I had a dream about someone I don’t know.

This is as random as it gets, I suppose.  But I’m not one to ignore my Muse or my Divinity and both seemed pretty adamant about this, so I’m posting.

This person is a fellow blogger, a soul-full writer who seems to have a lot of pain from which he draws his work.  I can relate.  He’s taken a hiatus from his blog though, saying that he needed some time to get “it” together.  I can relate.  Then, there was a brief post regarding night terrors.  I can SO relate.  And then, he was gone.  I hadn’t thought any more about him until this morning when I had the dream and woke with watery eyes and what feels like love.

The dream:

You wake in a dark room, the bed covers twisted and askew, showing how you fought to wake yourself from the horror.  Your eyes are barely open as you dial my number into your phone and press ‘call’.  I answer as if I had been awake, waiting for you.  You don’t say anything but I know it’s you and I know you’re scared.  I know what it took to make the call as you didn’t want to burden anyone.  And so I begin to talk.  I tell you how feelings  no matter how all-consuming or ravenous they may be, they are transitory beasts and will eventually lumber on.  Their gnawing on your psyche may leave wounds, but those wounds heal and the scar tissue left behind works to insulate you from the next round.  Scars are a sign of survival, not weakness and you should treat them with respect and some sense of reverence because each time you turn your head to the sun, having survived another night, you grow in strength.  Your words are your gift.  Use them as light for others who are in the dark and feeling as if they’re the only ones.  You don’t know who you’ll help to heal.

I say other things; things that let you know even though we don’t know each other, someone else saw your light.  You matter to someone.  Right before dawn throws out its first glowing ember, you finally speak. You ask to meet me. We make plans, much to your surprise.  I meet you at the airport with balloons and a brightly painted sign with your name on it. We embrace like kindred souls.  

That night, in a darkened room, the bed covers neat and warm around you, I hold you while you cry.  You’re safe.

I hope whatever he is going through, he is indeed GOING through it and comes back to me.  To us, his readers.  Is that selfish of me?  Or just plain weird?  (sigh)  This creative soul leads me to some interesting places, that’s for sure.  But at least I got the words out and maybe, he’ll read them.  Or maybe this was meant for someone else I don’t know.

 

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