Monday, December 15, 2014. I think I could have entitled this post “FINDING AN ATTACHMENT VILLAGE” but I think the dream I woke from and remembered some parts of early this morning holds some deeper reverberations for me personally. In my younger adult years when my brain worked more clearly as it could determine specific categories for my thoughts and concerns I would be able — and, I suppose, willing — to look for these specifics among the small parts of my dream that I remember.
I rarely remember ANYTHING about my dreams any more, a loss that began for me just prior to my parimenopausal years. I don’t know that my physiological transition out of my childbearing years was actually linked to the changes in my dreaming and remembering patterns, but it seems to be true for me. All I have been able to really determine about my current (age 63) patterns is that I seem to always be very busy and very productively involved with things that matter in my dreams. Sometimes I think that if I did remember most of what goes on “beyond the veil of waking” I would simply be SO TIRED that what I must do in THIS world would be interfered with.
So… This dream….
I remember being alone and searching for something I can’t quite name. I found my way through an old wooden door into the back of an equally worn vertically-set wood plank shed with a steel roof. The out-of-doors was only slightly barred from entering the sanctuary of this shelter, which I realized upon entering was actually very, very extensive.
I only went in far enough to lay down upon the dry grass upon the earth. I was feeling sad and not surprisingly to me, very tired. A kind of weariness that comes from carrying an immense burden for a long, long time. The kind of burden that constantly threatens a person to topple over onto one’s knees without the ability to rise again.
As I lay upon the warm earth in the quite quasi darkness I closed my eyes and felt the warmth of liquid pour out of every pore of my skin. It felt warm like salty tears, warm like living blood leaving me. My only concern was to keep the papers (my writings?) I held in each hand high enough in the air that they would not get wet during this process — whatever it was.
Eventually I was able to return to my feet. I gazed around me at the collection of material things that I knew were very important to someone. There was an automobile mostly covered with an old dust shrouded tarp. Old wooden low shelves filled to their edges. I was careful not to touch anything as I backed out through the door I had entered.
I remember this part of the dream clearly because as I came into the sunshine I woke up, rose to see what time it was (2:30 am) and then went back to sleep.
I think it has been rare for me during my lifetime to return to a dream once I have been awakened from it, but I did so with this one. Next I remember The People. Lots of people gathered at the front of this huge (mostly) enclosed place. It was a village. People radiated simple kindness.
One man among a group welcomed me, but he also posed a question. “What are you doing here among us,” he asked me. His gaze held my eyes as he paused. I could see that he was searching for the kindest way to express his thoughts. Finally he continued, “You are so…..PRETTY!”
I knew what was not spoken while I was dreaming. I know it even more as I go about my day.
What obviously separated ME from all those gentle people was the fact that I was not a dark-skinned person. I was, and am, white.
These people did not have a home in this world the way that I, as an American, would name it. Yet these people had created for themselves and for one another a most glorious home that was physically created of nothing but cast off and worn out materials that they had found new use for.
These people showed no sorrow, showed no fear and certainly showed nothing but puzzlement at meeting me there. How had I found my way to “their place” in the world? I knew these people had suffered greatly in their lives from trauma, trials and from tribulations. There was a kind of pride among these people of a very good sort. Suffering had translated for them into the greatest honor.
These people shared a collective dignity and nobility among them that felt like a kind of envelope encasing everyone and everything I saw in the dream, myself included. How can I describe this? Like finding like and if the “like” had not been there in and with me I sense I would have never found my way to that place.
Certainly there are plenty of non-brown-skin people on this planet that have and do suffer greatly. But I also know that by far the preponderance of terrible suffering (by actual count) happens among those who would not consider themselves to be among the white-skinned people. (List of world’s wealthiest countries HERE)
As I write this next point in this post I know that I am working with conscious thought more than I am with information from the deeper reaches of who I am and what I know. I simply suspect that because of the profound suffering I experienced during the first 18 years of my life I accumulated a kind of honor that will probably never leave me in this lifetime. I recognize the great value of this honor, even as it let me find and be so warmly recognized by The People in my dream. I find — though my rational mind wants to scream at me, “NO! This is NOT true!” — that there HAS to be value in the suffering I experienced and still do experience that has allowed me to retain this kind of honor that I believe everyone is born with.
I also have a sense that it would primarily be true that people like those in my dream were would be the ones I would share most in common with AND feel most at home with. We are resilient. We are humble. We are resourceful. We share and love with greatest kindness.
I think there is something connecting my “bleeding, crying, letting the burden sink into the earth” part of my dream that enabled me to later return in the dream to the front area of this huge shelter where I was able to meet The People.
I think we can become clear about how our suffering is NOT who we are even though the pain of our experiences has given us powerful and very real gifts. In part maybe I am reverberating from the topic of my post yesterday. I do believe a soul is at risk of “leaving the body behind on this earth” when that soul has reached a point where the burden upon it has become more than it can bear.
I believe connecting with those who are members of our “attachment village,” OUR people, is among the most powerful preventive factor that can keep us from reaching the overwhelmed state.
Yet for myself, in this dream, it was my lying on the earth that let so much of my burden first leave me. This happened for me BEFORE I was able to connect with The People. Yet I also know with both my rational and my “other” kinds of knowing that every single one of the people I met in my dream had also experienced great healing through very similar ways.
We CANNOT be separated from the earth as long as we live with our body in this lifetime. The earth gives us every single thing we need in order to live — even one another. But for me, because forced isolation and solitary confinement was such a HUGE part of the abuse I suffered, it was being able to experience such close connection with other human beings that gave me such a lovely — and necessary — sense of “sanctuary” as a human being in this dream.
I have long been bonded to the earth, but I greatly struggle with any sense of being bonded with and connected to human beings. I think this dream was an important step in helping me understand that even though I might not have these feelings around most of the people I actually meet, that does not mean that I am not CAPABLE of forming these attachment connections.
In fact, in the world of my dreams, I have now been shown that those connections already exist.
I am NOT alone.
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