Sunday, September 18, 2016


Last night I dreamed of the past, memories making one last appearance, it seemed, to bid me farewell. At least that's how it felt upon waking. A box taped shut, the keys for a defunct car cast off into the bushes, a friend who turned out to be untrustworthy, a suitcase packed and sitting near the door, a man I thought I could love. Doors closing and windows opening, literal as well as figurative. Sweeping the floor in the house where I lived for thirty years and seeing a glint in the detritus in the pan, only to ignore it and toss it away, thinking I'd been distracted by that bit of sparkle before and wound up disappointed. The pragmatist in me knows that dreams are the stuff of nocturnal neural housekeeping. But my spirit side insists on finding some meaning in the cleaning. Lessons learned. Letting sleeping dogs lie. Making peace with what cannot be changed. Forgiveness and gratitude.

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