recurrence

When I was a teen, I had recurring dreams... recurrently... if that's a word. So much, in fact, that I can still remember the dream I had whenever I faced large projects I wasn't sure I'd properly prepared for. And if you don't realize this, a control freak is never convinced that they've properly prepared for anything.
Why did they stop in adulthood? I guess you'd have to consult my subconscious. Maybe I felt like I had everything under control, so there was no need for a dream to work out the puzzles created during wakefulness. Maybe I had gotten into such a rut that I HAD no puzzles.
A few nights ago, I dreamt that I walked into my backyard. The raised bed containers were intact, but my garden was gone. All the plants had been plucked out by the roots and discarded who knows where. As I surveyed the rest of the yard, which seemed fine, I could see just beyond the fenceline where my neighbor's property began. My neighbor's backyard looked like he'd won a contest to have it landscaped. All grass was gone. All structures were gone. Red clay remained. I stepped inside the neighbor's house, which in my dream had become white and mult-storied. There were stairwells everywhere, and young kids of all ages hanging from walls, lounging against doorjams and essentially making racket. Think Never Never Land. They all seemed to know me. They felt familiar, but I couldn't identify specific kids.
I woke up around that point and realized something. I'd had this dream before. Small details had changed. The last time I had the dream, the landscaping destruction had left my home intact, but had taken over the whole neighborhood, like a backwards development project where the workers built the homes before grading the lots or paving the road. And when I'd gone in the house last time, all the stairs were the same, but the children ran from me, hiding in an odd tree growing at the center of the home. I spent the rest of the dream searching for them.
What conclusion would I draw from this? That the uprooting of my life is approaching, and it's getting closer? None of the destruction happened in my yard, but it was more focused this time, and just one house away. Change approaches.
Last time, I never really saw the children. This time, they were all within reach. This time, they were larger. Are the children the symbol of potential? New challenges and dreams? Dreams develop.
I suppose some who have powerful associations with home, those who'd be devastated by the loss of place and things would find this dream troubling. All the destruction. Surely it's the sign that your subconscious is upset. Maybe you should reconsider.
Thing is, I remember no anxiety in my dream. Just lots of steps. Lots of bare land, waiting to be filled with plants and trees. Possibility. That is what my mind is acknowledging. I am clearing the landscape for possibility.
To celebrate reaching my savings goal, I made the first purely luxury purchase I've made in a long time. I got a 16GB Zune HD. Yes, I was taunted by my geek friends. Anyway, I wore it this morning as I walked Mollie. I listened to NPR as they interviewed astronauts at the sunset of the 30-year space shuttle program. While reporter Scott Simon thrilled during a trip on the astronaut's simulator, he asked Cmdr. Mark Kelly if he was going to miss the program and the Endeavor. His answer was so... so right:
It will be sad to "full stop" on the runway for the last time and watch the Endeavor get carted off to a museum. But it's important to do that, so we can move on and do other things. And we can't do both.
You can't hold onto a house and move forward. You can't make a fresh start with a sack full of belongings. Moving on to Better doesn't always mean letting go of the Bad. Sometimes, it includes letting go of Okay and Good and Doing Fine as well. What does your heart ask for? If you tell it to hush when it asks for Better, perhaps you should stop. It will find ways to keep asking until you listen. Maybe through recurring dreams. Just keep in mind that things and houses and jobs will disappear and transform. What remains are human connections and the love you feel for people who had an impact on your life. When you locate those people, you should never let them go. The rest is just matter and particles. It can be reconstructed.

--Laura