Initially, it looked like it was going to be the worst nightmare I ever had, but it wasn’t. I woke up thinking, “Man that was one crazy awesome dream!” and it took a minute to realize what my subconscious (the Universe?) was trying to convey.
In the dream, I was laying in a hospital bed in severe pain and immobile. It was terrifying, and I knew that something terrible had happened. I was in so much pain I couldn’t open my eyes or move. That said, I could hear everything the doctor and nurses said. The doctor in an authoritarian voice was giving rapid orders. I could feel pressure on and in my body where they were doing work. All of it was around my heart and where the aorta comes up through the torso.
The weird part was, even though it was all very alarming and strange to “feel” that work being done in my body at such sensitive points, I actually started being at peace with the whole experience.
Then I heard the doctor say, “I HAVE to go in now… hang on Randy, you are a fighter!” I felt the scalpel go in, there was incredible pressure, and everything in my mind’s eye went to black… …
But I was still in the dream.
I thought, “Is this it? Am I dead?” Then, my eyes opened to find I was in my childhood room in our old two-story townhome. It was very dilapidated and dark. No one had lived there for years. Startled, I slid off the dirty/grimy bed but caught myself before hitting the floor. I stood up, and a childlike spirit turned off the overhead light in the hallway over the staircase going down. That spooked me a little, but I was like…oh no… this is not how this ends.
I want to See.
I went and turned the light back on, even though I hate overhead lights, and walked around my first real childhood home. Looking around at the deplorable condition of my old room stirred a little bit of grief, but it was shortlived. This is the room I cried in almost every single day. Where I took refuge from abuse when I could, and suffered abuse when it followed me in there. The room where I realized I was gay and the place I read my children’s version of the Bible (with drawings in it and everything). It was in that room where a 40+ year identity and spiritual confusion began.
There wasn’t any life left in that room. I walked out of it and around my parent’s and brother’s old rooms. The velvety feeling wallpaper that was so cool as a kid was gone or peeling off. There were only random sticks of broken furniture left. All the carpet had been pulled up. Mold, stains, broken mirrors/windows… the place was haunted by memories, but nothing else.
Come to think of it, I didn’t even see myself reflected back in the mirrors.
I walked down the creaking stairs to the living room, dining area, kitchen; same old forgotten thing, different scene. I said in that weird dream way you talk to yourself, “There is nothing left here. The Good has been reclaimed, the bad has been forgiven and released. It’s time to let this place die.”
The childlike spirit reappeared as I moved to the front of the townhouse into the old living room. He was me as a tween. He hugged me tight with his face buried in my torso and then, also at peace, evaporated. The pressure left my body for the first time since the dream started.
I turned around, walked through the front (where the door used to be) and into the sunlight…smiling. Alive, free from constraints, free from abuse and confusion, free from the shackles of bitterness/unforgiveness/revenge, and free from fear. Stepping into the SunLight, I walked toward my Dan and our home; smiling at our forming family, friends … happy.
Being free is good,
P.S. This townhome has been a recurring nightmare over the course of my entire life. This is the first time I ever felt peace in a dream involving it and then walking away from it.