The dream itself was a nightmare. Terrifying! I was my blonde self, and the bathing suit I was wearing dated me at about 1975. Thirty-five years old and lugging box after box up a pair of time-worn wooden stairs to a second-story room with windows overlooking the inland waterway. Not walking the beach before the storm, as the picture indicates.
"It was a dark and stormy night," comes to mind. Wind, howling. Rain, blowing cold needles deep into the skin. The water running down my cheeks might have been tears instead of raindrops. The only light anywhere was the neon sign blinking on and off, sputtering in the storm, of the storefront below me.
I was scared and I was exhausted. There was a bed and a chair on which I dropped the boxes. Mostly books. (Hundreds left behind.) Some clothes. A dry pair of shoes.
There was a telephone on the wall and I picked up the receiver, dialed a number, and waited. Someone must have answered it because I screamed into the mouthpiece. It was the only spoken line in the whole dream. A question. As loud as I could ask it. Frantic!
And then I woke.
My grey-haired self sat up in bed. The sleep outfit I was wearing dated me at 2017, seventy-six years old with the brain, the heart, and the spirit of that blonde girl of so many years ago. It was 3:30 in the morning. Soft rain on the windows. Two cats at my feet. (Where are the others?)
I sat up and remembered the dream. Thought about it. Dissected it. Turned the question over and over in my mind, wondered who I had been calling and why. Fretted a little at my unconscious mind's intention.
Suddenly I realized that the dream had unexpectedly validated my whole life from beginning to end according to the answer (knowing from experience who would answer and in what way) of whichever person I was asking. My lifelong relationships with people, with my work, with myself, and with spiritual reality would be made clear according to the replies.
My reasoning, throughout the decades? Explained. My decisions? Okayed. Understood. My professional accomplishments? Good job! My complex though steadfast spiritual life? Inspired and guided by One greater than myself, my Shepherd.
My future? Carry on with my personal mission, continue to keep my promises (and stick to my decisions) from long ago, face any naysayers (about anything at all) with a sly smile.
What was the question? Does it matter whether or not I tell you? I myself will never forget it.
The gist of the dreaming was in the answers that I only "heard" after I awoke – coming at me like bullets from every direction – giving me a clear understanding of the past, hinting at an amazing future for the final quarter, calling me to carry on with it.
It was the answers that gave, and continue to give, my whole life validation, including and in spite of the mistakes, those consequential blunders, and my own propensity for never explaining myself or my actions to others. You thought I explained? The joke is on you, then, for INFJ tells you only as much as she believes you need or unconsciously want to know.
I almost never dream or, if I do, I almost never remember my dreams. Then, there are the other ones.
This, which seemed to be one of those, I won't forget. Thanks be to God.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His Name's sake. My cup runneth over on the beautiful June morning.
