While I decide where and when I'll be jumping out of a moving airplane in the near future, I'd like to share a recent experience with you:
I was outside of a house that was mine, but not mine. It was late spring and the grass was very green, if not overgrown. The house was small and had about six steps before you got to the front door. I remember that detail because, though I can use stairs, it is something I have to think about in order to do so successfully. A woman was somehow there, too; I didn't know her, nor did I recognize her. The only man I've ever married was there as well. I was in my pajamas for some reason, standing in front of the tiny house. There was a car and an old truck parked in the yard--just part of the landscape. I did think the car belonged to the woman though, but otherwise, this seemed a random detail. There was no driveway to speak of. And, though I was supposedly leaving, I had no luggage with me. Why was I leaving? Good question! Things weren't right. I couldn't quite articulate why though. I just knew that the house, the yard, the people...none of it was the way it was supposed to be. When I said I was leaving because things weren't right, a double-barrel shotgun was pushed against my throat. In that moment, I went completely limp. Like I have a thousand times before, accepting the unfair act that was about to occur because it is the only agency one has in such circumstances. When I did, the gun was dropped to the ground. The person holding it turned their back on me as they walked toward the house, expecting me to follow, "Get in the house. You're not going anywhere."
"Yes I am. You just held a gun to my throat...I never understood until just now, but every time you do that, it's abuse. And, I don't have to put up with that anymore."
Obviously, this was a dream. A dream I had this morning before being pulled out of the water yet again. Until I began writing it out for this essay, I didn't understand it. But I do now.
When we go to sleep, it's an escape from the problems we face as physical beings. Everyone sleeps. No one expects you to be doing business, paying bills, running errands, writing novels, or solving existential dilemmas when you are. But our consciousness--our souls--have the ability to communicate with our resting minds much better when we have escaped physical life for a few short hours, uninhibited by the distractions of daily life.
It's 8:30, an "11" moment (8+3+0=11). The number "11" represents awakening, and yet, I can't wait to escape again into sleep. Talk to my soul. Follow my heart. Things only possible through dreams. Most of the conversations between my soul and I are remembered through things like de ja vu moments, synchronicities, and intuitive impulses. But sometimes, like this morning, I'll get a direct message. Any dream before waking is a message. That's why you remember it. You're meant to. Even if the meaning itself is yet unclear
After waking from a dream where a gun was pushed against my throat for using my voice, my day was difficult; I wasn't moving well. It was like 10,000 tiny gremlins were clinging to my legs, trying to make me fall. Fear was always on the edge of overwhelming me. Persistent questions that weren't mine threw me off balance even more. As if the Earth had shifted on its axis. and I with it. Parts of me, however, felt more alive than I might articulate here with any eloquence. Every cell in my body tingled, as if I were about to meet my lover for a final, secret embrace. Though, this is not what I want. But I'd still catch myself drifting into an almost hypnotic state where bodies come together like missing puzzle pieces. There may be seven billion pieces on the planet, but only one truly fits. That is why the only "hello" I'm willing to hear is "hello-forever." I will not tolerate any more good-byes.
Tears want to come, but I won't let them. A spirit walked by me as I finished hiking on the trail earlier tonight. He was walking toward me, impressed that I was not using my usual hiking poles, though they are always over my shoulder in the event an off-road opportunity presents itself. But I was not alone. I walk with angels, wolves, stags, fox, coyote, and bear. The spider sits on one shoulder while the bat flies over the other. The butterfly, black as night with a single white stripe across it's graceful wings, lies prostrate before me on the ground. The dragonfly, as big as a small bird, touches on my hand before lifting off again, leading me through the meadows with grasses so high along the narrow deer path, that it feels as though a thousand relatives are clasping their hands on my back in love and kinship as I make my way ever up and up. Over the hills. Past the briars. To where the Fairy Queen does her bidding upon the green, green grass, alight with dewy kisses in the setting sun.
The spirit looked at me as he passed, a sad, longing look, but kept walking when he saw I was not alone. I was the one who stopped. Turned. Looked back, silently pleading for the spirit to do the same. To embrace me. Cry with me. Hold me. But my body suddenly moved without my permission, putting one foot in front of the other, until I found my way here. Back to you.
It's 9:29 now, or #1111 (9+2=11, and that "11" is simplified and added to the remaining "9," becoming 1+1+9=11). My synchronicities speak to my waking. Perhaps from my dreams. Perhaps from yours. One day, I will not have to wake up anymore. If it were up to me, none of us would suffer in silence. We could all say what we needed to say when we needed to say it. Because, the entire world would awaken with me.
Awaken, World! It is time. You have escaped in slumber too long. Even though I feel silenced, stuck, I still speak. I still move. I still exist. And, I will forever and always love. I wish the same for you as well.
Do not fear the pain. Accept it. It's the only agency you have over whatever created the pain in the first place. My body yearns for things that do not exist in my world anymore, outside of my dreams. It makes me sad. So sad, a tear just leaked down my cheek. And, another. More will follow. Until my death. That is pain. It is our most important lesson. Perhaps I will hear, "Hello-forever...," before that moment comes and goes yet again.
For, how many more lifetimes can I survive in this one before #TheGreatEscape???
"Why think separately of this life than the next, when one is born from the last? Time is always too short for those who need it, but for those who love...it lasts forever." -Dracula Untold
#TwinFlame #1111 Post-Script: While the line itself is from the film, it originates from a Rumi poem entitled "Life and Death." When you read the poem, you will understand why I feel Rumi himself was a #TwinFlame. Dracula Untold is not just a movie about the origins of Vlad Teppes...it's also a story about #TwinFlames. A sequel that will explore that theme more fully is rumored to hit theatres in late 2017, early 2018 (an "11" year). In the meantime, you can watch Dominic Cooper, who played Mehmed the Conqueror in Dracula Untold, on AMC's latest hit from the comic book world, Preacher. By the way, Preacher is 100% #PopCultureProfessor APPROVED!!!