Thursday, June 15, 2017

A Karmic Dream

He described it as follows.

I was in an amusement park, but it was all in rubble. It looked like a bombed out town in Syria. I wandered around and marvelled at the destruction, trying to figure out what rides the remains would have been. There were no people, there was no color. Everything was gray and rocky and dusty. It was once a place of joy; now the place reminded me of what hell must be like.

I saw a place that once must have been an office, or maybe the entrance to a big ride. The roof was still intact but inside it too was in rubble. I walked in and saw my father there, cutting the hair of old men with a pair of clippers. There was a single light bulb hanging down from the ceiling, casting a dim light. The men in the shadows were tired looking, disheveled. They looked haggard, lost, and lonely. So did my father. He looked at me briefly, then went back to cutting hair. His eyes were dead. He had no regard for my presence. I understood that he was gone, not just in the physical sense, and that he would not come back. But somehow I was not sad.

I woke up thinking I was glad this was no longer in my head. Now it had coalesced and bubbled up in and out of my mind. I admitted to myself that it was an accurate representation of his life. This dream came to me two years after his death. I am moving on.