I woke, feeling discontented with the images that had plagued my dreams and wanting to strike out, hitting something, anything. I didn’t like what I had witnessed and I didn’t understand why I had been visited by the memories that had twisted into something new.
“Do you treat all your friends this way?” I had asked the familiar stranger about whom I still feel lingering frustration and angst. “I mean, I know you and I aren’t actually friends, but… are you this rude to everyone in your life?”
A familiar smirk crossed his face. “Yeah. I guess I am.”
I felt the urge to smack the condescending leer from his lips. I felt mad. “I have wanted to be your friend for as long as I’ve known you. I just don’t want to try anymore. I’m sorry I came. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
I turned and left the room, his careless snickers filling the air. I shuddered, walking out of the house and down the driveway, passing a 3-legged dog hopping along the cement.
And then I was awake, the psychedelic blues and purples of the dream lingering at the edges of my reality.
I felt queasy. Why had I been reminded of this person and my experience with him? As I sat there, attempting to shake off the remnants of disgust, I pondered the visual musings of my subconscious mind.
It is true. When I was in regular contact with this person, I did everything I could to get him to like me, all while knowing I can’t “make” anyone do anything, let alone like me. His obvious disdain for me and his willingness to be mean straight to my face always shocked me. I didn’t know him from any other situation other than the group we both happened to be a part of. I had no idea who he was outside that group and I had no history with him. I had given him no reason to dislike me, but he made it apparent that he loathed my presence.
It ate me up inside.
Back then, I wanted everyone to like me. And his clear distaste for my existence was stunning to me. It drove me crazy as I tried to figure out an insolvable question: Why does he hate me?
He would give me no leverage, no way in. He wanted nothing to do with me and I’m fairly certain that he would have rather had me die than have to spend any time with me. Yes. His discomfort in my presence was that palpable.
Now, though, at this stage in my life, why was he appearing in my dreams and oozing with passionately snubbing energy? Why did I need to be reminded of the painful interactions with him? What did I need to see or remember?
I walked down the hall, feeling ghosts trailing behind me. I felt unsettled and disturbed and nauseated. The house was cool and quiet. It was 4:45am and I was haunted.
Sitting on the couch, I meditated and the awareness rose up… I am living in a commitment to be fully alive and in Love. This relationship that tore at my heart was still lingering in the cracked, dark crevices that I hide from the world. It was actually sitting there, couched in… shame. I was shocked when that was the emotion that revealed itself and I sat with that, waiting for the fullness to be revealed.
I felt shame because I had been unable to do the impossible. I had been unable to do that which wasn’t even mine to do. I had been unable to make him like me. No matter what I did or said or tried, he wouldn’t shift even slightly, even into a space of distant respect for another human being. He was having none of it. And *I* felt ashamed.
Why?! How on earth is that even possible???
Someone didn’t like me and *I* felt shame???
Then the Knowing settled in.
I felt shame because my ego was interpreting that “failure” with him as just that… a failure. My ego was seeing that his rejection of me was saying that I was broken, unworthy, not enough. His objection to my existence continually fed my “I’m not enough” cycle with fierce, hot, stinking goo that fueled my own pattern of loathing, self-loathing.
This memory came to me so that I could ask the questions I asked and open up to that which I was still holding within, behind a wall of protection. It was a hurt that was still tender and weeping. And it was one that needed to be healed.
Tenderly, I held myself in that space, years ago, where I was so brokenhearted and lost. I witnessed the ongoing pain I experienced because I continually chose to attempt to connect with him – and several others like him. I witnessed myself actually turning away from those who openly loved me and were gentle with me and returned to those who were mean and spiteful. I actually sought out those who were the meanest in an attempt to “get” them to love me. It was never going to happen and, yet, I still kept at it. I held that Me while she cried.
And then, I washed the wound, peeling away the dead skin, the rocks, and the dust. I applied healing salve and lovingly covered it with the Ashes of The Phoenix, knowing that the rawness would soon abate and the skin would graph itself together once again. I kissed my forehead, assuring me that I would make it through it all, and then I returned to Now.
Any time a memory surfaces, especially in dreams, that catches your attention and comes with a strong emotional reaction, it is an indication that something needs looking into. I had no way of knowing this dream would lead to this healing because I had no idea that anything needed healing. However, it was there, so I asked.
You have within you all the answers for any question you could ever ask about yourself. Your cells hold your experiences and your memories, storing all the information you’ve gathered over your lifetime. When something plagues you like memories or vivid dreams, get support in exploring them. They are telling you there is something for you to address.