Nightmares

I've never been prone to nightmares. Bad dreams on occasion, yes, but not full-blown and horrific nightmares. Oh, there have been a few that have set my heart pounding on awakening, and a few that left me bawling or chilled to the bone. Even if I remember them, I can usually attribute them to spicy food or a bad movie.

Until the afternoon of my birthday.

 I had spent a short time at church that morning putting out prayer shawls with some other committee members--nothing stressful about that. I did a few errands, played a few computer games--and suddenly I found myself nodding off. I laid down and was asleep before the blanket was around my shoulders.

I awoke alone in the house, cold and clammy. I was afraid to get up and afraid to stay in bed. My heart was pounding. I wanted to cry out, but I didn't. Somehow I came to my rational, awake self. Shortly thereafter, I drifted off to dreamland once more--only to be rudely awakened again--by what, I still don't know.

This time, the dream was as vivid in remembrance as it had been in my unconsciousness.

I had dreamed of my death.

I haven't been scared of dying. I came close, really close, to doing just that. I had no fear of it, only a calmness and a need to move on (with or without my caffeine jag). Death  ordinarily isn't terrifying to me, although the preamble of dying frightens me a bit. Suddenly, in my dream, I had to confront it.

I was in a casket of white marble, unable to move, conscious of all around me. There were spirits and the living. Some were laughing, some crying. I kept trying to tell them that I could hear them, but no sound left me. I could smell the yellow and red roses and the spicy carnations of every hue. I felt the gentleness of the living as they touched me and the warmth of the spirits as they tugged at me, expecting me to follow.

Abruptly the dream changed, or maybe it was a new one--I'm not really sure.  There were mirrors everywhere, and on then was written "5 more" in big red letters. I was being taken, presumably into the service, army, I think. And then it was Hubby, telling me not to worry, and then he was taken away in a different direction. There were more mirrors, each with those big red letters. I was sure they were meant for me, but I don't know why. I think one of them said "5 months", but I couldn't read the writing on the rest.

Even going to the club that night didn't erase the dream.  Even a few gins and juices didn't help. I've been trying to remember my dreams, and I've been working on deciphering them. This one is one I'd rather forget.

There are things I want from life, simple things for the most part. I want to be liked and I want to be loved. I want health and a modicum of wealth and notoriety.  I want to feel peace.  My faith lets me view death as new life everlasting, and I am prepared for it. But this dream felt, well, ominous and discomforting.

I'll continue to try to remember my dreams, to write them down, to try to understand them, but some are best left alone.