I had a dream last night. My partner Herb and I were at my grandparents’ house. A man whom I had never seen before, Mr. Chawbridge, was on a riding lawn mower cutting the grass. Apparently he had been doing this ever since my grandmother’s death in 1985. We chatted awhile. He asked about a car in his garage, a “Duesenberry”, which belonged to my father. He implied that he’d like to have it as payment for mowing the grass all these years. That seemed fair, but I also wanted to find out the value of “Duesenberry” before giving it to him.
Upon waking I started playing around with the dream. For one thing, I wanted to know what a “Duesenberry” was. The classic luxury car was a Duesenberg. Duesenberry was an American economist who posited that poor people spend a higher percentage of their income on goods/services (the consumption economy) than do wealthier people, and even when their lot improves they continue to spend at a higher rate. Thus, according to his theory, improving the financial standing of the poor gives the overall economy a boost.
I also reflected on my grandparents, whose house always felt like home. I went there every day after school and spent most of my summers there. Dogs. Gardens. Building birdhouses. Amazing food. Board games. The memories are sweet and many. I knew I was loved and accepted there fully and unconditionally.
What about “Chawbridge”? Chaw… to chew. What was I chewing on? What was chewing on me? How was chewing or being chewed on a bridge forward? And what did this have to do with Duesenberg/Duesenberry or my grandparents? Or was all this just a meaningless response to our restless cat who was keeping me awake part of the night?
Dreams unfold one layer after another, deepening over time. One layer is that I’m returning to a safe place and am recovering my sense of happiness…ease…that it’s all good…that I’m good. What had been chewing on me was a nagging sense that I’m not very worthwhile, in fact, that life itself is not good enough.
The bridge forward is sinking my teeth into how I felt when with my grandparents. They embraced every atom of my being. Around them I felt and still feel wealthy. LIfe’s abundance, all that really matters, is in me, around me and overflowing. I am so full I can give without fear or resentment simply because it’s who I am and how I want to be…and because I have so much excess joy, what else is there to do but share it?
The universe is generous. My grandparents were generous. I too am generous, or at least I cross a bridge into generosity when I practice gratitude…Gratitude for my talents, my joys, my unique ways of being magnificent and human, my flaws that on occasion prove useful, the blessings of people and animals who have touched my life, and for the Presence of a Mysterious Intelligence that communicates through winks, dreams, meows, and root beer floats shared with my grandfather on a hot summer day.
What have you been dreaming?