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“When we humans learn how to analyse the messages of the nighttime, we open ourselves up to manifest our greatest selves” ~ Pamela Cummins
You ever wake up like you are still in your dream?
The sheer clarity of the people and the story, so vivid—almost real—that you can literally feel the emotions of the moment.
You lie there remembering all the pieces and you wonder why this dream was so clear. Why has it left you with this feeling in the pit of your stomach? Why it seemed to make no sense, but you can so clearly recall these odd remnants like they are important.
My belief is our subconscious is sending us a message. A reminder or a sign that we should heed. A glimpse into our intuition. Something we need to pay attention to.
Last night, I had one such dream. Upon waking, it seemed odd, even bizarre in parts. A mishmash of events. But it was so damn clear. The people, the place, and the items that were showing up. I lay there mulling it over for a bit. I then proceeded to get up and make my tea so I could return to the comfort of my bed and catch up on some reading. But as much as I tried, I could not move past this bloody dream. Everything ruminating in my head, like I was supposed to do something with it. Learn something. Understand what it meant.
He was in it. Early on after our breakup this was a regular occurrence; however, these days, it’s quite rare.
Recently, he started reaching out more—just general chitchat, but given where we each are in our lives, it’s a little unhealthy. His messages seem to always dance around what it is he truly wants to say, and I know he knows more than he lets on. I also know he is “fishing” for information of my life, for what reasons I am uncertain.
But the one thing I am certain of, when he does this, something happens with our energy.
Back to the dream. He was there talking to me, and he was holding a mobile phone, which was made of wood. Of course this is weird, and as far as I know, there’s no such thing as a wooden mobile phone, but this part of the dream was so vivid. We all know a phone is a sign of communication, but what I learnt this morning is wooden items in our dreams are a representation of lies and hypocrisy.
Lies and hypocrisy in his communication with me. Words that seem to have no meaning at all, but if you listen closely enough there is meaning. Deliberate? Perhaps. Confused? Maybe. Authentic? No. How can you be authentic when you spend your life wearing a mask and lying to yourself?
Now some may not believe in our dreams being messengers, and that’s perfectly fine, each to their own. But what if tuning in and listening to our intuition, and the messages received, allows us to choose a different path? Allows us to be more careful in certain interactions? Allows us to understand more about situations, people, and ourselves? The more in tune I become with myself, the more I learn and grow. The more I protect my energy and the more aligned I become. So I listen—you can bet your ass that I listen.
I still care for him. Truth be told, I’ve tucked a part of him away in my heart and soul. I don’t think he’s a bad person; I think he’s wounded in ways he doesn’t understand, and this has created a set of behaviours and beliefs. When he needs to feel a certain way, he looks to others, and sometimes he uses manipulative behaviours to achieve what he needs and wants. Sometimes he projects. Sometimes he’s a hypocrite, and sadly, this is underpinned by deceit at his worst and inauthenticity at the very least.
What I do understand is, these behaviours used to work on me. I saw them at face value and never understood that there may be things hidden behind them. They are more obvious to me now, but because I do care, I know I need to be careful. I need to keep my boundaries firmly in place.
My dream was a reminder—another bucket of cold water poured over me to wake me up and ensure I protect myself; that little voice was telling me that his communication with me may have ulterior motives. It was a stark reality check—a nudge to reflect upon his previous words and a prompt to tread carefully.
And I will listen to her—my dreams, my subconscious, my intuition—because those messages are a gift.
We can care and we can even love, but we can do so letting go and moving forward. We can listen to those messages and remember the pain, the grief, and the darkness we suffered, and we can pay close attention and use what we are shown as a caution. When something of such clarity speaks to us, we must choose wisely with what we hear.
It is said that a high proportion of our dreams may contain secret messages. They carry more weight than our conscious thoughts.
I’m listening, are you?
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