“Dreams are illustrations from the book your soul is writing about you.”
When I woke up this morning, I was trying to recapture the last hazy remnants of a dream but I couldn’t. I only remember that it was an incredibly happy dream and that’s it.
So I was thinking about dreams.
I used to have two reoccuring dreams as an adult. Nightmares more than dreams, but always the same, several times a week, vividly terrifying.
One was that someone(s) was breaking into my house. Dark, scary, faceless men, creeping through windows and doors, slinking down the hallway. Always, those men would be inbetween me and my children. I would try and scream, try to warn the kids to hide, and could never do more than whisper, could only watch helplessly as these dark figures crept closer and closer to the kids’ room.
I would struggle to consciousness, and then lay awake in the dark, sweating, terrified, listening to noises and have to convince myself it was only a dream.
That dream went on for years and years and years.
The other dream was not quite as terrifying as it was sad and frustrating. One of the things that I struggled with as a single, poor, parent was housing. It seemed I was always on the verge of being homeless, living paycheck to paycheck, and even at that, some of the places we lived weren’t really big enough or safe enough.
So I would have this dream that was always about housing. I’d have found some spectacular place to live, a place where everyone had a bedroom of their own and I’d be happily decorating it or arranging furniture – and then something would happen. I remember one in particular where the walls and floors disintegrated into swarms and swarms of roaches, falling on us and crawling on us and we had to run out of the house. Another house was slipping into the ocean, slowly sinking while we climbed out of windows, crying, not wanting to leave it but knowing we had to.
I know why I had those reoccuring dreams then. In the first one, I was well aware of the vulnerability of being a single woman with helpless kids under my care in a world where senseless violence happens on a daily basis. I had legitimate fears of break-ins and not being able to protect myself, much less my kids.
The second dream merely illustrated the difficulties of low-income, substandard housing and how every time it seemed I had my feet under me, some unforeseen circumstance would come along and knock me down.
I can remember being afraid to go to bed, staying up way later than I should when I had to be to work at 6 a.m. I remember piling weapons (knives, clubs – no guns) under and around my bed. Making sure the phone was in reach, the doors and windows were locked and barricaded.
Miserable nights. Miserable mornings. But I’m thankful for them now.
I’m glad I had those years of night terrors. I’m glad I had to claw my way out of sleep, tears on my face, heart pounding, stark terror preventing me from sleeping any longer that night.
Otherwise, I don’t think I’d fully appreciate the slow, easy waking, the half-hearted grab at wispy happiness from a cloudy dream, the ability to snuggle back down next to a warm and safe body, knowing my children are secure in their beds – and they each have one of their own that isn’t going to disappear from under their sleeping bodies.
I’d not understand the significance of looking forward to bedtime instead of dreading it, or how comforting it is to turn out the light and lie in the dark with nothing but his soft, even breathing for company rather than keeping my ears tuned and jumping at every squeak and thump.
Every life experience has been worth it. Everything that has shaped me, groomed me, or primed me for these moments today has been worth it.
Even those spooky little ol’ dreams.
And I don’t remember the last time I had a nightmare of any sort.
LikeTags: M/s rambles, reflection
Uncategorized | kaya | 
Wednesday February 11th, 2009 11:33am
I don’t know how you always manage to make me tear up, but you do.
It’s wonderful to see someone take something awful and turn it around so that they can apprecitae the good parts of their life. Not many people can do that. You are a wonderful person to be so appreciative of what you do have. Karma is being good to you, and I hope it continues to only be better from here.
Sorry to be so sappy….
Holly
Kaya,
I don’t think I could have put it better. We all have evil somewhere in our past, whether it’s done by us or to us. It all goes into making us the people we are now and I, for one, wouldn’t change a thing. I like who I am now and would be terrified of ruining me by changing my past.
Dave
Well, love has no mind-it can’t spell unkind
Its never seen a heart shaped like a valentine
What you went thru just made you stronger-God felt bad for ya and sent you Scott. Then we get to appreciate our stuff.
AIN’T LIFE GRAND????
DAMN MY FINGERS (FIRES THE TYPIST) WELL NOT ALL THE TIME-BUT ENOUGH TO MAKE LIFE WORTHWHILE.
peace, love and all that bs,
Su
was last night the night for weird dreams? I had a dream last night I went to my mom’s house (but that hasn’t been her house for 6 years) and then I was kidnapped by a guy who resembled my dad but wasn’t my dad in the dream. And it got weirder from there.
I feel like that: all the pain, all the tears, all the disappointments, have been worth it to get where I am today. I think they call it ‘happiness’ :)