The Motivation of Memories
My Life After Death – a Vision

Healing Dreams

When I first went into hospital I was in for six days. For the first four of those I didn’t eat, and for the first five I couldn’t sleep. Then, on the fifth night, exhausted, I fell into a profound sleep, and received a vision – I believe from God – about my illness, showing its causes and what was about to confront me.

In the final part of this vision, an ugly midget, dressed in a black suit, informed me that he wanted to ‘acquire my power of flying’, and as I tried to escape him by flying through an open window, I found myself caught by the leg and unable, physically, to free myself from his grasp. Further, as I tried one last feint to free myself, it was as if the window pane itself shut down on me, and I woke with a start – a pain across my midriff, as if I had been divided in two.

This proved very prophetic, for following 2 major operations, the final problem I am struggling to resolve is getting my stomach to work in conjunction with my small intestines – there seems to be a rift, a divide, between them exactly as in the vision.

I have re-engineered the vision – re-visualized it – created a new ending, and imagined new endings, but for all that, none of the images has had the vivacity and intensity of the original dream.

So the fear has been for me: this illness will cause me to lose ‘my powers of flying’! When I heard the midget say that in the vision, I instinctively understood him to mean; my creativity and the very poetry of my soul.

I have been waiting and praying, therefore, for a healing dream to counteract the power of the original.

The other day I got up and went to the hospital chapel. Alone there, I prayed and meditated deeply for a short while. When I got back to my bed I suddenly had an idea. I grabbed my notebook and In a wonderful moment of no more than 25 minutes in total I downloaded a poem called, Healing Dreams.

I didn’t ‘work’ at the poem, I hardly had to correct the poem, I simply had to be inspired. It didn’t require sociological or political knowledge or claptrap – it just required that I be open to the One Spirit that moves everything.

And as I wrote the final line – a line I didn’t really write – I cried. For the poem was as good technically and artistically, as anything I had ever written. I realized that post the operations, post the midget attack, I could still fly – and, therefore, I was already whole and healing.

Thus, it is, I would like to share with you this poem, which has meant so much to me, and is a breakthrough. I believe in my healing because it has come from the Spirit.

 

The Healing Dream

 

The healing dream cannot be compelled;

Like God, is not forced;

Its alphabet is strange, not spelled,

Original and unsourced.

 

The healing dream will not be obvious;

Like beauty, so surprises;

Its symbols transfigure me, us,

And cannot utter lies.

 

The healing dream may not be real;

Like imagination, deep in the soul;

Its potency – yet – makes me feel

And feeling I am whole.

 

James Sale 06/10/11

(for more poetry by James Sale visit http://jamessalepoetry.webs.com)

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