I knew my dream had held significance.
Though brief, each scene was vivid and sharp, and as the final scene of this prominent dream drew to a close I woke with a deep falling feeling at 2 am in the morning. In that state of release between waking and sleeping, I turned onto my side cuddled into the man that I least suspected would play the main role in a dream that would play itself out in perfection in exact form in real life exactly one week later.
After my partner left for work, I called my best friend Joan, she lived in Cork and I was still living in Cornwall, England. We spoke in detail as I knew that Joan would understand the significance of such a vivid and unusual sleep time excursion also. We would have most possibly been still on the call that evening had Joan have had to collect her two young sons from school at 1pm that afternoon.
We discussed the details as I recalled them. In that dream, I saw myself standing tall, skin glowing without blemish, radiant, my long and auburn hair shining and fresh – it was as though I had been out in nature and refreshed by the outdoors – incandescent from head to toe. Then what seemed like twelve knuckles appeared from nowhere, grasping my neck, elongating it as my face seemed to be dragged upwards. I understood the sensation of being choked in the dream, yet I did not panic – there were no nightmarish thoughts. In fact, the dream appeared to be emotionless and motionless. My skin turned slightly off-white in colour, then greyish and then indigo. The thought occurred to me in that dream that I should be panicking yet I remained unusually calm. I knew I was being choked to unconsciousness yet there was a knowingness in the dream that all would be fine. I surrendered under those large hands that grasped me so tightly as though I had no fear of death. It still boggles me how these thoughts that flashed through my mind in the stillness of my night-time trance were not in any form nightmarish. Though this was the key indicator for me afterwards that guided me to the conclusion that this particular dream did indeed hold significance for me and my future. Then as the final scene of that dream drew to a close it appeared that I had surrendered into an unconscious state with no fear of the unknown. I never saw the face that was behind the hands that viced my neck so tightly; and moreover, I never in my life had suspected that the owner of those hands, the vicious culprit would be the then gentle man that lay sleeping silently beside me.
Joan and I continued to dissect the dream in detail the following day. We discussed all sorts of theories. Our first impressions led us to believe that it was metaphor somehow, we talked at length that maybe it was guiding me to my throat area – perhaps my communication needed work on, or perhaps my throat chakra was out of balance. We then discussed the possibilities that perhaps it meant that my health needed attention. We did mention that maybe it was related to a future event but did not see any connections. And as the conversation drew to a close, neither of us were any the wiser, loads of theories had been put on the table – yet the strange thing was that none of them had seemed to fit. And Joan knew that also. So as the week went on, I thought less about the dream until eventually it was removed from the forefront of my mind. Life went on and I went on with day-to-day business as usual.
Exactly one week later poignantly at almost the exact same time I called Joan again. This time I was calling from a hospital in Devon. I told Joan it had happened again. She assumed I had meant my dream had recurred. I assured her not. The dream had happened for real. That significant dream had in fact been a premonition, a dress rehearsal in exact form. And the perpetrator had been the man I had loved, the man I had thought had loved me in the same way also.
I was certainly shook up, yet that in itself is another large story that took me from an immense state of peace onto the roller-coaster of emotions when dealing with the trauma of the event, before I then revolved back to a state of serenity again. I did several rounds on life’s carousel of emotions in the year that followed.
Yet I am still alive and kicking, and life went on. As my mother always says, “keep motoring on forward and don’t ever look back.” She’s right. I have become stronger as a result. And even though it had taken me a year to resolve within my mind, to release myself and let go of the insistent torment of the incident – I have been able to find my own deeper love again. That is the most important thing in the world to me. I always say it, I;ll say it again; to me, if there isn’t love there is nothing.