Dreams

Have you ever experienced a dream that felt so real it must mean something? Maybe a message from the other side or a deeply buried truth begging to be revealed? I have. I have such dreams on quite the regular basis.

Last night, I dreamed that I was in a place where an erupting volcano was about to wreak havoc and I had to get out before the searing lava would consume me. I was on my way out, I was almost to safety, but something forced me back. I had a customer asking for something that required me to go back in. I didn’t know if I would make it out in time, but I felt compelled to try and take care of their needs, over mine to survive. As fate would have it, I wasn’t fast enough and the the lava began to ooze out of the volcano trapping me, keeping me from my path of escape. If I was healthier maybe I could jump over it, but I am not. No matter how many times the others begged me to try and jump over the lava to make it to safety, I didn’t dare. I knew I wouldn’t make it and I’d rather take my chances that somehow the lava would go around me and spare my life. I would rather stay still than to risk trying to jump over it and not make it.

I had my laptop and I tried to send messages to my children to let them know that I was okay and that they should leave without me, but I kept being distracted by all that was happening around me. I never got my message out. I kept trying to get the one thing that the customer sent me back for, to try and take care of their needs, not my own. I was trapped, but I could toss what they wanted to safety and they could be satisfied and move on, but I was trapped. I had to await my fate. Would I be engulfed by the fiery molten lava and die slowly in agony or would my life be spared and somehow, the lava would go around me, keeping me safe on an island that I would eventually be able to leave as the lava cooled and allowed me safe passage.

Yep, those are my dreams. Those are the types of dreams I have on a fairly regular basis. One of my recurring ones is that I find a hidden passage under our house, a series of tunnels or endless rooms filled with pool tables and living spaces, a TV, toys, all that one would ever want or need to live a happy and peaceful life, but I can’t stay. I have to return to the real world, the confinement of the house, a job, responsibilities, reality. There have been times that I have wondered about the rumors of there being a series of tunnels under the city of my home town and that somehow my basement pantry, what used to be the coal room of the house, is the gateway to those passages. Dark, damp corridors that would lead me to the truth, a different reality, a dream unrealized.

I have had psychedelic dreams where my favorite teacher Mr. H. has saved me from a series of slides and chutes. I have dreamed about my favorite boss Mr. S. saving me from a burning building or greeting me on the deck of cruise ship, me wearing a pink feather boa and telling him, “See, I told you so.” So many dreams of being saved or proving something once and for all. They seem so real, like they must somehow have a sliver of reality to them. Are they guiding me? Is someone trying to tell me something?

One repetitive dream I had many years ago was that I went to a grade school where my desk was actually a seat on a Ferris wheel that went under water. I had that dream so many times I thought that it was real, that somehow I went to this school and just couldn’t remember where it was. It all felt so real. I wonder, what was that dream trying to tell me?

My son believes that that lava dream is telling me that I need to change my career. It’s time to save myself from a sinking ship. That’s one way of looking at it or am I in need of saving myself from some other danger? I find myself cleaning and ridding myself of clutter in my life. I am making certain that all my legal affairs are in order because after all, I am the same age my mother passed at. I don’t want my children to have to go through all that I had to when my parents passed. Everything is in order, they won’t have to worry about legal matters as well as keep up with their lives and hopefully, grieving over my loss, at least a tiny bit. No, I have taken care of all of that, like I have always taken care of everything for most everyone in my life.

I am the responsible one, I take care of thing while others get to travel the world or be highly irresponsible. I am the one that takes care of the home base, protects the fort, makes certain that there is a clean warm bed to lie down in when they all return from their escapades. I keep the hearth burning, the pantry stocked, the bills paid and the home in running condition. I stay so others may leave and find adventure and have someplace to land safely when they have become weary of their travels and decide to return home.

Maybe my dreams are telling me it’s time to take a chance, to not stay so others may venture forth. Maybe it is my time to try and make the death defying leap over the molten lava. I will always be the responsible one, that’s just who I am, but maybe it’s time to let the dishes pile up one night or allow us to run out of coffee. Maybe it’s time for me to rid myself of all that has been holding me back, holding me still, holding me in place so others may find their way home.

My therapist is a very wise young man. After I told him about Do Over he asked me if the me writing the blog was like me finally wearing the white shorts? Was I finally ready to take the chance of being embarrassed and letting the world see who I really am? Am I finally ready to allow people to see me, not just who they think I am? They know that I am the one they can count on to make certain everything remains well, that I will always be there for them, but is it time to let them see who I truly am?

Better yet, is it time to allow myself to truly see who I am? To allow myself to reach my potential. I have a wall hanging that I was given to me at a work thing back in the day. When I first came upon it, I burst into tears. I asked the woman at the conference booth if I may have it and she agreed that it could be mine. It hangs in my home office, above my desk as a constant reminder. It is the picture of a child holding an umbrella at the top of the stairs. It says, “What if I fall? Oh, but darling, what if you fly?”

Me writing this blog is my attempt at flying. I am terrified that I may fall flat on my face, that I may embarrass myself by pouring out my heart and soul to the world. By telling my stories about all the crazy things I have done or have allowed to be done to me. However, if I do not try how will I ever know who I am truly meant to be? How will I ever reach my potential if I don’t try to fly? Yes, I am deathly afraid of falling, but I’m more afraid of reaching a point in my life where I say to myself, “I Shoulda, woulda, coulda.” and hate myself for remaining silent, for remaining still, for remaining where everyone expects me to be.

Where’s my umbrella? It’s time to fly!