Enlightenment via a dream

I like to remember my dreams. I have heard from reliable sources, that everyone dreams. People who say they don’t dream, most likely simply do not remember their dreams, or do not try to remember, or just don’t want to. I enjoy my dreams, with the rare exception of a nightmare, and I almost always wake up with at least a partial memory of my dreams. Sometimes they are like action movies, sometimes they are funny, and sometimes they are just random vague images and emotions. Every once in a while, they provide insight into a current situation, but if the connection is not obvious, I don’t waste too much energy trying to make one.

I had a powerfully emotional dream last night, and I feel compelled to share it because of the incredible significance and relevance it has for me. I would almost go as far as to say it has created a turning point in my emotional growth, for the better.

In order for you to understand the significance of this dream, I must provide some background from my childhood.

I have no brothers or sisters. I never knew my biological father, and my mother married my stepfather when I was about 5 years old. I never called him “Dad”. He made no attempt to be a “Dad” to me.

The three of us moved from Ohio, where I had cousins and friends, to Wyoming, where none of us had any family, and furthermore we moved into a house in the middle of nowhere. No neighbors, no kids to play with, nowhere to go. It was, if memory serves me, 8 miles of dirt road to get to a paved 2 lane road, and then it was 10 or 15 more miles to the nearest city, Cheyenne. I remember going to the store with my mom, and mom flipping out because we were halfway home and she forgot to get milk, or some item at the store, and it was a huge deal because there was no turning around and going back. It was just too far. There was absolutely nothing between point A and point B, except a bar about halfway, and the school I attended until I went to Junior High school.

I was a lonely, sad, angry child. I did not make friends easily. When we moved to the city, I was 16 and out of control. I have to believe that there is a purpose for my life that had not been fulfilled yet, because I could have easily ended up dead or in jail the way I was going.
As an adult, I have experienced much more success, relatively speaking, than one would expect from a person with my background. I have a degree in Information Technology, I am happily married, I have a house and a dog. I even have a sports car. However, until I had that dream last night, I did not realize how much resentment I was still hanging onto about my childhood. On second thought, maybe I did on some level, realize, but I either did not know what to do about it, or just got comfortable with it.

Anyway, the dream consisted of me looking down at a big diagram, a plan for a property in Wyoming. The plan had the property lines drawn out, and a river running through the middle, and hundreds and hundreds of trees, and a house near the center. With my dream vision, I could see more than just the drawing. I had more of a vision of how beautiful this property was supposed to be: green trees, running water, peace and quiet. I felt profoundly, deeply, grief stricken, on behalf of my stepfather. In my dream, I was literally sobbing. The contrast between what his intentions were, and how things actually happened, was overwhelming. (For one thing, I remember trees being planted, and never lasting through the season. The windy and cold winters killed every living thing, every year. The river flooded worse and worse every year and threatened to wash away the house.)

Yes, I realize it was just a dream. I don’t know if I will ever get to find out what my stepfather’s intentions really were, if they were anything like my dream. But you know what? It doesn’t matter. What matters now, is what I choose to believe. And I believe that dream was a gift. It was a gift of emotional freedom from whatever lingering resentment I may have been holding on to.

My mom and stepfather divorced about 15 years ago, and he died about 10 years ago. I flew to Wyoming for the funeral. I did not cry.

The divorce was ugly and sad. I spoke to him and emailed him a few times, the last year or so that he was alive. We both tried to bridge the chasm of time and geography and years of apathy and neglect, but there was not much to say. I’m not sure how much any of this has to do with EFT, or The Secret, or The Work, but I’m going to go out on a fallacy and suggest that since it follows, perhaps it is caused by, the work I have been doing within those philosophies. I don’t see the harm in that suggestion.