Just a thought....
Don't compare your life to others'. You have no idea what their journey is all about.

Saturday, 10 October 2009

I dream of stairs

In this past year, I have dreamt of stairs quite often, going both up and down the stairs. The stairs never seem to have a negative connotation for me. That, in itself, is saying something, as, for most of my adult life, I have had a virtually paralysing fear of heights and particularly stairs. I would actually visualise falling down the stairs every time, no matter how small the flight of stairs was, and 'feel' the pain of the fall very realistically. I have overcome that fear in the last year or so, thank goodness.

beach stairs
Photo is taken from a blog on interior decor relating to stairs.
This particular one is a scan, I believe, from the magazine, Vanity Fair.

Last night's dream was of concrete stairs leading to a beach. The stairs went down between houses, but were quite wide and sunny. I was with an older woman. I am not sure who she was anymore, but I know she was someone relatively close to me. She went on ahead as we went down. As we got closer to the sea, I saw that there were houses that were flooded out, looking much like the more recent flood scenes from São Paulo. I looked down at them and said, no, that I'd be going back up. I turned and went back up. The flight of stairs was long, but sunny and not tiring at all. I danced and skipped up the stairs. I felt light. The scenes around the stairs were greener... not all houses.

When I arrived at the top, under the shade of a tree, I found George Irvine, another 'ghost' from my past. Not a ghost really. He's alive and well, albeit pretty old now. Back when I was a child, my gran had me deeply involved in many church denominations. When my grandfather died, Rev. Irvine, our Methodist minister, sat on my gran's bed and comforted me. I had asked something about heaven and whether or not I'd go there. I was one very unhappy little girl, already pining for my grandfather. He responded in his delightful Irish brogue that of course I'd get into heaven. Sure and wouldn't St Peter welcome me? After all, I'd been baptised, christened, dedicated, and blessed in just about every denomination! If there is one person back home who knows my family story well, it is him. He saw us through many of life's dramas, including, much later, the funeral of my first child. I looked him up not too long ago when I was looking for my brother. I knew that if anyone could find him, George Irvine could, but I was afraid he wouldn't remember me or my family. He's become something of a religious 'great' in Port Elizabeth, my home town.

Back to the dream. I went up to him under the tree and asked if he could remember me. He looked a little blank, so I related the story of how he comforted me when Jim died... and how he was there again when Ceinwen died. I woke up then... still not knowing if he remembered me. In the waking world, I pretty much know he wouldn't remember me and it doesn't bother me at all, but somehow, it bothered me in my dream.

I'm noting this dream because I haven't been recalling my dreams lately, something which upset me, as I really like recalling them and sitting thinking them through. Besides, they're often more fun than the movies. I've always been a very vivid dreamer.... even when awake : )


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