As our day porter swings about his squeeky floor duster throughout the lobby, we greet each other and go about our business. He is "bien, bien, trabajando nomas" ("Good, good, just working) and so am I (and yes, I recognize that our work is totally different, but we are both getting paid to do what we do and in that, we are alike). I just got my paperwork for our Toastmasters group so I am looking forward to reading all of that and diving into this new adventure at work. I hope to be of service and also learn something new about all the folks that have joined along with me.
Last night's dreams were kind of upsetting. The part that was the most clear to me was a shopping trip with my Mom, I could not see her, but could hear her just behind me. She was encouraging me to buy stuff I didn't need or that didn't fit and I don't know why, that was not her style. She usually encouraged me to try on things that she knew were a good deal and would look good on me (yes, my very own personal shopper :) but the disagreement and the emotions that came up were uneasy and I definitely sounded annoyed. That's the thing about these lucid dreams, they are so very very real, it's kind of like waking up in a different time and place. When I finally looked up from tying my shoe (and I can't remember the last time I wore a pair of shoes that I had to tie, People) I saw a woman who I thought was my Mom. She looked terrible. Gaunt, eyes sunken in, thin, dark, scary - it really wasn't my Mom, not like I remember her at all, not like she has ever looked, even when she passed away she looked plump and peaceful. I think I had a nightmare. I remember the last thing I said to her was "You came all this way and we are going to argue about clothes? I can't believe this is the discussion we are having, please don't go like this, Mom....Mom? By that time the image had faded and the voice had already been quiet. I went to her pictures in the hallway to remind me of how she really looked, there is a comfort in looking at her sweet little wedding picture. She's 21, she looks gorgeous, so happy standing next to my Dad. They are at the beginning of their lives together - radiating hope.
Some tears come as I'm writing this. Two co-workers enter the lobby directly in front of me, they continue their conversation, don't even look over at me as I turn my chair to face the outside, wipe my tears and blow my nose. No one faces everyone at their desks except me.
Funny how when we are little, nightmares consist of bigger things and more magical animals coming after us, or being in a show, not having a costume and forgetting my lines, sometimes I've even had the walking in public with no clothes on thing. Now that I am older, my mind has very different ways of manifesting the emotions that are going on. I know that dreams are the brain's way of using images and ideas we have throughout our days, months and years to dust the floor of our subconscious, wipe clean the windows of our ego, and restock our imagination. All this work requires a manager and to become a better manager, I decided to go to therapy. My therapist studied Jung and we have used dreams as a key to get to those rooms in my psyche that are not always 'open to the public' including me, sometimes. So the dream journal is utilized to take a second look at what is going on during those wee hours of the night, when REM has set in (the eye movement, not the band, I would love that) and the night porter takes over in my head. If I write down the dreams, I can always come back and talk about how they were resolved or even if they mean anything. For a while there, I was getting so good at writing down my dreams and interpreting them that they became guides for me and helped me to see things that were coming into my world before they happened. Some stuff I could avoid, some stuff, not so much, but at least I had a way of seeing maybe how I could make a better choice in my daily life if I listened to that voice that comes in the still, quiet times of the night.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
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