A Wonderful Visit in my Dream



I dreamed of the old house from my childhood. It looked like the walls were all damaged and cracked as if under construction. But for some reason the old green walls were still there; dark, gloomy and cold. 

Mama was wearing her green gardening shorts and her flower-green shirt she used to wear when she tended to her flowers on weekends, she was content, happy and smiling. 

Everyone at home was happy. Dad and all of my brothers were there too. 

I knew it was a dream because everything was not as they are, but what they are supposed to be ; and how it was when I was a child. 

When I mentioned about how I thought this must all be a dream to everyone in my dream, they said "why do you think this is a dream?" and I gladly said. " Look at the walls - if this were real, then these walls would have been fixed and they would be nice and white. Mama is here and yet I know she can't be here because she is in heaven" - all said matter of factly, joyfully, still enjoying the energy we all shared in the dream. 

But as soon as I made sense and affirmed it was all a dream, mama vanished and then everyone else vanished and the house is empty. I am overcome by a sense of loss and sadness at the emptiness of the house and I wake up.









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Feb 9, 2012


"Life isn't always sunny. Get used to it." This is what winter tells me every time. When I refuse to accept what winter is saying that I fall into sadness. I turn my Philips goLite on and I am reminded that life isn't always on winter mode. Just like phases in life, this too shall pass.








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Who Reads these thoughts anyway?



I for one, find reading blogs a bit much sometimes. I tend to read fast - take the essentials and move on. But I know for sure written words do take a bit from the writer - something more personal than ever. It is at times like tonight when I feel my keyboard is connecting with me and I let my fingers just glide.

So many people spend personal time choosing the words to write their thoughts the best they can and It is an insult in a way, how I simply browse trough them and forget feelings were in them as they were created - These thoughts have become simply words and they become meaningless - the connection lost, the essence gone.

When I catch myself reading too fast and not connecting, I slow down my reading process and just connect. Reading fast isn't fun for me. Taking time to read is fun, but reading for fun uses a lot of time and energy - but then so does other things that are fun; like swimming, going out for a hike or a walk or a drive or even just visiting friends and family.

What is the point of reading if it isn't fun? I'm going to write again. It feels good to tap on these keys and just let my thoughts flow through.








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