(Originally posted to my yahoo 360 blog in March of 2008, I thought of this dream again today when in conversation with my wonderful friends, David and Cindy Emerson. We talked about the Law of Attraction and a compassionate view of our fellow human beings. As we chatted over breakfast at the Broken Egg in Broken Arrow, David said something about how he has been trying to teach their 5-year old that everyone we meet needs love, kindness and compassion, which reminded me of this dream...)
I dreamt last night of a poor, young woman who was so distraught that she threw herself into a raging river, hoping to die or at least numb or end her pain. But instead of dying, she survived somewhat battered and bruised. Her body had been dashed upon the rocks, but not crushed. And as she crawled out of the river, gasping for breath, her body bloody and her clothes torn, a great crowd greeted her. They were cheering for her as though she had won a grueling race! Her bruised soul felt hope begin to rise as they cheered wildly, enthusiastically.
Gentle hands lifted her and set her on a new path; a path bordered by gorgeous flowers of the most unbelievable colors. Along this path were small signs printed with words of wisdom which she read at her leisure as she strolled along. At times, she met other travelers along the path.
When she came to a particularly breathtaking valley, she read a series of small signs which explained the role of flowers. One sign said, "He shows his love for us in flowers." Another read, "We show our love for others in flowers, oft through ceremonies and symbolism." Another sign continued, "Like a baptism in a church we might lay a person down with arms spread out like a cross, and we cover him/her in flowers." The final sign read, "We celebrate one another in life and in death."
The young woman sat down to ponder this series of signs. What could it mean? She envisioned her own stiff body with its arms outstretched upon a flagstone floor. Light poured in and flooded the small sanctuary of her vision. A group of friends covered the body in flowers and lifted it up. It was as though they poured love into the body with each flower laid on her breast. But it was not a funeral ceremony. It was an awakening ceremony.
She was not dead. She felt alive, more alive than she had felt in a long time as she recalled every kindness ever rendered to her, every word of love or cheer, every kiss, every hug, every friend or stranger who had spoken words of kindness or shared a cup of coffee. With each act of kindness they had given her flowers. She realized that she was no longer poor. She was flower rich; rich in good memories and friendships. She was on a lovely path once again.
And as she opened her eyes and looked at the valley below her, filled with untold millions of flowers at her disposal, she knew what she had to do. She gathered as many flowers as her arms could hold and turned her steps toward the river to join the jubilant throng.
Mark Twain once wrote: "Kindness is a language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see." I don't know about you, but that is the language I want to learn most of all.
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