A brief weave of dreams early this morning. When I awakened, all I remembered was one part.
It seemed to be my workplace but with so much more light and space, and a new lightness to it. I saw several small boxes, about the size of shoe boxes, all of them light brown, the same size. Perfect boxes. Each was tightly and neatly packed but not sealed.
On each and every box lid, neatly printed in fancy black writing, were the words
Thank you
Somehow, I immediately knew the words were for me, even as the boxes belonged to someone else.
The boxes were open and I could see their contents. They seemed like books, yet, interiorly, I knew they were not. I also knew who those boxes belonged to –
The boxes belonged to the colleague who has been giving me grief for so long.
And the contents were memories and sweetness, everything from the past 20 years.
Again, I somehow knew that the boxes were going with my colleague. Because she was going someplace – the moment I first saw those boxes, my surprised thought was,
Oh, she’s packed.
It is just a dream and not all my dreams work out. Yes, I hope it means she is leaving; because I’m no saint and nothing in me wants her to remain, not when you’re subject to something or other almost every single day.
Yet, what troubles me is the boxes. Because I’ve seen those boxes before. Almost a year ago, I dreamt of a strange, dull place, of a bare house, no furnishings or decorations whatsoever. I entered that house, looking for someone even I didn’t know who, and my first thoughts were,
I hope she has packed.
Hope as in wanting it to be so although at that time in the dream, I didn’t know who I was referring to.
And by the door of that worn and somber house of my old dream, were hundreds of very small, mud brown boxes. Perfectly shaped, those were sealed and printed in neat, uniform black on each were either of 2 names,
Betty
Jobbiah
And while I do not know who Jobbiah is, Betty was my cousin who had died many years before.
Awakening from that dream, I remember knowing immediately that Betty was headed to some place better.
But on this morning of a thousand memories, when my mind and heart are furthest from my colleague, from work even, when everything in me is wound around someone else, comes this next dream of boxes. Unlike the Betty~Jobbiah dream of last year, where I sensed both people going on to a more beautiful meadow, all I know this time is that my colleague is going to move on.
I know not where she’s headed. I don’t know if it’s to a better place.
Also, while Betty is no longer in this world, nothing of that sort was communicated to me in this new dream. Yet, something else lifts its head to me: in my dream today, I sensed a new, refined gentleness and a state of recollection about my workmate – something so unlike her.
Something not of this earth.
I did not see this person but I could sense her amongst her boxes. She had none of the usual interest in the hum-and-pull of the office. It was as if she was there, – and yet she wasn’t.
I don’t know what it means, except that it is a wee angel’s unspoken words to me on this day when blooms and trees and little memories weave together to form what has been our life for so many years. It is a day I want to remember. And to forget. It is no ordinary day.
And yet, this dream was given me on a day sacred to love, sacrifice and hope.
As I gently ponder the dream, asking wordlessly, What do You ask of me, 2 things come to me.
This is a dream of an ending.
It comes on a day when as a family, we mourn an ending.
And celebrate a beginning.
A dream on the day of the angel, who now mediates between those of us still here, and those on our way Home.
writingonmyheart 