridge the gap between the rational world and the irrational. He said that I needed to involve myself in research, if I was ever to prove the existence of anything beyond the accepted norm. I would laugh and tell him that I was a Literature major, and research was outside my norm.
Taylor’s bald head, and limping figure became a fixture at our weekly meetings, and we all came to love his gentle banter. Unwilling to accept anything at face value, he brought a healthy balance of skepticism to our circle.
Then one evening, he did not attend. Nor the next.
His mother called me. “Taylor is in the hospital, and they think he has three more weeks to live. He is asking for you.”
He was asleep when I entered the room. His girlfriend greeted me and told me that he slept most of the time, but that if I could wait he would wake up. She excused herself and left us alone.
Taylor’s body look so fragile and boyish lying in that bed. An oxygen mask covered his face, so that only his closed eyelids could be seen. His head was still bald, and he looked more like an infant than the young man I had come to know. At this point in my life, I had not been this close to death, and I wasn’t sure what to say.
Taylor’s eyes opened and I saw him register my presence.
“Hey, Tay!” I tried to sound cheerful, compassionate.
He reached up and pulled the oxygen mask down. “Thanks for coming.”
“No problem.”
“I asked you to come, because I want to talk about what’s happening to me.” His words were laboured. I could see it was an effort for him to talk.
“Okay,” I began. “Are you sure it won’t be too much for you? Are you okay without the mask?”
“Oh, yes. It just keeps me comfortable.” He replaced the mask and took a few breaths. “I fall asleep a lot. Even mid-sentence.”
“That’s okay,” I reassured him. “I’ll just wait.”
“Thank you,” and he was gone again, sleeping behind the mask.
I looked around. The room was spacious with a large picture window overlooking the southwest part of the city. A recliner sat in the corner by the window, and several other chairs allowed for many visitors. The blue walls reminded me of the night sky just as the last rays of light are vanishing: a blue tinged with indigo. So this is where people came to die.
“I want to talk about my dreams.”  I understood now why he had invited me. I had enrolled in a course at the university that explored the meaning of dreams. It was actually a religious studies class, and examined how God speaks to us through our dream messages. “Everyone else wants to talk about things that have no meaning for me anymore, like getting their cars fixed, or the weather. I don’t have time for small talk.”
He closed his eyes again. I waited.
“I have been dreaming about horses.”
“Interesting. Horses were the original mode of transportation, so they are seen symbolically as the vehicles that transport us from one realm to another. Apparently horse dreams are common at the end of life.”
He nodded. “Sometimes I can’t tell if I am dreaming or it’s real.”
“What do you mean?”
“I am so emotional. I can’t seem to turn it off.” I had to smile. My highly rational, intellectual cousin not being able to control his emotions.
“Well, I’m no expert, but I’m going to guess you are going through one hell of an emotional time.”
His eyes met mine and we both laughed. “You’re right about that.”
We both fell silent.
* * * * *
Our visits became a daily occurrence, but I never stayed long as it tired him too much. We talked about his dreams, his emotions, and as it got closer to the end, we talked about his fears.
“I’m not sure if I’m actually dreaming,” he told me one day. “More and more I feel like what I am experiencing is real.”
“Describe it to me.”
The silences were growing longer. Speaking, or even staying awake, seemed to take great effort now. I would hold his hand to let him know I was still with him. I felt such reverence towards my young cousin for letting me share these moments with him.
“I see figures. Grey figures.”
“Do you know who they are?”
His eyes stared, unfocused, into the space before him. “No. Can’t really say they are people.”
I pondered this revelation while he rested. I thought back to a story my mother told me about my birth. During my delivery, she suddenly lost physical consciousness, and found herself, disembodied, floating above the delivery table. She said she saw her father beside her reaching out his hand, and as she went to take it, she realized what was happening and pulled back, being jolted back into her body and the labour pains. She claims that she had refused death in that moment, and remembers telling her father that she had five babies to look after and couldn’t go with him.
Taylor’s eyes were open again. “What if the figures that you see are here to escort you to the other side?” I asked. “How do they make you feel?”
“Afraid.”
“Maybe your fear is what is clouding your ability to see them.”
He didn’t wake up again that visit.
* * * * *
The next day I arrived at the hospital later than usual. Taylor’s mom met me in the hallway. “He’s gone. He tried to wait for you, but didn’t make it. He did leave a message for you, though. I don’t know what it means, but he said to tell you that you were right, that all came out clear in the end, and not to worry about him.”
As I hugged her in condolence, I thought my heart was going to burst.
In his short life, this beautiful young man shared so much with me: his theories and questions, his deepest vulnerabilities, and his experience of the beyond.  Together, were we able to strip away all the noise and distractions of everyday life to touch something much more sacred and real.
One Woman's Quest 