There is a dream in my diary about a pickup truck painted a beautiful electric blue. In the diary, I have interpreted the dream. It concerns all the stuff I have been working on with Hell regarding my past.
A few days later, when I talked to my mom, she mentioned a dream she had had about a blue box, electric blue. A box she had found. She liked the box but somehow had not opened it. When she awoke, she felt that what was in the box had to do with something that had happened in the past.
At the time, I was working with Bradshaw’s Family Secrets, and who my dad was. A little while later, I went down to Drummondville for a visit, and my mom gave me the name of my father. She told me a story or two.
Now, yesterday, she tells me the following dream: She met an old neighbour, one she used to know when she was twelve years old. This woman, when she knew her, had a cancerous goitre and was very, very sick. In the dream, she is surprised to find that this lady had her goitre removed. She can see a large scar. The lady looks well and healthy. Delighted, my mom gives her a baby to babysit. My mom was not sure if the baby was a boy or girl. She thinks it was a boy.
She asked what I thought of it. I explained to her that the throat means communication; that since it was the story of a cancer that was healed, it seemed to me to be a very positive thing. The baby reinforces the positiveness of the dream. I told her that maybe some communication would come to her and it would be very good indeed.
I did not mention my own thoughts. I did not mention the torture I am going through with Hell. She knows nothing of what has been happening since October 1998. To me it seems that in her soul she knows what is going on with me, and the dreams indicate that
there will be healing of a sort, related to something from the past (old neighbour). Throat, of course, means words: communicating, talking. The baby indicates the birth of something new: a new self, a new spirit. Naturally, the old neighbour represents my mom. I did not tell her any of this.
I find it fascinating that she taps into my psyche so well. I will see her on July 19. I wonder what kind of visit it will be.
I wonder if I will remember, really remember, seeing things through Micha’s eyes and not my mind’s eye. Right now it is nothing more than a story with photographs. A memory is more than that. A memory is a talking picture. A talking picture where everything is through Micha’s eyes. I have yet to see things as she did, to hear myself talk as Micha talking. I have yet to experience any of that. There are no feelings attached to the snapshots. I can hear Micha crying, sobbing, screaming, but I cannot reach her. I try night after night but, though I can see myself picking her up and hugging her real tight, I do not become Micha — what value is there in that?
July 7, 1999 (NSA Journal after adjustment) Today, I felt confused. Frustrated. Terribly, terribly sad. I can’t even say I wish I were dead. The door is gone! Actually, I feel glad about that. But I am dead on my feet.
July 9, 1999 (NSA Journal Entry after Adjustment) Today I felt very itchy at the lower back, which was good, because then my head stopped hurting so much.
July 16, 1999 (Dream)