This morning, I dreamt that I was dreaming.

Something clicked. I woke with a start. It was the shutter on my camera. In that slit second, I had glimpsed something, writhing in somber tones. My feelings ran high.

 It was as if my Dreamer wanted my full attention to explore the snake-like aberrations in my psyche from which I’ve distanced myself—conceivably, my terminal illness, Interstitial Lung Disease with Rheumatoid Arthritis. That’s what came to mind.

It was shocking, especially since I thought I had come to some acceptance of my end time.



But the Dreamer speaks the truth, and I’ve more work to do. It’s all about accepting the unacceptable, with God’s grace.