The Strangest Dream

I awoke unsettled, from the strangest dream,
I sit and ponder;
What does it mean?

In a country, not of my origin,
The gas station didn't sell my cigarettes
A kindly shop assistant helped me choose,
20 B&G's, the silver pack will do;
In my head, I was thinking -
"Lucky Strike"
Yet B&G's; they sounded about right.

There was a flat,
With a tricky lock door,
It was a dream
Yet I felt I'd been here before;
In my thoughts within the dreamscape
I instinctively knew;
I felt at home....

Then a different scene emerged,
I found myself in some kind of waiting room,
Or possibly a smoking lounge,
Rows of tables, four plastic chairs to each;
Windows lined the right-hand side
Looking out onto the street.

The atmosphere was malevolent
Sense that dark forces were at work
A group of young people, carrying knives
Began to approach a table to the right side of the room
Instinctively I moved first towards
And then slowly edged further away.

Things began to get heated
I moved out of the corridor-like room
Into a sort of entrance hall
Lots of people gathered
Women wrapped in towels
Like they were at a spa,
or a swimming pool

As the group with knives began to chant,
"Terror, Terror, Shark Attack!!"
A person nearby
urgently said
"Get ready to run!"

Chaos broke out
Out of the door we flew,
Running scared
Through streets in the dark of night
Streets in a dream, not real
Yet I had run through them before

Then I stopped
Panicked
A terror which shook me to my core
"My Angel!?!?"
He was not with me
Not by my side
He was not with me
He was left behind

Yet he was not with me in the beginning?
I know for certain
I was there in the dream alone
I wouldn't have left him?
Dreams playing horrible tricks
Changing the game in a blink
Panic gripped me
I began to shake...

I head back to the place
from which I just fled
A thousand and one thoughts
racing through my head

When I arrive
All is quiet and still
Only two people are present
In the corridor-like room
A woman, smoking;
A man with dark shoulder length hair

"Have you seen my Angel?  Is he here?"
I'm crying, fear permeates my words
"Yes he's here - he's in a bad way"
The man with shoulder length hair begins to say
I turn my head towards an open door way
And there my Angel is
Dragging himself across the floor
He has a nasty wound on his right leg
And tear stained cheeks
I begin to weep

My heart breaks as rush toward him
And he begins to speak softly
"It hurts" he tells me

We need to get him to the hospital
I tell the man with the shoulder length hair
As I bundled my sweet Angel up into my arms
Stroking his hair
And whispering to him
That it will all be okay.

The man answers
"Sure, but who is going to pay?"
Payment before treatment
How inhumane this truly is
"My Dad has a credit card, I'll call him, he will pay you"
I had no money
I didn't even know where we were
nor how we had ended up here
In a dream
I did not even know if I had any other family at all.

We get into a car
My Angel upon my knee
I'm holding him close to me
And wishing I could take all his pain away.
Nauseous
How
Why
Did I leave him behind?!?
But he wasn't there I protest
He wasn't there
But maybe he had been there all along
And I hadn't realised.

His sad eyes look up and deep into mine
As we sped through the dawn lit streets
In a world without time
My heart breaking that my Angel had been all alone
Scared and hurting
I had not been there,
I had not protected him

And then I woke up
Tears soaking my face.........

Don't be so hard on yourself - Self love & Compassion.

As Jess Glynne sang in that gorgeous soulful voice of her's "Don't be so hard on yourself"

The past few days, those exact words have been playing on a loop inside my head.  I have been in a major funk.  Stuck in an imaginary limbo created by my own mind and amplified by my penchant for procrastination.

I am my own worst enemy, a harsh critic.  There is no one on this earth whose words could be so scathingly hurtful as my own.  In a way this is something of a blessing, another's opinion and criticism of me will never hurt me as much as I hurt myself.  It is also paralyzing curse that shackles me to the radiator and leaves me stuck in non-action. 

The root cause - fear and low self-esteem.

Both of which are the reason I have a section of my living room floor dedicated to stacks upon stacks of self-help literature and 'how to' guides. 

I berate myself for not being passionate or ambitious enough in regards to money.  Money has never been what drives me.  When I was younger and had dreams of becoming a dancer, my mother, in her concern for how I would support myself, warned me that dance was a precarious profession and that I would be best of focusing on a 'proper job'.  

My response was, and I still stand by it: I would dance for free, money isn't the reason for wanting to follow my dreams.  In the same way I write for free.  I write because I love it, I dance because I love it.  To make money from my dreams would be fantastic, but it is not what lies within my motivations for pursuing them.  I do what I love regardless.

I'm happy in low stress ( I say this relatively) hospitality roles.  Waitress work in bars and restaurants suits me just fine.  I love the interaction, the busyness, the physical nature of the job.  Roles that do not put so much pressure on me that they suck the life force from me and leave me lacking energy to pursue what I truly love.

There is so much emphasis upon making a career from our dreams.

And that totally kills the fun and joy.  And for me personally, when too much pressure is added my creativity likes to take a hike.

Does money equal success?

Depends on our unique perceptions. 

Through writing this very post, with no clear view of how it would come together, or what the clear focus of it would be, I have managed to free myself from the self-inflicted funk.  

This is what I love about writing.  It allows you to come to realizations you hadn't even thought of prior putting pen to paper - or fingertips to keyboard.

I am frustrated by my lack of money driven ambition.  And that's okay, simply because; I am not a failure because I am not driven by monetary reasons.  I still pursue what I love.

So what if I am not over enthusiastic for planning and organisation and desk jobs and the corporate realm.  So what if the thought of donning a suit everyday and working for 60 hours a week doesn't fill me with excitement.  So what if I am met me looks of bewilderment when I say that once my degree is finished that I would rather work in a cafe/bar and be happy whilst earning just enough for my needs, than work in an office and be stressed and unhappy whilst raking in the moulah.

If we are happy and content with our choices, in turn that makes us kinder people.  Money doesn't create happiness, it creates the greater possibility for freedom, but it keeps you imprisoned in the quest whilst you earn "your freedom".

Freedom is a state of mind.  Happiness is a choice.

I am not lazy simply because I do not want to spend my life rushing around and getting stressed out over, what in the end will turn out to be, very trivial shit.

It's okay to not be organised.

It's okay to not be all goal orientated.

It's okay to live moment to moment and not think too much about the future.

It's okay to be exactly who you are at whatever moment.

Comparisons to others are deadly, and a enormous waste of emotional energy.

My funk came from comparisons, because I'm not doing what "successful people" do.

My funk came from my perceived failings; but now I realise I do not want to be "that kinda person" anyway.

I am totally at peace with the person that I am.

Procrastination could be seen as the souls way of telling you that the shit you're putting off isn't completely necessary in the grand scheme of things anyway. Plus, I also tend not to procrastinate when I'm doing what I love.  It's the things that I hate and that don't truly align that bring about procrastination (for me anyway).

Ta rah funk.  I'm choosing to stop being so hard on myself.  For now at least...