Last night I had a dream that enlivened me and gave me hope. I began my sleep routine by retreating to my imaginary house on the lake and asking all my divine guides to bless me there as I pottered around, and then ended my interlude by dozing off on a boat that posed as a cosy bed laden with down blankets and pillows; the bedboat floated peacefully on the lake as I gazed up at the northern lights, feeling at one with the universe.
It took me some months to create this haven that I can frequent before falling asleep. I had a delightful time designing my own house and garden in the perfect locale. It’s a wooden cabin sitting on the edge of a lake, surrounded by a myriad of trees. Except for a furry fat cat, there is nobody else here. It is for me only. I am completely self-sufficient, and have no technology and no visitors aside from my spiritual guides who usually hover on the periphery and provide divine energy, but do not stop by for chats unless I ask.
For about a year now, this has been an important part of my falling asleep ritual, but when Emily died, it went by the wayside. When I would try to call it back, I could only stay with it for seconds at a time before my mind would drift toward trauma or sadness or worry about the future.
Last night, I visited my cabin in all its glory. I stayed under my white duvet in the peaceful attic with the large window overlooking the lake and the mountains rising beyond it in misty swirls of changing morning light. I padded downstairs to my stone fireplace with an already-lit fire, a book perched on my voluminous, well-worn sofa, an afghan blanket waiting to hug me. The soft, woolen carpets embellished the well-worn wood floors as I ambled to the kitchen to percolate coffee, bake some bread that had been rising overnight, chop apples from my own trees for a pie, pick basil and tomatoes and cucumbers from my expansive garden to make a salad for later, and also laze on my front porch and feel the sun on my cheeks. All seasons and all energies were encompassed in a few moments of idyllic repose.
My vivid visualisation helped me to ease into dreams that were of a very positive nature, especially given my propsensity for nightmares. In the final dream of the night, I discovered I had set up an entire living studio in the hayloft of my childhood barn. It was expansive and decorated with stylish aplomb. I was hosting a significant-sized party and had invited everyone up to come and take whatever they wanted, including an extensive collection of clothing that I had accrued during my teenage thrift shopping years. I renewed a friendship from long ago, and discovered the two of us would be attending the same university, starting any day. One of my recurring nightmares is that I am set to head off to university and I find I have either forgotten to apply or I have no place to live. In this dream, I was packed up and ready to go. Everything was in place for my move to the next chapter. It was the resolution to my 40 years of not being able to quite make it to where I was trying to get to. It felt significant.
Yesterday, in real-life, we gave notice to our tenants and let them know that we would be moving into our house on Vancouver Island in two months. Last week, we came to a more-than-satisfactory agreement with our school that we would not be returning to Beijing to complete our teaching contracts. We found ourselves untethered. At first it felt like we were flying in the wind, perhaps to be blown away, but as each day passes and another future-forward decision is made, we are more surefooted and ready to do the next best thing.
We don’t clearly see the path ahead of us, just the next few steps, but we are taking them with greater ease and courage, quite certain we are heading in the right direction or at least certain that there is not a wrong way to go. Everything is so new. Living without Emily’s physical presence is, of course, the newest of all. It colours everything in this expansive forest we find ourselves in. Interestingly, this place that felt gloomy and terrifying a short time ago, now has some rays of sun tentatively fingering their way through the old growth trees. The greens are verdant and diverse: the ferns contrasting with the moss and with the tree needles. Who knew there were so many greens that muddle so exquisitely with the inky bruised sky and the damp, textured bark of century trees. The ground is soft beneath our feet and we are treading with more confidence on the spongy earth, not tripping over protruding roots nearly as often. I am warming up, getting stronger, appreciating the beauty and aromas of the air and redolence of nature. I am readying myself for this new life. I am already in it.