oneiros

I am in my childhood home, in mom’s room. C is there and no one else. I walk into the bedroom, where  I experienced so much abuse at the hands of my stepfather.. C. is newly showered. He looks at me and there is no protection in his eyes, no hardness.  He opens his arms and I step into his  embrace. There is forgiveness and nothing to forgive. As we hug, I feel deepening layers of healing and reparation. The past is the past. I lean into the strength of his arms and chest, breathing in the scent of him. Home. I am home.. I realize that he was right when he said, “Some connections maybe too big to be realized on this plane.” We would complicate it in the waking world with our desires and insecurities but here it’s pure and clear and beautiful.  I didn’t fail in my love for him. I couldn’t. It’s just not mine to know the trajectory of growth our connection inspired in him. I let go. The dream fades. I wake.

I am in a room with several other people. It’s an art workshop I think. There is a large mirror with an ornate frame that reflects  your future when you look into it. There is a woman, dark haired, tall, strong of spirit and a bit older than me, who is running the workshop and inviting people to look in the mirror. Three people do so before it is my turn, A young man with short hair and a traditional upbringing, sees himself as a painter. His whole body sheds the weight of trying to be something he is not. He is a painter and now he can be what he is. Next a beautiful, strong woman with ebony skin and penetrating eyes steps forward, she sees herself holding an ancient and elaborate map rolled into a scroll across her shoulder. In the reflection she wears a velvety robe and an academic cap. The dark haired woman beside her announces, “ You will be a world scholar,” and the young woman’s back straightens with confidence, casting off the white prejudice that tried to make her dreams small