I miss Jared terribly.
That just gave me my best grin so far today.
I haven't seen Jared in years.
During a tumultuously time in my early twenties, my Grandmother made and sent me an elf. I bought an appropriately sized chair, messily painted it with colors that didn't match and gave him a palm sized teddy bear (also made by my maternal grandparent) to hold. I named my elf Jared.
My Grandma knew why, of course and approved. Today Jared sits upstairs in the office/ art/ imagination land room.
It has been a decent consolation for the old friendship.
Jared was there for The Three Dreams that are the waypoints for my life. This set of coordinates anchors me to myself. If you ever heard an asterisk in a conversation, where it sounds like I wandered off a little, it is because I am looking up a footnote reference to these Three Dreams.
As a child, Jared, my imaginary friend, met me the moment I drifted away to sleep. In the land of my imagination I investigated and discovered treasures, dove with dolphins, conquered worlds, flew in clouds and danced with trees; always with my tolerant friend in tow.
As my dreams have always morphed into metaphors, I relied on my friend to help me understand.
I was very young when I had The First Dream about a statue on the mountain. This dream may have only come this one time but I think about it often. Just as I re-read a couple of worn out favorite books, I curl up with this dream, a cup of coffee and re-open my dog-eared copy, flip to certain pages and remember it and the dog. In my Dust and Dog post, I share it exactly as I dreamt it.
Interestingly, to me at least, is the role of the canine before I fell asleep and when I woke up. That creature played as critical a part as the dream and the two are the corner stones of how I see myself, my beliefs and how I see and treat all living things.
The Second Dream began when I was twelve. In the beginning it was about the shape and form of the window and I spent many a night keeping my distance. The walls to the smallish room, behind and beside me, are simple and blank. No doors. At the time, outside of my friend, the room is completely empty. With Jared's encouragement and support, I would approach my window and begin to hear, and then see, what was outside.
As I say Unhappiness and Georgia, this dream has returned many times. I know it so well I could swear the dream is an actual place. It never changes, even as I do.
It is a strange, to hold up my hands and check them for clues. To see my reflection in the glass and know I am not the girl, not the teen, not the young woman but an adult, returning once again. And every time I look to see if Jared is still there and every time he isn't, I swallow the lump in my throat as I stand alone and listen.
Sometimes when I see this dream starting, the flood of my resignation overwhelms me. I have sulked in the back and ignored my window, hoping the dream change and give me something else for the night.
On occasion it does but I know the next night will start with it. And the next. And the next. It will keep re-starting until I go to my window. Many many of my insomnia nights can be attributed to my stubborn refusal to face my window, to listen and look.
I think this dream returns when I need a reminder to be kind, to myself and to you. To accept that sometimes I cannot accept and maybe you cannot either. The hardest part? That neither of us is Wrong or Right. That there are only consequences.
It is such a contradictory thing to try to learn.
The Last Dream came gradually and in pieces. The first piece came when I was fifteen. Another arrived during a black out after being hit by a car. The last part came just after I turned twenty.
Once I had all of The Last Dream, it played out in it's entirety, beginning to end. All of the pieces joined in symphony, cresting as I opened my eyes, looked out of a sliding glass door and locked eyes with a fawn. It never returned.
Most of this dream has already tied into my life (Or perhaps I have tied life into the dream). I consider it a road map and in the end I believe all of it will happen. And since I dream in metaphors, I must be careful to not use it to make choices but instead use it for clues, not facts. But sometimes, something is not a metaphor and I catch my breath in the moment of recognition.
I never wrote the whole dream down. I have shared parts of it, such as the car accident posted here. But most of it I hold closely. I have this superstition that writing things down makes them real. I believe this so strongly that it doesn't matter how rational an argument is against it. If I write it, I will bring it to life.
In the first dream, Jared was my protector, he was a big brother and watcher. In the second, he was my guide and teacher. In the last, Jared was my companion and friend and unable to do anything more, or less, than offer support through presence.
This is laughable and weird but I confess it anyway. I believe Jared is real. And no, I do not worry about defining what ‘real’ means. To define Jared is impossible and unnecessary. You may try to define your own faith by putting it into neat little boxes. Or maybe you are like me and you do not.
Either way, truth is relative. If a person really believes their religion has the monopoly on God, then it doesn't matter that another person really believes their totally different religion has the monopoly. In the end, there is only one way for peace.
We all must accept when another cannot accept and live on.
I hope this confession has given you some vulnerability. We are all a little crazy, a little strange and nearly all of us ask, "Am I the only one who is a little crazy and little strange And am I all alone?".
The answer from The Three Dreams is no you are not and yet in the end, we all are.
