A Dream of Thanksgiving
Over the last couple of days I've had a series of very vivid, very colorful and very real dreams. They moved quickly, taking me from one scene to another and they were amongst the happiest dreams I have ever had.
I have thought a lot in recent days about the holidays and how distance has grown between myself and my biological family. Although I am now closer to them geographically than I was while in Florida, the desire to join them for the holidays has not been very strong. I was not quite sure why, but the dreams seemed to fill in the blanks. My family has become extended, beyond the simple biological kin we normally rally around, and includes many people who are more than simple friends in passing. They have become my family, my blood and my religion.
I sometimes think about our definition of family and wonder if it limits us too much, holding us within a limited definition that requires us to honor certain individuals above others because we share bloodlines. While not meaning to belittle these links, I wonder if they do not often cause more sorrow than they bring happiness.
We are often led to be more forgiving when it comes to family than to anyone else, and this forgiveness may involve the forgiveness of greater crimes and sins than those we do not forgive from someone who is not a blood relation. A father who molested his children may be more easily forgiven than a homeless man who stole your wallet, simply because he is family. One of my earliest lessons in forgiveness involved the siblings of my childhood best friend, who killed himself in 1995, forgiving their father, whose sexual abuse of them as children led to Bobby's suicide many years later.
Bobby was amongst those who came to the table in my dreams. It was a table that was beautifully decorated and covered with food and drink. Along with him came others who had passed on from this life, from Dave Malhoit who dared me to believe in myself and follow the signs that led me to leave New England and go to Florida, to Christina, who died so young, but always knowing and understanding her place in the journey of this life.
Others were there, people I had not seen in some time, but whose smiles and embraces brought with them powerful reminders of how important they were to me in the journey of my life. Some of them paused to tell me that they loved me and were unable to find the words to express how grateful they were to be with me on this day. I woke up feeling warm and very happy.
Many years ago, when I decided to end my life, I saw a river. I was alone on a tiny raft on this river and was unable to help those who were on the shore, about to be consumed by flames. I've since devoted my life to building a bigger boat.
I started a fire in the fireplace this morning. Whenever I see a fire, I always stare into it, almost hypnotized. It reminds me of things I cannot express, of pain I have been unable to relieve in the lives of others. I reached into the fire today to place another log and looked down to see a blue flame wrapping around my wrist. I felt no pain. It did not burn. It did not mark me.
The flame in the jungle was blue. I'm getting closer to understanding who I really am.