I had a dream last night where all my expectations were demolished.
I went on a journey through a busy outdoor market with one of my supervisees at work, a woman my age. We kept getting lost, there were aisles and vendors of art and objects and crowds. I’m not sure what the goal was, but we weren’t getting there. I thought I knew where I was going. I was lost.
Then I had a visitation from my best friend, chapter grad school.
The essence of the dream was that she was dying, which she did in reality about 7 years ago.
In the dream I knew she was dying, but she seemed well. We just knew it to be true. I expected her to die. We talked about it; I begged her to watch over me. She held me in her arms and promised. In that breakaway wind around dream way, the next time I saw her she was slumped up against a pillar. I was overcome with grief. Her death was not what I expected.
I was supposed to get something of hers to keep. I had nothing. Then I lost something in a small arty boutique, I think my keys. I turned back and saw some kind of montage/sculpture, brightly colored, with complex pieces attached together.
It had been hers, I recognized it. I went to purchase it, I don’t think I had enough money, but the shopkeeper took pity on me and I paid what I had. I didn’t expect this.
Some strange, faceless man told me part of the sculpture had been made in 1938. I had the weird feeling that it couldn’t be that old, that I was born in 1964, and I was already very old. The implication was that portion of the sculpture had been made by my high school boyfriend. How could that be?
I sat down at a table with others, expecting someone to come in. My dinner companions said “Namaste” loudly, I did softly. A young African man came in, I didn’t know him. Not who I expected.
I tried to help a man supervise some delinquent female teenagers in a small portable trailer. It appeared he was supposed to watch over them in a shower, or bath type situation. I had no moral judgment on this, but I said I would take over and watch. Somehow one or more of the four of them escaped. I was surprised, I’d been there all along.
Someone tried to drive me back to my home or workplace. My sense of direction was off, we passed a turnoff and I saw mountains so beautiful I started to cry with joy, a gorgeous lake, the sun shining off the water, snow on the peaks. Yet I was lost. My ride turned the van to get me home
when we passed a landmark that should have been behind us, a campground or an outpost. I was surprised at the traveling companions’ patience.
I also sat by a river where people were doing their washing, like a close up scene of people by the Ganges. There was a middle age woman there washing clothes, children, many people. Everyone grouped together.
Now anyone who wants to can take a stab at this dream, but I woke nearly in tears before I realized I was home alone. This feels like a solo journey, where I never can know the outcome. And I don’t know who’s coming anymore, or how long they’ll be with me. Or what surprises will await me on the journey.