What? 7:50? How can that be? I set my alarm for 7am! Why didn’t it go off?
Oh. Right. I put it for 7PM not am.
I scurry out of bed, throw on some clothes, take Beaumont for a quick walk (productive but, for him, not very satisfying), load him into the back of my SUV and drive to the Vets.
He leaps out of the vehicle. Prances into the Vets offices, greets the cat sitting on a chair by the door with a big tail wag and an attempt to lick which was not well received.
He, wisely, backs away.
Ten minutes later he is weighed in and I hand the leash over to the vet assistant.
Beaumont the Sheepadoodle is having surgery today to remove a lump on his backside. We believe it is just a fatty deposit but it’s been getting bigger and to be on the safe side, we’re having it removed. Two years ago he had a pre-cancerous one taken out and, while this lump is radically different, we’d rather not risk ‘the unknown’.
Life is filled with unknowns. One of the biggest being what Buddha called ‘the small death’ which we encounter every night when we go to sleep. We close our eyes with the assumption we will open them in the morning. Our faith usually pays off.
Greek philosopher, Heraclitus, wrote, “
Those who are awake have a single and common world, but in sleep each person turns away from this and enters their own world. ”
There are nights when my sleep feels filled with dreams and messages. Some I remember. Some I don’t. And then there are those that linger, that repeat themselves in nights far apart, as if in their repetitive appearance, they are coaxing me to wake up and unravel some great secret about my life.
I am under the thrall of just such a dream. I remember its first appearance many years ago. At the time, I woke up from its occurrence and thought ‘what an interesting (aka disturbing) dream’.
It let it go, tucked it away in a secret compartment of my mind, and went back to sleep. It never really left me even though I thought placing it out of the light of day would save me from having to delve into its mystery.
Over the years it has revisited and each time I have tucked it away.
It has returned. Still as interesting (disturbing) and beguiling. Still as provocative.
This time, I am open to its entreaties and mysteries. This time, I’m allowing that dream to awaken the writer within as I delve into what my psyche is telling me the dream is revealing to me about my voice, women’s voices, the feminine journey and the reclaiming of our identities.
This time, I am not falling back to sleep.