Where is that lovely place we go when we dream? I don’t know where it is or what I do, but I can walk, and it’s just lovely.
Not one night passes by that I don’t dream or have a recurring nightmare. I walk or dance in each one. Sometimes I wake up suddenly, believing that I really can walk, so I try to get out of bed. Initially, it always surprises me that my legs won’t move. For those brief moments, I forget that I’m paralyzed, until reality sets in again.
It’s surreal and always reminds of the things I miss most like driving, dipping my foot into the ocean, slipping into a shoe, and, of course, dancing. Oft times I feel like a spectator of my life, floating above my body while watching the traumatized little girl within me longing to be freed.
It may sound odd, but it is that little girl who is writing my book. I’m at the end stages of a final rewrite with my editor – five long years of reading and rereading my life’s story. Each page I reread provokes a trigger. They unexpectedly pellet me, making it difficult to control them.
But, I’m learning. After a few therapy sessions, I began to understand the subtleness of triggers. Writing occupies most of my time and has become a healing balm for me. So, when I wake up from a dream or nightmare, I write it down and file it away in a lockbox.
Many times, I drift away into my imagination. Right now, I’m going to grab a picnic basket, brimming with bittersweet dark chocolate, creamy brie cheese, a bottle of a rich red Merlot, and a crunchy savory biscotti – settle on a cushy patch of soft grass, rest my back against that lovely verdant, shade tree, and drink in the stunning scenery surrounding me. Care to join me?
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