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Whenever I have been in overwhelming situations, it has always helped to write about them. My terminal illness, Interstitial Lung Disease with Rheumatoid Arthritis and the enormity of facing my mortality fit that category. So, I set to work in November 2019, with daily blogs posted on my website, heartwhisperings.com. Perhaps some would be interested in such a chronicle.
Hospice caregivers and helpers responded to my needs, minimal at the time; they still gave much to write about. There was no dearth of topics.
Months, then years hummed by and although weak, I was not dying nor discharged from hospice. Central to each day was the production of the blog, but the topics changed from issues related to death and dying to book reviews, significant scriptural passages, dreams, responses to poets, aspect of spirituality, stories from my past, global trauma, nature and its metaphors—whatever touched my imagination, with the accompanying words.
Challenging, at times, exhausting, the blogs filled what could’ve been empty time with significant learning for which I’m grateful.
With the worsening of my symptoms, however, I have decided to shut down the blogs and devote more time to resting and prayer and writing, if able, my dialogue with Precious God.
I’m heartened that some benefited from my blogs, still found on WordPress and Mail chimp and Facebook.
At 6:15 A. M., I awoke with this encouraging dream:
It is winter, dark outside. After long decades, I return to college, brightly lit, with my belongings and discover my old small room has been completely renovated in engaging pastels of creams, greens, and strawberries—a suitable milieu to continue my studies. As I begin settling in, a former classmate says excitedly, “I didn’t know you were here!” then sits on my new desk chair. Others who I’d studied with also fill my room that overlooks the street below. Occasional noises, the only drawback.
This encouraging dream reveals fresh beginnings in my psyche. Again, the winter, dark outside suggests the shortening span of my life—a critical reminder to live in the now and to let go of yesterdays and tomorrows. I’ve still much to learn.
The college, brightly lit, suggests advanced learning, the opportunity to deepen my knowledge of human history, free from idealism or romanticism or muddled thinking. I’m clearly ready.
And my old small room felt like the one at the Junior College I attended, the first time away from home. In the dream, though, its colors gladdened me. The Interior Decorator, aware of my preferences, had created this environment for new learning, despite its hardness, knowing that I would feel at home.
And a former classmate, as well as those who later fill my room with feminine energy, suggests a plethora of positive support and encouragement. Joy abounds.
Lastly, the occasional noises speak of irritations woven into life’s fabric, also sources for new learning.
This encouraging dream still lives on, its beeswax fragrance, a source of contentment …
At 6 A.M., I woke with this dream:
It is August, the evening of my arrival at the Eastern Point Retreat House for my eight-day directed retreat. Animated conversations of other retreatants draw me to the dining room for buffet supper. I search among them for my friend Pat, but she has not yet arrived. I’m concerned. Winds sweep dense levels of humidity from the Atlantic’s surface that borders the complex. I feel clammy, heavy.
At first, the dream’s setting, EPRH, thrilled me, the Jesuit retreat house that I had frequented for decades at Gloucester, Massachusetts. Profound spiritual cleansings had buoyed my spirit, until home for a while; and the emergence of entrenched habits resumed their former dominance.
Then, I looked deeper into my psyche: Animated conversations of other retreatants exposedthe seepage of inner chatter, warring against my practice of meditation and spiritual reading that blocks “conscious contact” with Higher Power. This had been true at Gloucester, as well; only within its silence could I settle down to fully engage in its critical work, guided by my director.
In my present circumstances, I yearn for the same depth of silence in my psyche. This is not happening as much as I would like. I feel clammy, heavy. My body has never died before and I need guidance in prayer and from other spiritually minded persons. Yet, control still has mastery, despite my practice of CPA’s Twelve Steps; though, such sparring does yield spiritual growth. Time is of the essence.
In the dream I also noted anxiety over the absence of my friend, as if unable to surrender to the grace of the retreat that necessitates psychic change. This image speaks to existential loneliness, casting me adrift in powerlessness. Therein, I eventually find my God who companions me through end time. No one else can serve this purpose.
So I plod along, one day at a time …
Heart Whisperings 