Here is last night’s dream had during a restless night thanks to the pre-colonoscopy preparation.
The dream starts in a town or city with a West country feel. Maybe Bristol or Bath. There are rolling hills. As I walk amongst the sand stone buildings I see first Simon and then Rob. They are both wearing light coloured “journalist” lightweight “Africa” suits and ties. I meet them each in turn, in passing, and wave to them. They wave back. Each of them is younger than they are now yet older than when I last would have met them. The scene is very “English”. I carry on down a side street and see a small building with white wooden slats. I know this to be a medical office of some kind. Their names with dr are on brass plaques by the door. There are letter boxes and doorbells. I know that this is their practice.
{On writing this I think that it must be Bath because of my association with them there}.
I continue my stroll around the backstreets and come upon a centre, a kind of hippie drop in centre. I know this centre to be for wellbeing, alternative health and mental health. It has a café and meet area. It is held up partially on stilts into the hillside and overlooks the river below. There is a steep path off the road to the main door. I take this path and enter the building.
In the atrium someone is holding a dance / stretching session. She ushers me to join in with the others. Soon it is clear that I cannot do the moves and say so to her. The class finishes and she beckons me to follow her. I go with her into a room where sat at a table “interview” style are a few other young people, in their twenties and thirties. They are trendy and fashionable with dyed hair and some with piercings. She takes up her position as “chair”. They look me up and own. They are therapists, psychotherapists of some school or other. They are on some kind of mission to heal. They smell of trendy group therapy.
The young woman asks me if I am happy. I ask her what she means by happy. She is smiley and profusive and she says, “you know, just very happy.”
I say to her that I do not recognise the term “happy” as it is an intemperate state, an emotional state which is transitory and illusional. At a push I could describe myself as content. I am no longer striving and, generally at equilibrium, is the best description.
She persists, “but are you happy?”
I look at her and ask, “why would anyone want to be happy, to seek out and strive for happiness?”
A young woman comes in from the front desk and whispers to the chair, “he is here again.”
The chair get up and follows her to the atrium when there is a tall young man dressed in black who is very clearly agitated. The chair motions for him to follow her and they head off to a side room. She is agitated and concerned her happy bubble has burst. She ushers him to sit down, she sits opposite.
I ask him if he is ok for me to be there too. Yes. He is.
I too sit down, near him. He is agitated and fidgeting, looking down at the floor. I can see from her file on the table that he has a red flag for suicide attempts.
I catch his attention. I say that my name is Alan and ask him what his is. He says Mark.
I say, “Mark, can you please roll up your sleeves so that I can see your forearms.”
This he does to reveal a patchwork of self-harm scars, some of which are severe, deep and blueish.
The woman who has not seen these before lets out an involuntary gasp. I am completely unfazed.
I ask Mark, “when did you last cut?”
He says, “it was last Tuesday but only a little scratch, cos I was angry.”
I ask if he would like me to clean and dress the wound. He relaxes and lets me physically guide him by the shoulder to a kitchen area. He is pleased that he has found me, someone who can listen to him without agenda. He trusts me.
The dream ends…
Dreamyoga 