That just gave me my best grin so far today.
I haven't seen Jared in years.
During a tumultuously time in my early twenties, my Grandmother made and sent me an elf. I bought an appropriately sized chair, messily painted it with colors that didn't match and gave him a palm sized teddy bear (also made by my maternal grandparent) to hold. I named my elf Jared.
My Grandma knew why, of course and approved. Today Jared sits upstairs in the office/ art/ imagination land room.
It has been a decent consolation for the old friendship.
Jared was there for The Three Dreams that are the waypoints for my life. This set of coordinates anchors me to myself. If you ever heard an asterisk in a conversation, where it sounds like I wandered off a little, it is because I am looking up a footnote reference to these Three Dreams.
As a child, Jared, my imaginary friend, met me the moment I drifted away to sleep. In the land of my imagination I investigated and discovered treasures, dove with dolphins, conquered worlds, flew in clouds and danced with trees; always with my tolerant friend in tow.
As my dreams have always morphed into metaphors, I relied on my friend to help me understand.
I was very young when I had The First Dream about a statue on the mountain. This dream may have only come this one time but I think about it often. Just as I re-read a couple of worn out favorite books, I curl up with this dream, a cup of coffee and re-open my dog-eared copy, flip to certain pages and remember it and the dog. In my Dust and Dog post, I share it exactly as I dreamt it.
Interestingly, to me at least, is the role of the canine before I fell asleep and when I woke up. That creature played as critical a part as the dream and the two are the corner stones of how I see myself, my beliefs and how I see and treat all living things.
The Second Dream began when I was twelve. In the beginning it was about the shape and form of the window and I spent many a night keeping my distance. The walls to the smallish room, behind and beside me, are simple and blank. No doors. At the time, outside of my friend, the room is completely empty. With Jared's encouragement and support, I would approach my window and begin to hear, and then see, what was outside.
As I say Unhappiness and Georgia, this dream has returned many times. I know it so well I could swear the dream is an actual place. It never changes, even as I do.
It is a strange, to hold up my hands and check them for clues. To see my reflection in the glass and know I am not the girl, not the teen, not the young woman but an adult, returning once again. And every time I look to see if Jared is still there and every time he isn't, I swallow the lump in my throat as I stand alone and listen.
Sometimes when I see this dream starting, the flood of my resignation overwhelms me. I have sulked in the back and ignored my window, hoping the dream change and give me something else for the night.
On occasion it does but I know the next night will start with it. And the next. And the next. It will keep re-starting until I go to my window. Many many of my insomnia nights can be attributed to my stubborn refusal to face my window, to listen and look.
I think this dream returns when I need a reminder to be kind, to myself and to you. To accept that sometimes I cannot accept and maybe you cannot either. The hardest part? That neither of us is Wrong or Right. That there are only consequences.
It is such a contradictory thing to try to learn.
The Last Dream came gradually and in pieces. The first piece came when I was fifteen. Another arrived during a black out after being hit by a car. The last part came just after I turned twenty.
Once I had all of The Last Dream, it played out in it's entirety, beginning to end. All of the pieces joined in symphony, cresting as I opened my eyes, looked out of a sliding glass door and locked eyes with a fawn. It never returned.
Most of this dream has already tied into my life (Or perhaps I have tied life into the dream). I consider it a road map and in the end I believe all of it will happen. And since I dream in metaphors, I must be careful to not use it to make choices but instead use it for clues, not facts. But sometimes, something is not a metaphor and I catch my breath in the moment of recognition.
I never wrote the whole dream down. I have shared parts of it, such as the car accident posted here. But most of it I hold closely. I have this superstition that writing things down makes them real. I believe this so strongly that it doesn't matter how rational an argument is against it. If I write it, I will bring it to life.
In the first dream, Jared was my protector, he was a big brother and watcher. In the second, he was my guide and teacher. In the last, Jared was my companion and friend and unable to do anything more, or less, than offer support through presence.
This is laughable and weird but I confess it anyway. I believe Jared is real. And no, I do not worry about defining what ‘real’ means. To define Jared is impossible and unnecessary. You may try to define your own faith by putting it into neat little boxes. Or maybe you are like me and you do not.
Either way, truth is relative. If a person really believes their religion has the monopoly on God, then it doesn't matter that another person really believes their totally different religion has the monopoly. In the end, there is only one way for peace.
We all must accept when another cannot accept and live on.
I hope this confession has given you some vulnerability. We are all a little crazy, a little strange and nearly all of us ask, "Am I the only one who is a little crazy and little strange And am I all alone?".
The answer from The Three Dreams is no you are not and yet in the end, we all are.
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