I had a vivid dream this morning that’s sticking with me. I’d gone through some sort of extensive surgery and medical treatment and was just getting released from an almost empty, sunlight filled, gleaming white hospital. Something had gone very wrong and I’d used all my resources getting through: I was extremely thin, sort of grey, my hair was thin, and my muscles wasted.
Only, the dream was hopeful. Someone had brought me a new royal blue dress and bright turquoise tights, and I was dressing up in the hospital – often sitting down to regain my strength – and then, all dressed up, I got on a train to go out dancing.
The dream was about a new geography of self, careful hope, and focusing on the next step. It was about pulling out of a cocoon. These things I recognize, and much of it makes sense in context.
But the emotion, rather than the symbols, in the dream – well, the emotion is not as recognizable. Gentle, tottering, washed out hope; the feeling of weakness in a place with no expectation of strength. These are not feelings I’ve been experiencing.
This morning, however, those feelings sneak up on me.
Maybe it’s physical, in part. Friday, after Ripley came home from school, we went and got plants and did some gardening in the front flower beds. Getting ready to go inside for the evening, I knocked my head on the house while stowing things under the porch and gave myself a bit of a bleeding head wound and a mild concussion. The headache from that still lingers; I cricked my neck pretty hard, and I actually think that’s the culprit.
But that mild headache keeps joining with my surgery dream and making me feel like I am in slow recovery.
Now I just need a new party dress and a place to go dancing.