On occasion, I've mentioned how much I would like to have the kinds of dreams I read about in New Age-y books, where I'm walking up a grassy hill, and meet a fairy godmother under a green tree, and am taken on a magical path and taught lots of wise lessons. I "ask" for such guidance-filled dreams, but the ones I remember tend to be so strange, I often cannot make head or tail of them.
Two nights ago, I had one that I initially thought was nonsense, but I think was one of my idealized dreams in disguise. In it, I was living in a New York City apartment (oddly enough, I think it was the East Side, even though I only actually ever lived on the West Side). I had ordered out for pizza, and it arrived, but was encased in an enormous, sealed tin can, like a huge tuna can, only square. It wasn't until after the delivery guy left that I realized there were instructions about opening the container on a sheer piece of plastic...only they weren't exactly instructions, it was a user name and password, as if for a web site. Perhaps I had no computer, I don't know, but my dream solution was to set out walking uptown to find the pizza place to get the answer. It was cold and wintery, and when I got to the address, it wasn't a restaurant at all, just a very messy studio apartment, with a haggard older woman slumped in a chair in the corner. I don't remember what she told me, sadly, but evidently it was the key to getting the pizza box open, because I walked back downtown light-hearted, knowing I now knew how to do it. That's when I woke up!
Thanks to having so recently read Sharon Blackie's Hagitude, I pretty quickly identified the messy old lady as the Goddess (although, of course, it could also be the part of me that is feeling wise, but exhausted!). And, yes, I am "hungry" to understand the next leg of my journey, so I get a kick out of the idea of that prize being identified as take-out food (!) which is still hidden from me for whatever reason. The time is not yet right, perhaps. And it's interesting, too, that this morsel of wisdom arrives in a form that is completely unlike the present-day norm of a cardboard box. So I guess the message is that there may be something unexpected or unusual about how I find the next step forward. As ever, stay alert, don't assume anything, be prepared. And (something that I find a little easier at this age) be thankful for today.
