I’m sitting in a café, at a small square table for four, with my husband beside me. We’re considering what to order, involved in simple, pleasant conversation. I notice you taking a seat against the wall, at a rectangular table across from us, set for six, with a woman friend sitting beside you. You’ve turned in your seat, and now face me. We recognize each other, so I excuse myself to approach you, to say hello and we embrace each other. I feel a stiff brace on your back, under your clothes, and register concern as I know your health can be unsteady, that you can suffer greatly from a chronic condition. I introduce you to my husband, giving context that I attended one of your retreats. You say yes, three-four years ago, and I quietly correct, this past year, though silently realize, given I’d held intention to attend for several years, how easy to understand all is true. After a few more words, I wish you well and return to my table to dine with my husband.
I ponder this dream, register its mood and energy. I think about my time at that retreat, what I learned and brought home. I lightly hold in my palm like a prayer stone, considering me as each dream character, then each as who they are to me. These words come to mind, through my pen, onto the page of my morning journal.
A kind gesture.
A warm embrace.
An acknowledgement
of what and who, a teacher who guided, whose gifts served.
A simple hello. A simple goodbye.
Now to claim of one’s own gifts.
Now to stand in one’s own spiritual authority.
Feasting with my beloved at the table of our abundance.
Now to nourish the seeds of my own sacred marriage, my own inner teacher.
Now to let blossom my own inner wisdom.
This dream and its medicine revealed, the fruit.
I like the roll of this in my mouth, piqued by a bit of paradox. Like a lemon lime lollipop, sweet and tangy. Evoking, or perhaps subliminally inspired by, this recent Facebook “share.”
Katharine Weinmann, MSW 