In my dream, I was back home, in my childhood home where everything went wrong so horribly, where I lost everything I thought I had. The world cracked apart into infinite pieces, back then. It did so again, today.
Once, In another dream, I sat on the porch of that old farmhouse and looked out at the field to see all those pieces that had shattered infinitely apart, forever lost. I said, as I reached out to them, knowing they could not be gathered again and remade, “A thousand, silvery, shattered pieces…gone.”
For decades, the house in dreams was gutted: holes in the floors, cobwebs, dirt, degradation. More recently, the house was rebuilt, made shinier, updated, and livable. Now, in the dreamscape, the house is even better than it was when I was a child. It is easy to see the metaphor and the subconscious symbolism: I really have rebuilt from a shattered psyche of my childhood and returned to a state beyond what I had, originally.
In the dream today, the house still flourished, but this time I realized my best friend tree was right outside. I ran out and first saw the Fall leaves everywhere in the yard, like they used to be. I jumped and landed in a huge pile of red fire, yellow sun, and brown earth, crinkling in Autumn coolness. I just laid there, for one still moment, absorbing the goodness and ease.
When I stood up, fully intending to go climb that old, ancient friend, the Oak that held me all throughout childhood, I stopped dead. The tree was not there. Instead, it was cut clean as a stump.
I felt hollowed inside. I instantly screamed and cried, begging to know, “How could you do this? Why did you do this?”
Someone, just a dream person of empty personality, told me, “It’s ok, look. We made a sitting area around its stump, we honored it.”
“No,” was all I could say, as the horror set in. It wasn’t good enough.
You can honor all you want, but the thing itself WAS THE HONOR. And you took it away. And it cannot be remade.
I saw its babies in the background, sprouts of young Oak tree. It didn’t matter. The place, the being, the pathway to another world, it had been murdered and removed, irrevocably.
I woke up and have been crying since. I know how crazy it is, to most, to cry for a dream tree cut down. And I know that, for those who know their Soul, it is a loss beyond a dream, beyond a symbol.
I asked the Oak Tree to come to me and give me a message, here is what he said.
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