I woke up thinking about “Dreams” this morning. Partly the amazing Allman Brothers song (which I have blaring from Beginnings right now), but mainly dreams, the kind that occur in my head nightly (and yours too, if you’re lucky). This morning I woke up just after dreaming I’d run into an old friend, Shara, from my years with the NLRSD. Haven’t talked to her in person in years, but her voice was exact in my dreams. It was like she was here.
Dreams can be cool like that.
But they can also be prophetic, soothing, problem-solving, or welcome visits from those departed. Dreams can come true, even waking dreams or daydreams, as did my waking dreams of the West Memphis 3 being freed, though not in the manner I’d have chosen.
Let me just say hallelujah again for that.
But where this is really going is to the nocturnal visits from the deceased which serve to comfort.
My childhood friend Lynette was killed by lightning the day after school let out at the end of the seventh grade. Hers was the first funeral I attended. Sometime in the first year after her death, she came to me in a dream. It was just Lynette, as beautiful as ever, sitting on a wooden stool in solid black surroundings. We talked, as in mainly I asked her questions about what it was like to be dead (she said it was fine, kind of nice).
She came at least once a year, frozen in time, until one year when she didn’t. That was the year my father died, when I was 26. I think she’d been preparing me for that loss. I miss her visits still.
Daddy came to me in a very specific dream to tell me it was time to go on with my life. (I can hardly believe I’m sharing this, but maybe it’ll help somebody else.) In my dream, I was caught in a very crowded, crazy parade, packed with people of all sorts, along with circus animals, clowns – you name it and it was probably there. We were marching through Sherwood, where I spent lots of time roaming as an Indian Hills kid. I wasn’t sure what was going on or why I was in this mad group, but I just knew I had to keep marching.
Suddenly we turned a corner, and there on the sideline was my father, in, oddly, a brown suit (he was more a black, charcoal or navy suit guy). I screamed, “Daddy!!” and ran over to him and threw my arms around his neck. We talked and talked and were thrilled to see each other, but after a bit, he began pushing me back toward the parade and said I needed to go on, that I was getting left behind.
“But I want to stay here with you,” I complained. He insisted that I had to go and gave me another nudge. I rejoined the parade but looked back at him where he continued to wave goodbye until we turned another corner and he was out of sight.
If I have to explain what that means, you need to do some research on dream theory. Oh, Daddy. You always looked out for us, didn’t you?
I’ve always had dreams that come true, and after years of horrific nightmares as a child, I learned to do a bit of lucid dreaming, as in being able to change the course of a dream that was going too badly or saying loudly (in my sleep, of course) some version of “you know this is a dream; wake up, wake up now!!”
And now the Allman Brothers have gotten to “Whipping Post,” which lets me know I’m running out of time. School beckons. Gotta fly.