“Be proud to wear you.” ~ Dovinsky
I have long been a dreamer…literally. My paternal and maternal grandmothers and aunts were fascinated with dreams. Dream analysis holds strong tradition among my rural Arkansas born and raised African-American female kin.
During my childhood visits to their farm, our dreams were a favorite conversation with my Grandmothers Queen and Bertha. They’d ask me, “Honey, what did you dream last night?” Great-aunt Sylvia declared, “Dreams are God’s Whispers.”
And so it was…four years ago, the following dream gave me the validation I needed to dispense with my desperate ruminations about my value in the world. I was able to let go and embrace confidence and respect for where I am, my talent, and how I move through the world…
I walked into my kitchen to find my four grandparents sitting around the table. Their heads were bowed as if in prayer. I sat down knowing that they were at my table to pass on some important wisdom to their granddaughter.
Now my grandparents are deceased for many years. Three were born in the 1890s. I felt awe and anticipation. I waited for them to speak to me.
Grandmother Queen slowly raised her head and looked me in the eye. “We have a confession to make.” The bowed heads were actually embarrassment and shame!
They shared humbling stories of youthful indiscretions (100 years ago?) that still generated shame. The four were also having serious marital disagreements and wanted current info about how to better get along with one’s spouse. They were serious!
Huh? Wait a minute…I’m the granddaughter. You are the wise elders. You want to confess…to ME? The ancestors seek my counsel? In the afterlife?
I was flabbergasted.
I awoke. I felt a calm and connection in that experience that welled water in my eyes.
The ancestors, the people who gave life to my body, are passing the baton to me. Time is not “running out” for me. My aging is a positive passage. Now I am perceived as wise one, an inspirer, a connector, and an elder for my family.
Some of you might think this dream is symbolic and not “real.” That’s OK —you could be correct.
But does it matter? It changed my life. Stopped my self-shaming—cold.
The world may think my talents lack razzle/dazzle. My grandparents and I are one, and my grandparents think that who I am, the things I do that make my heart and other’s hearts sing, are just about priceless.
That’s good enough for me now, too.