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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.

At 6 A.M., I awoke with this dream:

It is night. I am with an animated group of seniors who intend to work on their life reviews in a large well-lighted room with tables and chairs.

The dream story begins at night, always symbolic of endings, closure, especially of life. Within darkness, change inevitability occurs.

I do not recognize the animated group of seniors who I’ve joined, but I appreciate their willingnessto engage in this endeavor. On a deeper level, however, perhaps they mirror the health of my psyche, still engaged in my life review that began with my 2001 retirement from hospice. Self-publishing two memoirs in 2012 and 2015 was its tangible start.

Since then, ongoing Twelve-Step work has kept me abreast of current slips and need for amends, mostly to myself for the snare of fear based-obsessive thinking. As an example, last night’s email about my credit card distraught me until its fraudulence was determined. 

But my Dreamer seems to be asking more—perhaps deeper prayer to recall my dreams upon awaking, to scrutinize practices of acceptance, responsibility, forgiveness, and love. True, my Heartwhisperings blogs have brought to light some of the dark recesses of my psyche where more of my flawed character hangs out, still unbeknownst to me.

My ongoing life review spirits each gift of twenty-four hours: Within them, lies psychic transformation, impossible to attain on my own.

The new dawn blooms as we free it

For there is always light,

if only we’re brave enough to see it.

If only we’re brave enough to be it.

So concluded Amanda Gorman as she bowed to the audience’s tumultuous response gathered in front of the Capitol, the afternoon of President Biden’s inauguration. Everyone was deeply glad to be American, devoid of divisions, if only for those moments in the sun.

Yet, Something had caught fire and would not be extinguished: powerful, resplendent, omnipresent, it released a common vision tinged with joy. It felt like a spearhead for change, perhaps similar to the one relished by our Founding Fathers.

Perhaps it was the new dawn blooms, the light—energy critical for growth; with it, comes responsibility, discipline, and honesty, hard-won virtues that enervate sloth’s hold upon our unconscious and jettison us from this never-ending shade inherent within our centuries-old history.

However our near future evolves, we can return to this vision of light with its empowerment for change and remember. Many, perhaps, will discover their God, within, and be amazed.

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