Yesterday I was reminded powerfully of my brother Bill, who died on April 6 last year. Late in the afternoon, I had an unexpected phone encounter with someone who sounded - just - like - him. The tone, the challenging manner...took me right back to a scared place in my childhood. (This makes it sound like my brother was an ogre, and he wasn't; it was how I reacted to him...a little girl who felt powerless against such a strong personality.)
Then I met Ken at a local watering hole after a crazy work day to decompress. He was at the bar when I got there, and was being served crawdads (yuck). As I sat down next to him, a fairly drunk fellow leaned over me to comment on the little mudbugs. I looked right into Bill's face, I swear it. Same hair, beard, teeth. It was shocking. We headed outside (to get out of the smoke) but I wondered ... am I supposed to be getting something here?
Last night, I dreamed that I adopted two babies (about 6-8 months old). One of them was happy, but one was scared and crying, over and over. She wanted to go back where she had been. By the end of the dream I soothed her and, I hoped, helped her understand that she would be safe with me and she would not have to leave again. I woke up sweaty - hard work.
This morning plugged in my IPOD to charge. An interview with Tennyson's band, RedLefty, came on and I am listening to it as I do this early morning post. His voice in that good place and time, his exuberance and his laughter give me courage to face a challenging day.
As Byron Katie says, if I have a problem with someone, it's because of the story I am telling myself about them in my head. What's the story here? Stories?
Food for thought.
