I’ve been writing my dreams down in a journal for quite a while now. I know that dreams are often times the way our mind unravels the issues of our days; the things that we are concerned about become fantastic stories in the night. When I write them down it’s easier to find answers and directions within the metaphors and symbolism that only I can understand. I’ve learned to honor the dark wisdom that illuminates my life.
I have learned to give myself time to listen to myself, something that should come naturally that has been trained out of me culturally.
There are dreams from different times in my life that are just as real as any memory I have of waking hours, so I now count my dreams as a part of me, part of my unique story.
This last week there was a photography exhibit that I wanted to take my grandsons to. I had a dream that I was riding a bike through an outdoor Piazza. I rode haphazardly struggling for control through a huge group of photographers. I wanted so badly, to meet each one and ask them about their art. But my bike would not stop. I didn’t feel afraid trusting the journey, evdn if it was a little out of control. It was a silly dream, and it seemed rather simple to understand. I was hoping to go to the exhibit, yet insure if I would spend some quality time with the photography. I really do enjoy meeting and getting to know artists, it helps me better understand and connect to their work.
Just before I woke I saw a white stone with veins running through it in the shape of a slightly lumpy ball of dough. It was sitting atop a wooden surface that I assumed was a table. I knew I was dreaming and beginning to wake up and so I strained and tried to remember the image. When I did wake, I kept my eyes closed and tried to remember the stories of the night in order to write them down. I thought the last image of white stone on a wooden surface was rather strange and insignificant.
A couple days later I was able to pick up my grandsons and take them to the photography exhibit. They asked me questions as I drove and I told them stories and I felt like me.
The venue coincidentally carries my husband's name. A voting system was set up for anyone who attended which kept the kids engaged as they looked at each piece of art so that they could choose their favorite.
After the exhibit we decided to walk around the little town. The boys wanted to go inside of the local museum. We walked and talked about items in the glass cases and I let them lead the way. We walked to the back room and found ourselves standing in front of a creative display-a wine barrel, a wooden wine barrel with several rocks sitting on top of it- and there was the white rock.
I told my grandsons about the dream, I think Nonno is here with us and he is happy that we’re together.
We looked around some more and I noticed several wine barrels displaying rocks which I had overlooked. It made me think about how we often miss things that are right in front of us. Another beautiful white rock with veins of gold was displayed in a glass cabinet. A flash, a memory of children’s hands, holding white sparkly rocks . Priceless treasures that connect anyone who has ever held such a rock to pure joy.
I felt him with me, I felt the mystery of continuing to be connected to him. And I felt light and grateful to be together with our grandsons.
After eating, we made our way to the library. I was looking for some specific books in order to learn about Reiki. My grandson wanted to find Scott O’Dell’s Island of the Blue Dolphin. He’s already read it, but that’s the book he wanted to locate.
Do you know that feeling of wanting to find your favorite book on the library shelf? I remember reading that book when I was his age and wanting to live on an island and wear skirts made of feathers and build a house of whalebone and bead sea shells to wear around my neck and ankles. So, of course, we looked for that book.
Evening was approaching, I sat down a little weary as he searched. I watched as he got closer, my eyes wandered just to the left of where he was about to find his treasure. There was a book titled The Neptune Fountain. Seeming a little lost and a out of place, a lanky picture book in the midst of thick healthy readers, I curiously rescued it from the shelf.
It was a lovely story of an apprentice who worked on the Neptune fountain in Rome. I told the boys I wanted to read this story to them, a story about a fountain built hundreds of years ago in a place near where Nonno is from. It feels like he’d like us to read this. It feels like he’s happy we’re here.
As the story unfolded we soon found our apprentice in a quarry accomplishing the important job of choosing a white rock out of which to carve a beautiful statue. Cararra Bianca. White Marble.
My grandson said out of all the hundreds and hundreds of books that are here on the shelves and you saw that one and picked it out. We all smiled and decided to bring the book home.
The next day I looked to find the pictures of the day that we visited that fountain. It was after an early morning train ride into Rome. Hardly anyone was on the streets as we had arrived so early. After having a private tour of the presidential palace we walked around Rome finding various highlights. By the time we had arrived at the piazza where the Neptune fountain flows we were all hungry. So the only pictures I took are of an exquisite dragon lamp, a magical rainbow in the sky, and the backside of Neptune to send to our grandson‘s father ( our son) because I knew he would find it quite hilarious. Such a funny set of pictures for this iconic fountain. I have hundreds of pictures of this trip to Italy, but this particular location I seemed to have failed.
No. No you didn’t fail.
I want you to laugh. I want you to share funny things with our kids. I want you to see the rainbows, and capture them. But I want you to have grace for yourself when you don’t capture every moment. That would be impossible. I want you to know it’s OK to be tired, and it’s OK to rest, and it’s OK, it’s OK, everything is going to be OK. I want you to remember childhood treasures and share them with our grandkids. I want you to know I am near.
I want you to know that Dear.