I woke up from the dream today crying.
It had been years since that has happened.
As a child I always woke up that way.
Last night I was in my zone, a writers dream, alone by the fire working on a new book, until 5am. Those moments are gold. A gift.
In the dream, which startled me awake at 9a, someone knocked on my door and handed me an envelope. On the front was the handwriting of my father. The one who raised me. Roger Earl Kling – it said on the envelope.
It was exactly his handwriting, which is so interesting now, awake, recalling it. His handwriting was so unique. Square abstract edges. Nothing round about it. I knew that this was a letter to me that he intended me to read after he died.
Sometimes dreams are just dreams.
And sometimes they’re more
It actually kind of bugs me when someone tries to place their earthly wisdom on mine.
I’ve been writing a letter a day to my kids for that very purpose. And I have them in a private place, a blog. This desire stemmed from my own biological father, who shot himself when I was seven. I had always dreamt that perhaps he left me a letter. But he didn’t.
See, I know the significance of my dream.
It’s the same dream I had in the day light, when I daydreamed all those years as a child that I’d find my father again, or his letter. Subconsciously it’s about unrequited love.
Don’t place too much emphasis on dreams.
But do. Write them down. Ask for truth and how it applies to your own life, and move on.
If I focused on unrequited love and chasing the things I didn’t have, I’d be like a lot of the homeless people and also some other humans I know: homeless in my heart.
But I’m not.
I’m honored to remember my father(s) today, but I’m leaving my legacy, of love.
Don’t be homeless in your heart.
Don’t chase the things you can’t have by looking back, and mourning unattainable mysteries. Take your lessons, weave them into your legacy and move on.
Dream new dreams.