The Christmas Dream

Dream on April 23, 2009

First, there I was in that lovely, internal big house of the dream, where I lived with my husband and my daughter. I’d been out shopping and purchased a beautiful, off-white rug for the living room. I loved it! Just what the house needed. Could we afford it? No, but my design instincts bellowed – “Yes!” The house was perfected by it. So was I. It was the final touch to the house I’d longed for all my beleaguered life.

Then my husband came home. He was enraged by my actions. On my own, yet, without his approval, I’d done this. He steamed and stormed around. He wound up in the master bedroom, tearing off the sheets, dragging them into another room. He was leaving our bed. “Good-bye!” So there! But his actions agitated the environs. A small stream of steam shot through the air, which threatened to combust, but suddenly an explosion propelled both of us back to the bed.

It was about to erupt completely, ’til suddenly we heard my daughter come in the front door. She looked expectant. She asked if a relative had arrived. “Come and gone,” we said. Being a very perceptive and intuitive young woman, she queried me later. I tried to explain the marital problem. She listened quietly. Then she said, “Today is my 18th birthday.” I was devastated. How could I have forgotten such an important thing? The birthday of my beloved daughter! Her 18th. The beginning of her worldly outer life. The husband was also chagrined and promised to support and pay for her school trip to Malibu. All was in limbo.

In the next sequence, it was time to decorate for Christmas, and we were meanwhile ignoring the pending crisis in the marriage. We began the Christmas decorating. I wanted them both to see what I had accumulated over the years, how it all fit together. I had to validate my process. It became my inner work of art. Despite my more modern decorative preferences, I had somehow accumulated many styles of furnishings. We went into each room, and things moved together easily, without our physical help. If the gorgeous mahogany carved pieces of furniture there were needed for any purpose – Bleep! There it was. The need was fulfilled magically. Done.

Lovely, hand-made porcelain dolls of an earlier era, dressed in beautiful brocaded fabrics appeared. Step by step, working together – designs were executed, no questions asked. We envisioned them instinctively and, voila, they simply WERE. No explanations given. Just poof, and the need was fulfilled. The beauty that arose around us was overwhelming. The same was true of the music as we worked industriously. It accompanied us appropriately. Each room followed the previous, step by step. Needs of design, balance, highlights honored. Art in process. It was unbelievable, heady, and in each step it was apparent that all the material and objects needed simply were there. They had been accumulated over the years, wherever they surfaced, and set aside for future use. Valued and saved. I was proud. It wasn’t the need for money, internal design or style. Just an inner awareness.

In one room, a piece of Persian rug suitable for a Christmas dream scene fit exactly in the midst of an opening of another rug, appearing there in an instant. Shelves would appear where needed to display Christmas art objects. On and on it went.

Then my mother came from the netherlands of her life beyond. All was explained and shown to us and her. Even a little area for her to rest in was supplied. My father came next. He, also, requested a place to rest, and that was also provided. Then others arrived. Some I recalled or had known. Others not. Family members appeared. It was like some person or source had sent out invitations unknown to me. The living room was soon filled with people, sitting around enjoying the decorations, the festivities and beverages. Nor were they served by anyone. They were just there! Fulfilled.

In the next sequence, things subtly changed. There was a new activity developing. Many big brown shopping bags were stacked beside a nearby stairway. There was a Christmas exchange taking place. Guests were invited to donate any item they chose, and we encouraged them to take whatever they wanted or needed in return. They each got a bag. No holds barred. No money involved. It was simply an even exchange. I was the narrator and overseer. People would arrive, make their donation, go downstairs and discover their choice. All sorts of people were there, with more lining up. Short, fat, tall, thin, black, white, young, old, etc., and all in Christmas costumes. Whenever a need arose, I’d call out, “Would someone please help me?” and immediately, the help would arrive. Even young people participated on their own age levels. The beauty of it was intoxicating to one and all. And still more people arrived, and the process continued. Christmas was all around and kept moving, until I, at least, was exhausted. But very happy. Our designs and art work were accepted and appreciated. Finally things were shut down for the time. The next day, or later in the dream, I decided I should write this all down and save it somehow.

In the dream, I noticed an article in the Oregonian paper that had been written up by someone else and sent in. I was elated and went back to the Christmas scene. It had started up again, automatically. Not as many people came, but word was still out. The process was again in operation, but a smaller version. My uncombed hair was still messed up, spiked and shooting in every direction. It didn’t bother me. My vanity was anesthetized. I explained our process and the article in the newspaper that had appeared. My own exchanges were chosen. Some of the music was left behind for future use. Decorations could be stored, until the next Christmas holiday, be it Spring or Fall, Winter or Summer. The process would continue.

I awakened so delighted, healed, and inspired. I knew I must somehow preserve this dream and share it. So, here I am, consciously awake in the full light of this lovely spring day. Merry Christmas to all.

Will more chapters arrive in our mananas? We can dream they will. Christmas. New Year’s Day. The choice is ours and the inner moving life.

-Contributed by Jean Sightler

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