©Miriam A. Mason
I was walking with my soul sister (a friend since high school), K___ home to my parents' house in the hills of Kensington, California. The steep incline up the first hill was always a lot of work. I was always sweating and tired by the top. That fact that there were more hills made the walk always seem longer. It was about a 10 long block walk home, more than half off it up quite steep hills.
K and I were talking, not sure about what, but whenever we talk, we get lost in a wonderful world of ideas and concepts. We reached the top of the first big hill and stopped for a moment to catch our breath.
As dreams do, suddenly we had my current day dogs with us, Annie and Beep. No longer were we on the hill, suddenly we were walking a long path downwards that lead to a house I've never seem before. I unlocked the door and let us in.
It was my parents' house, as I'd never known it. Not the house I was walking to before. It was a split level large condo unit, and all my parents' chachkies were on display. Suddenly they had passed away instantaneously in my dream, I was the age I am now, and it was K's and my job to go through all their stuff. The dogs had disappeared again, until we heard a whining and scratching at the door. I opened the door and there were Annie and Beep and trotted in like they knew this place that I had never seen before. I was deeply grateful for K and the dogs. Safety and love.
K and I talked a lot about the chachkies, I relayed the histories of each item I picked up and handled. Some from Mexico. Some from India. (Of course in reality, my brother kept all the truly valuable items that belonged to my parents, mainly the beautiful painted ceramic dog, which I spent more time than anybody playing with as a child, and I lived with it longer than anybody else, but because I am youngest, I get lower-ranked picks, typically. Just as my sister took the puppets that I had played with equally as she did. I got little of meaningful value from what was left over after my brother and sister picked over items, each at different times.)
I was remembering how each item came into my life. Telling the stories. K was asking questions and touching the objects with respect and honor. When suddenly I heard a key at the back door upstairs. And in came my parents. My mother wasn't really a presence even though I knew she had come in with my father. She disappeared somewhere. My father? Total presence.
He wasn't sick yet, he was young and still strong physically and mentally, and still wielding his powerful voice and presence. He was my dad, as my dad had been when I was a child. A child, playing with those chachkies, with that ceramic dog. His presence filled me up in that instant.
What confuses me is how incredibly happy and joyful I was to see him again. To have his presence fill me up like that.
Even though, moments like that were only brief in my actual childhood, it was filling when it happened.
The fact is, I do not have a lot of "good" "whole" memories of being with my father. I was with my parents longer than either my brother or sister were, yet I have the least claim, apparently, because they are older (and wealthier, money always defined importance and relevance in my family, despite their protestations to the contrary).
And yet, watching my dad walk in with his commanding presence brought up in me such a love, I wanted to throw my arms around him. I was so incredibly happy he was alive and walking into a room with me, talking, completely unaware that K and I are both now in our 50s and are a great deal more world-worn.
I think I said "Dad!" in surprise.
And then... I woke up. Feeling sadder than I have in a long long time. Tears came rolling down my cheeks as I lay in bed realizing he was really dead, all their chachkies that I had treasured are lost in the home of an unkind judgmental narcissistic brother who expects my obedience or silence... and I will never see that painted ceramic dog again. Nor the puppets. Nor my father.
Why so sad? Why the tears? And why the surprising gush of love and relief and happiness for the moment he walked into the dream?
Is this the last dregs of me mourning the loss of an unconditional love that I never experienced with either parent?
Is it that I love him unconditionally even though his love was steeply conditional? Is it that I am upset with myself for still wanting that love? Is it that I wanted the chance to tell him how much he screwed up? And that I still love him, despite what a hypocritical ivory tower bastard he was?
I know the answers to none of these questions.
I can say without a shadow of a doubt that I couldn't have picked a better person to be in the dream with me. Whatever happened in the dream, I knew that K (and my dogs) would love me, that she was capable of unconditional love, even though none of our parents were.
I am deeply confused and feeling out-of-sorts today. I guess this is one of those things I'll just have to work out over time.
But today is hurting and I am still in a state of semi shock from coming out of this vivid visual, tactile and emotional experience.
It's at times like these I wish I knew how to be a lucid dreamer.
Trusting the process, nonetheless, even while feeling incredibly uncomfortable with it at the moment.
No pictures in this blog. None would do the dream justice.
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