Healing. I thought I knew what it meant. And I did to a certain extent. What I’ve discovered though, is that it means so much more.
In Dream Town, I quickly realized I was dreaming. Lately when becoming lucid I’ve gone deep, looking for a dream character to give me wisdom. Last night I decided I just wanted to fly high. It’s been so long since I went flying in a dream, I wanted to experience that again. I wasn’t sure I’d remember how to do it though.
It started like a baby bird leaving the nest for the first time. I ran, jumped, and fluttered my wings (arms), and I gained a little height. I did this again and again until I stopped myself and reminded myself…I am dreaming. I can do anything I want. Tonight, I want to fly. And I did. I flew high and soared and explored. I landed on the roof outside of my little guy’s window. He saw me and smiled because he knew I was having so much fun.
I flew around from branch to cloud to grass to window until I was hungry and ready to eat all the things. I flew into the kitchen of a house and saw my grandmother, Baba. Baba was a beautiful soul when she was here on this Earth, still is I’m sure. So nurturing, so loving. I don’t dream of her often, but on the rare occasion that I do, she presents herself as she did when she was dying, overcome with dementia. No words, little emotion, lethargic, lost. In Dream Town, she was VIBRANT. She wore her apron and babushka, cooking up fourteen dozen pyrohy (pierogi).
She smiled at me as she danced around with her massive mixing bowl, and sang a Ukrainian song. Her voice was so familiar, and the melody like a thousand songs I’ve heard before. But the words I did not know. I looked to her, and she knew I wanted to understand the lyrics. She looked at me, took my hands and said, “Thank you for the changes to my heart.”
This whole week of dreaming has been healing. Healing myself, I thought. What I didn’t realize, is that I was healing her too. Those we love and whom love us that have passed away are always a part of us. I believed I didn’t dream of her as her usual self before the dementia because she wasn’t actually healed. But I never wanted to admit that to myself because it was heartbreaking. As I’m working to heal myself, I’m healing her. And that has made the changes to her heart that are necessary for her to move forward in her journey.
As I’m writing this my little guy is ringing a bell that has been in my office for years, yet he has never once picked it up to ring it. You know what they say. “Every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings.”
Enjoy your wings, Baba. Fly high. I love you so much.
(And as I give this post it’s final proofread, it’s 5:15pm. Her birthday is May 15th).
There are no coincidences.