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Sunshine streaming through the Christmas holly shrub outside my bedroom window enlivened the wing back chair with sprightly shadows, on holiday. It was seven-thirty, morning. I blinked hard, checked my watch again, and grinned. Only moments before had I turned out the lamp and snuggled beneath the flannel sheets and comforter and began my mantra, “Passion of Christ, strengthen Malaysian women sexually abused on palm oil plantations.” Then, it had been nine o’clock.

Methodically, I began stretching exercises, upon my back, while reflecting upon this marvel of marvels: I had slept through the night. No dry mouth, no bathroom breaks, no hunger spells, no strong dreams, no elbow or foot pain, no worries about tomorrow—above all, not scrutinizing the hours of the clock, like the watchman in the psalm yearning for dawn and release from the menacing dark. Only flitting dream of helping others flitted in and out of awareness.

I recognized the gift of sleep and gave thanks for last night’s willingness to exercise, despite blithering fatigue. Perhaps, that’s what made the difference, or thrilling to Jules Massenet’s incidental music, or perhaps taking the “Cocktail,” for months, the same dose: 0.3 Morphine and 0.3 Lorazapan.

Whatever it was, I slept, and the sun seems brighter today.

At 2 A.M., I awoke to this dream:

I am watching a terrifying phenomenon: two planets, one populated, hurtle through dark space, slated to crash into each other. Certain extinction will occur. I wake up before this happens.

This dream constitutes what is called a big dream in Jungian analytical psychology; it surfaces from the collective unconscious, the deepest level in our psyche as discovered and mapped out by C. G. Jung in the early 1900s. The following is a tentative proposal of the dream’s intent.

It feels like I was a witness to this pending tragedy as well as a participant among the living on the populated planet, all-aghast by the approaching disaster that seems locked within its trajectory of annihilation. No one speaks. No one knows what to do.

Such a scenario reveals the divide in my unconscious, perhaps my instinctual need to survive vying against the inevitability of my mortality. It’s just a matter of time before the collision resolves the issue—Sort of like another Big Bang, only this time, boosting my spirit-in-subtle body into eternal life, so I believe.

Since I have been receiving hospice care, death’s terror has seldom bruised my awareness—dark feelings, to be sure, setting the stage, then passing. So this dream, together with others, continue cuing me into the future of the unimaginable. Each day has its lessons for spiritual growth.

I pray to be faithful…

 

Sweetness, the aftermath of a dream, enveloped my waking moments like the profusion of summer vine clematis trailing over a trellis. I smiled, deeply, knowing that I am loved unconditionally, as is everyone else.

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