Power lines

[When it feels like Atlas left you holding the world and hasn’t come back from his smoke break, when you realize that you got yourself into this mess and you are stuck beyond stuck, try backtracking through your journals, or exploring the “drafts” folder in your blog.  I found this tonight, a post that I’d started writing in July, when I was immersed in work, and getting the boys ready for departure for college. I’m amazed that I could have forgotten such a visionary dream, but maybe it reappeared just when I most needed it.]

From July 2015:

Sleep has been a precious commodity lately. Last night, I had a nightmare that ended with a burst of light. That’s a first for me. Just as the dream ended, a flash of yellowish-gold light appeared at the foot of my bed. It woke me up, and then just disappeared.

Okay, maybe I was still dreaming. Or, maybe I wasn’t.  I think maybe it’s a suggestion from my brain that should I remember and refer back to this dream. A cerebral bookmark.

The dream was one I’d had many times before. I was flying, not in a plane, just me, flying through a crowded sky, and heading towards a low bridge, and a mass of big metal towers strung with electric lines.

Flying into power lines is a recurring bad-dream scenario for me. I’m not a graceful flyer, but I do okay at first. Then, I see the power lines ahead. Lots of them. No matter how much I adjust my approach, I hit them. I feel the shock, the sudden thrum of the electricity on my back, like a fist to the spine. Some nights, the sensation of impact was strong enough to wake me, gasping.

This time though, as I approached the hazard, I began talking to myself.  The gentle voice in my head was my own, saying,  “It’s all right. Just keep it low and slow, low and slow.”  I made it through, untouched.

The quiet house looms just ahead. The empty nest, another “new normal,” nearly here.  I see it ahead. There’s no avoiding it, I am headed right towards … whatever is ahead.

I’ll bookmark this dream and keep it in my pocket, as a sign that I have been changed for good by the experiences of the past five years, that I am capable and strong, that I will take care of me, and keep flying.

Low, and slow.

reddy and me

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About Vicki Caroline Cheatwood

Writerly. Rebooting. Evolving. Searching for great chicken salad.
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