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At 7:35 A.M., I woke with this dream:

I’m attending a luncheon at a trendy tearoom filled with women engaged in animated conversations. No one comments upon the opaque gray-like mist that screens us from seeing each other; they only affirm the delicious soup placed in front of us. I feel strange.

What stands out immediately in the dream is the opaque gray-like mist that prevents all vision; it also isolates me from my surroundings and myself—a condition likened to denial masking my psyche from the inevitable diminishments of living with symptoms of terminal illness. Increasing shortness of breath upon exertion crimp conversations with others, require more help from my helpers, and more time-outs for rest and dream catching.  

The opaque gray-like mist also suggests the aloneness I must continue experiencing until my transition. I still relate to others in the world around me, but it’s not the same. Each day has its critical tasks as I forage into the unknown. I know when the insights come.

The dream also forewarns me to avoid the trendy tearoom that I so easily create in my imagination when zip locked into yahoo—a huge displacement of critical energy.

Above all, the imperative is to remain focused upon the new learning, however painful. Change still turns things around, and the struggle is well worth it.

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