I’m a child. I awake in my darkened bedroom, step into the hall, see a man sitting, swinging his leg, and flee into my parents’ bedroom, under my mother’s covers.
I’m a wife, sleeping in a king-sized bed. I awake facing the window and a bookcase and see a man’s head on a flower pot. Fear is shaking my body.
I’m a mother with daughters asleep; I dream two bad men are chasing me up stairs where at the top I turn and become the chaser. And this mostly ends my unpleasant episodes.
Dreams become friendlier, interesting, unusual, and incomprehensible but for the most part, acceptable.
During my intuitive counseling years, I awoke saying, “Andrew Harvey? Harvey Andrew?” I can’t remember which way the name goes. I had heard a second name clearly—Helen Steiner Rice. I find Rice’s poems and offer them to my groups. I read Harvey who says that by the end of twenty years, every mental health worker who isn’t working spiritually will not be working. I feel pleased, for my practice is founded on spirituality.
Among my dreams at age sixty, at the home of Meher Baba in India, is one where I wake up smiling on the verge of a chuckle. There are four words, “Don’t analyze, just Love.” Its truth is bald—for Love is who we are and what we are here to learn.
My realization is, “During our different dream states we have experiences that in some manner bear upon our journey and growth. It is helpful to be open to what can be gleaned from any captured memories.