I woke myself up crying last night.
I had an interesting dream. In the first portion of the dream, I was being pursued by a man with a large blade who was trying to kill me. Somehow, my mother was there, but she was powerless to do anything against this man. I was unarmed, and I offered no resistance. He first cut my leg just above my knee - a cut that was very deep and painful, but with surprisingly little blood. Then he cut my wrist - just above the back of my hand. Again, surprisingly little blood. Then he pushed me to the ground and pushed the blade into my neck. Slowly, tortuously. It was awful. While I couldn't feel pain any more, I could feel it slicing into my sinews and severing the very life from me.
My mother was distraught, but again, could do nothing. I didn't blame her. I felt no regret at all, except for the soul of the man who would kill an unarmed person who offered no resistance.
The man who was killing me was also unwittingly killing himself, too. Because weirdly, and in the way of dreams, my life was tied to his.
And then, I died.
I was walking along a mountain path, beautiful, bright, green, and forested. The pathway was bright, wending its way through the deep, dark forest on either side.
I had always heard that when you get to the other side there are your family members waiting for you to welcome you to your eternal rest. Or eternal work. Or whatever (harp playing? cloud sitting?)...
But, in my dream last night, I was met not by family members. Instead, I was greeted by every mentally or physically disabled person I had shown kindness to. The kids I had helped as a volunteer for the Special Olympics. The kids my own age that I befriended when I was in school. The people I'd helped as an adult - sometimes even with just a kind word. The children in Korea whom I had helped shower - maybe the only cleaning they got all week. They were all there, and they grasped me by the hand and pulled me, jostling around me with such unmitigated joy and love and peace... I have never felt so much love...
It was interesting - on one hand, my life was ebbing away, while on the other hand, my friends were surrounding me and welcoming me home. Home... Home....
And that's when I woke myself up, sobbing. Not weeping for my pain or for my lost life, but for the joy and love I felt from those who were my friends.
I lay there in the dark for a long while, wiping the occasional tear from my eye, and contemplating the goodness and love that truly does exist in the world. I was grateful to have had the chance to love and to feel that kind of love. Those sweet faces, looking at me with such love and joy....
I had an interesting dream. In the first portion of the dream, I was being pursued by a man with a large blade who was trying to kill me. Somehow, my mother was there, but she was powerless to do anything against this man. I was unarmed, and I offered no resistance. He first cut my leg just above my knee - a cut that was very deep and painful, but with surprisingly little blood. Then he cut my wrist - just above the back of my hand. Again, surprisingly little blood. Then he pushed me to the ground and pushed the blade into my neck. Slowly, tortuously. It was awful. While I couldn't feel pain any more, I could feel it slicing into my sinews and severing the very life from me.
My mother was distraught, but again, could do nothing. I didn't blame her. I felt no regret at all, except for the soul of the man who would kill an unarmed person who offered no resistance.
The man who was killing me was also unwittingly killing himself, too. Because weirdly, and in the way of dreams, my life was tied to his.
And then, I died.
I was walking along a mountain path, beautiful, bright, green, and forested. The pathway was bright, wending its way through the deep, dark forest on either side.
I had always heard that when you get to the other side there are your family members waiting for you to welcome you to your eternal rest. Or eternal work. Or whatever (harp playing? cloud sitting?)...
But, in my dream last night, I was met not by family members. Instead, I was greeted by every mentally or physically disabled person I had shown kindness to. The kids I had helped as a volunteer for the Special Olympics. The kids my own age that I befriended when I was in school. The people I'd helped as an adult - sometimes even with just a kind word. The children in Korea whom I had helped shower - maybe the only cleaning they got all week. They were all there, and they grasped me by the hand and pulled me, jostling around me with such unmitigated joy and love and peace... I have never felt so much love...
It was interesting - on one hand, my life was ebbing away, while on the other hand, my friends were surrounding me and welcoming me home. Home... Home....
And that's when I woke myself up, sobbing. Not weeping for my pain or for my lost life, but for the joy and love I felt from those who were my friends.
I lay there in the dark for a long while, wiping the occasional tear from my eye, and contemplating the goodness and love that truly does exist in the world. I was grateful to have had the chance to love and to feel that kind of love. Those sweet faces, looking at me with such love and joy....
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