Over these past few days, my dreams have been a jumble of situations that would never take place in real life. Most involve family. One highlights my romantic pairing with a dear friend, whose ex-wife is one of my closest friends.
And then, I awaken to find a nightmare awaiting to flatten my spirit with thoughts of heading straight toward a wall made up of surgery and chemo, so my spirit, surging upward as would any winged creature, soars right over that wall so as to land all of me, safely, in Tomorrowland, where I see myself embracing Will’s 80th birthday celebration with family and friends, whose desert dwellings are close to our own—an intimate party of seven due to Covid surging and the lingering nature of my illness.
BTY each time I play the heroine in my dreams (which is always), I am forever young, my hair brunette and shoulder-length. I am healthy and fully charged to lend a hand to anyone in need. In short, while dreaming, I am not a damsel in distress but rather a heroic character to whom others turn to right a wrong so that a fair sense of justice saves the day—and having absorbed that ‘can do’ attitude into my core, I awaken feeling grateful for my ability to face reality with my strong shield of positive focus protecting my spirit from collapse, every day …
Though it’s comforting to be wished sweet dreams, it’s a rarity for a dream to depict a picnic—that’s not what dreams are for …
🙋🏻♀️Annie
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