This week as I've been at the hospital recuperating from Afib, one of the medicines I was taking was giving me very vivid dreams. One particular night I had what I can only describe as an "end of life dream". I have never had a dream like this so I will share it as articulately as possible.
I was seeing scenes from my life play out. These were not full blown memories, more like vignettes. I was aware of an ocean-like "rolling" around me as I watched these pieces and I (present me) was not "in camera" so to speak. The vignettes were displayed in a tear-drop shaped vessel of some sort and they were very brief and very very fast.
The pleasant moments came first, at lighting speed. Some of the ones I remember now are: holding each of my children for the first time, being at Astro-World with Paul, laughing uproariously with each of 3 best girl friends, my kids being in a play at church with 2 other dear families, the way my daughter's eyelids made perfect half-circles. I was riding the train to Silverton, my head out the window; I was looking at bear in Yellowstone, I had a giant spiral lollipop from Deadwood, South Dakota; It was Christmas and Santa left a doll named Carol with a trunk of clothes, I am in England walking on a public path, listening to music, grieving and healing, I saw flashes of many of my mentors and teachers, I saw a little student who died in 2020 - he was running toward the class on the playground and his face was lit up from within. My last moments with my dad; days and days of last moments with my sister in law. There were more and more and more; and if any of these are familiar to you, as well, you know some have their losses and sadness attached to the events -- but hear this: There was no tinge of sadness as I witnessed these tiny glimpses, only the purest joy.
Writing that phrase, "the purest joy," I remember how easy it is to let guilt or anger pull us into dramatic behavior that inhibits or blocks the joy. As I think about my dad's death, I could easily lapse into anger at God or regret for not spending more time with him every day or . . . or . . . or. I'm going to give that temptation to misery a name: it's mindtalk. You know, when you're watching your child sing at school, or do ballet, or take those precious first steps and the mindtalk comes in and you start thinking how they grow up too fast, or someone else's song was longer; on and on and on and suddenly your joy has a tinge of sadness or regret or resentment.
The "Not That"
This moment was not that. There was nothing but joy and love. So much, so many moments so incredibly fast, but because it was a magical dream, I could extensively experience every single moment to it's complete and maximum fullness. Full is the right word, too - how full I was. I was standing tall, my vision glued on the display, my shoulders soft, my face and eyes wide open; I was simply breathing and experiencing. It was expansive.
I remember feeling the ocean rushing around me, pulling at my ankles and legs, my toes sinking deeper and deeper into the sand beneath. I could feel the wind whipping my hair in and out of my eyes and the tears streaming down my cheeks as I witnessed hundreds (?) thousands (?) of these twinklings.
It ended and seamlessly the other memories began. For lack of a better word at the moment, I'll call these troubling memories. These I remember even more vividly. There was the time as a child I broke some crystal my mom was returning to a neighbor, the first time I lied to a friend I did not want to play with, fighting with a sibling, knocking the "paddleboard" behind the stove so mom couldn't find it. Those childhood infractions were there of course but moreso, it was the adult things - lying to a prospective date, standing someone up, cheating, throwing a rock at the neighbor's dog, not offering a hug to a crying child, frowning at another parent in a grocery store, being impatient with my children -- there were many of those, driving past a person begging, walking past a person begging, refusing to forgive quickly,/holding onto a resentment, not wanting to make an expected phone call, being to much in a hurry to stop and greet someone, mess, waste, loss. Interestingly, there were a few I would not objectively consider "transgressions," necessarily. For instance there was not taking a job offered by a trusted friend, not accepting help from my boss as a young single woman, oh so many times I was grumpy, times I withheld information about my own needs, times I skipped my "quiet times," my knitting untouched for months, my daughter's skirt unmended. There was the time I gave up on communication when a friend in pain wasn't taking my calls, not calling a parent whose student shone that day, not sharing a treasured item and so many times I did not notice myself withholding love and on and on and on.
Here is what was truly amazing about this part of the display. While I needed to label this section to portray it to you and while it was clear to me -- absolutely -- how these images differed from the first, at no time did I feel guilty or sad or remorseful or angry or even particularly surprised. I am only now experiencing surprise as writing has helped me remember what I saw. In my body, I felt like a young child. I was standing there in the surf as the waves frothed around me, more urgently now, and I was just as calm as before. I was perfectly still and whole, simply taking it in for what it was, not in surrender but in absolute acceptance and yes, wonder. This was the past, my past. I was there not as judge or penitent, but as witness.
Inside the Teardrop
Quite suddenly, the display was over and I was somehow inside that teardrop. I was on the floor - the place of prostration - and the wishes or prayers or thoughts (but not words) were rushing from me unhindered. It was a mix of things coursing out and I have the notion that I addressed each image. Again in the magical mix of technicolor dreaming, I was somehow addressing several things at once yet separately. There was an apology for one thing at the same time (or nearly) as gratitude for another; a commitment to be different or more at the same time as love was expressed. It is fair to say it rushed from me and yet there was no rush in it; perhaps it was more the quantity of what I expressed that makes "rushed" the right term as well as "flowing." The tap was on and the fitting response flowed straight from me.
When I woke up, lying there in the fragile expanse between awake and asleep, I first thought I had just atoned for all my sins. However, later, as I started remembering more and more of what was displayed, and remembered my responses (which were still not words so much as "intentions") what became clear was that these displays were all the "work" I have yet to do. In some ways, it is the the opposite of atonement, which implies both forgiveness and finishing. It was, quite clearly, a call to action.
It was the most cleansing moment I have ever experienced. Whereas, before, during the display, I was both full and fulfilled, now I was empty -- as empty could be -- but without the loss so often associated with emptiness. It was more purifying than a process or retreat or confession. I was hungrier than I have ever been - a very physical hunger - but without the desperation. Here's the best example I have so far: it was similar to having had a amazingly hard and thorough workout and then a shower, and finally that very unique and pleasant experience of being clean, accomplished, empty and hungry at the same time.
Can you see it? What do you think of this experience? Yes it was a dream, but it did come from my brain! I'd love some feedback on this wild ride.
It was the most holy experience of my life. What happens now remains to be seen . . .
Stay tuned.
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