I've been debating about sharing this dream I had in mid-January. It's a bit long, and I don't want to "hijack" this thread, but it kind of fits in a tendrilled way.

In the dream, I’m trying to "move on", not sure where, just to move out of my overwhelming heaviness of heart, an ever-deepening sense of lostness and futility in ever being able to feel okay again. A little girl, about five years old, is standing right in the middle of my chest, red-faced angry, with arms crossed, stamping her foot, refusing to move. I'm impatient to get going, so at first I want to grab her by the wrist and just drag her with me, thinking this is just a childish temper tantrum. But she's adament about not moving, and then I remember that often when children react like that, it’s because they’re not finished doing what they were doing.

So I ask her if that is the case, is she in the middle of doing something that she really needs to finish. She nods, takes my hand and leads me in through my rib cage, around my heart, to a secret door hidden just behind my heart. We go down the narrow staircase. It’s dark, but not frightening. I can feel my heart beating against my shoulder as it brushes against the wall of the staircase.

We finally emerge into a small, breathtakingly beautiful room. Covering one entire wall is the most beautiful stained-glass window I’ve ever seen…brilliant reds, blues, purples, golds…with the light shining through it, the room is bathed in a warm and gorgeous glow. The floor is warm underneath my feet, covered in a thick, rich red carpet. Facing the window is the only other thing in the room, a kneeler. The kneeler is made out of warm oak, with thick red velvet covering the kneeling pad and top of the kneeler. I look at the little girl for an explanation, but I already know the answer. This is my soul.

I realize that the stained glass window is a tapestry of my life thus far. It, and my soul, are infinitely more beautiful than I could ever have imagined, especially with my current sadness distorting any positive sense of self.

Then she moves over to the other side of the room, where I see a very sickly thin old man leaning weakly against the wall. The child bends down to speak with him, and beckons me over to help him to sit up. He’s very weak, frail, and bedraggled. As I pick him up, I realize who he is…he’s my spirit. It frightens me to see my spirit so weak and sickly. I look at the little girl for an explanation. She looks up at me with eyes filled with sorrow.

“You’ve got it all wrong,” she said. “Our spirit is willing, but our flesh is weak.” I’m confused for a moment, having always associated that particular phrase with sin, but somehow knowing that’s not what she means. She shook her head, reading my confusion. “No, that’s not it either.” And then I know what she’s trying to tell me. My spirit nods his head and says, “You mustn’t think that I don’t want to carry on or that you’re doing anything wrong. You’re doing everything right. I am willing, but the flesh is too weak right now. We have to heal. We must be still and just know.”

I woke up exhilarated by this dream. It was telling me what deep down I already knew. That I had to stop beating myself up for my lack of physical capability and emotional strength right now and just "be". And that's really where I began to turn away from that "acting enthusiastic" when I could barely drum up the energy to breathe much less act.

I began to truly embrace and enjoy the chance to just "be", to be okay with not being able to do anything more right now. To just breathe in that depth of His healing love and "know" that it was okay to be here for as long as it takes my body and mind to heal. I am right where I'm supposed to be, quietly "being".

Somehow, even in my "being", I'm still a vital part of the "ebb and flow" of life...we flow however and wherever we are able to, and we ebb when the body forces us to pull back and heal.

[ July 13, 2005, 09:06 PM: Message edited by: Eagle Heart ]