Nov 16
I would dream of a golden light flickering between my heart and the heart of a child. It was a faint light like the one you see along the bottom of a closed door while standing in a darkened room. I had a feeling that this child was looking for me as desperately as I was searching for her. A part of me knew that if I could just find the key and unlock the door we would be connected by that light.
Sep 14
I am recycling this blog from just over one year ago, because rereading it now, it seemed so long ago that I was wondering what transformation this particular transition would lead to. But only 14 months later, I am the CEO of my own fledgling company, Mammaste! I guess I stretched myself enough to grab that next thread . . . and it was not easy, since I’m definitely not as flexible as I used to be!
“Transitions are hard.” my friend says to me as we watch the orange bus carrying my fifth and last child to school pull away from the curb. “They just are.” she declares, just in case I missed the sincerity of her point. These words are from my dear, no-nonsense friend. Her remarks are in response to the tears welling up in my eyes. She is not a cajoler or a hugger but she pats me on the shoulder, awkwardly, like one would a dog you don’t quite trust. I’m surprised by this physical gesture from her. The thought crosses my mind that I must look pretty pathetic for her to attempt a comforting touch, and this thought is enough to make me smile. I love her for that.
Transitions ARE hard–those times when we find ourselves un-moored and floating in that in-between sea of change. It happens to most of us in varying degrees at some point. It can happen as a result of divorce, the loss of a job, children growing up and moving out, or any event that causes us to reexamine ourselves and the direction of our lives. It’s been over thirteen years since I left my job to stay home and raise my children full-time. I appreciate the gift of being able to choose to stay home and I have (mostly) loved it. But what I am drifting away from has defined me for so long, I suddenly feel like a stranger to myself.
I’ve been thinking about how I became each new incarnation of myself through prior experiences of change and transition in my life. Each time there was a point when I took a deep breath and began to look for that next thread of opportunity to follow. What I learned is you don’t find that thread with your head down. It is always up there fluttering high above you, seemingly beyond your reach until you stretch and extend yourself just enough to grab it.
I am smiling now at the obvious sentimentality of that last statement and how it would make my pragmatic friend gag. Reason enough for me to leave it in here. She is as frugal with her words as she is with her money and she would probably say again, “Transitions are hard. They just are, damn it.” Enough said.
Mammaste!
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Aug 25
my dream child
In my late 20’s, after several yearly surgeries and hormone therapies trying unsuccessfully to conceive a child, I had a very vivid dream.
In my dream, I was sitting in a large lecture hall filled with students. I looked down the slanted incline of seats in front of me to the professor. I raised my hand. I asked, “Will I ever get pregnant? Will I ever give birth to a child?” There was silence until one student at a desk a couple of rows in front of me turned to me and said, “You know that I will be coming someday. We’ve already decided this. Be patient.”
She looked Native American. She was a beautiful, slender young woman with long brown hair, olive skin, and almond-shaped dark eyes. When I woke I couldn’t understand how this person could ever be my child, as my first husband and I were both Caucasian.
So powerful and unusual was this dream that I wrote it down. Fast forward a dozen years or so. The dream is long forgotten. I am a divorced mother of two blonde haired, blue-eyed adopted children from my first marriage. I have already been told and have accepted that I will never conceive a child. My second husband and I are looking into adoption when at age 39 I become pregnant. My daughter Piper is soon born to me and my Chinese-American husband. When she is thirteen years old, I recognize the young woman who spoke to me in that dream so long ago.
Piper has always had a casual certainty that has never left her of the place from which she came before her birth. When she was three, she was sleeping next to me when I awoke with a start (that feeling of falling). Piper was looking intensely at me and said, “The angels came to talk to you in your sleep, but I told them ‘NO!’, so they put you on the ‘heaven slide’ and ‘plop’ you slid back into your body!”
I have had several prophetic dreams. Uncanny and unsettling premonitions of what was to come at major turning points in my life. One such “dream” literally saved me from death. I do not evangelize about these occurrences. I haven’t even talked about them much until now, but they have fueled decades of my own personal study of mysticism, religious theology, and shamanism as well as any possible scientific explanations. I am a pragmatist at heart. I look for logic, for proof, for rational answers. I have found none of these things–only more questions about those angels that still come to talk to me in my sleep every now and again.
A documentary aired (P.O.V. on Public Television) related to this topic. It is entitled, The Edge of Dreaming. It is a fascinating film.
“Be grateful for whoever comes, because each has been sent as a guide from beyond.” ~Rumi
“Follow the way of love and eagerly desire spiritual gifts, especially the gift of prophecy.” (I Corinthians 14:1)
“A dream that is not interpreted is like a letter that is not read.” –Talmud.
Mammaste.
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mammaste ~ divinity in the everyday 