angels and weird dreams


angels and weird dreams

Last night I had a really weird dream.  There was this angelic “force” hovering over a house I was in with lots of other people.  I have no idea whose house it was or who the people were.  But I was terrified.  We all were.  Not because the “force” was destructive but just because it was there swirling around and we didn’t know what it was.

We locked doors and windows and cowered inside.  The “force” kept swirling around the house.  Inside the swirls colors blended from one to another in the same order as an artist’s color wheel.  It was breathtaking. I can’t remember what happened next but years later (in my dream) I found myself back at the same property once again. The house was gone, only the concrete basement remained.  At one end of the basement there was a set of stairs going nowhere.  The steps were covered with sand.  I walked over and began brushing off the sand.  I felt something other than a step.  I love finding “treasures” so I began to brush off the sand with greater care.   I finally unearthed the object.

It was a cement statue of an angel. Not a grown-up angel though.  A child-like angel. But it wasn’t your typical stick-in-your-garden type statue.  The look on her face was fearful.  I had the uncanny feeling that she’d somehow been trapped and turned into stone.  Was she the whirling dervish I saw? Had she been seeking asylum instead of seeking to harm?  Had our refusal to let her in cause her demise?

Was the stone angel me?  Is it me that’s feeling buried? Had my fear of the whirling “force” been unjustified? Had the little angel been sent to comfort me and I just didn’t know it?

I have no idea why I dreamed that dream.  I almost never remember my dreams.  Why did I remember this one? I can think of all kinds of explanations but I think the one that makes the most sense is that    I am scared. Period. Scared that I won’t be able to handle the responsibility of my mother’s care while she recuperates. Scared that it will interfere with my life.  Scared she’ll fall again. Scared that I’ll disappoint myself. Just plain scared.

Scared that I’ll turn to stone.

While I was in Brazil a few years ago I wrote a piece of prose. I came across it yesterday. Coincidence? Anyway, I include it here.

“Angel’s wings capture my fears and hopes with their feathered tendrils,

holding them close.

Taking flight, they spread their wings

scattering my fears in abandon over the wide horizon.

My hopes remain safely tucked away under their feathers.  

My soul is restored.”

Sleep well.

  

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