Friday, March 18, 2011

Ghost Dreams

Last night I dreamed I got an email from my father.  He thanked me for the note I sent him and asked me to send more pictures of the girls.  It was written in his familiar tone of studied lightheartedness so I knew it really was from him.  In the dream, I knew he was dead and I was ecstatic to realize that he was alive - did he come back somehow, or had he never really died?  I didn't know; I didn't care.  I was filled with joy.  I always knew he couldn't be dead; it had all been a big misunderstanding.  (That's how I feel when I'm awake too.)  Finally, this nightmare was over.  Dad was back.

When I woke up, I didn't remember the dream right away.  I was preoccupied with my sore muscles - running, yoga, and kickboxing every single day for a week will do that to you.  I stretched and slowly climbed out of bed, wincing.  Only after I'd padded gingerly into the bathroom did it come to me in a flash - my father was alive!  Excitement coursed through me like electricity, but just as quickly the realization that it had been a dream crashed down, choking me with sudden violent tears, and there I was sitting on the toilet crying my heart out.  My family slumbered on in the early morning dark as I tried to calm my gasping, ragged sobs.

Later on at yoga, I fell asleep during savasana (I always do) and when the instructor told us to start coming back to awareness, I started to cry again.  There was a light breeze coming in the windows, carrying the smell of spring and dirt and new growth, and the awareness I was coming back to was that here comes another season without my father in the world.  I didn't want to open my eyes.  I lay there for a few minutes, tears sliding down my cheeks and into my hair, and wondered if I could go on strike against a world without my father in it.  Then I took a deep breath, wiped my tears away, got up to put away my yoga mat and blocks, and went to get dressed and go on with my day. Namaste.