A Cosmic Non-Event

Last night I had one of the deepest dreams I can recall since a long time.

Something ‘dramatic’ happened and as I approached the scene my I AM was deeply connected with my entire shamanic history; I was connected with my I AM of all life times. 
It was palpable, to myself and to the people around me, and it was clear exactly who I was.

I remember kneeling down at the scene, and while I have no recollection of what had occurred (I know a young woman had died, tragically) or who were involved, I do remember some of the bystanders were closely familiar – and for the first time in this lifetime it was fully accepted, understood and it was even taken for granted that I now had to do what I had to do.
I was accepted for who I was.

What I had to do next wasn’t a ritual, it was much deeper than that; it was an instant and immediate connection with the young woman who had departed, transmuting her sense of loss and the loss of those she had left behind.

And I remember feeling this deep deep sadness washing over me, this deep sense of connection — with everything.

When I woke up, I didn’t remember much of the dream, but I could still connect with the feeling place of things.
And that feeling place was about:

1. The connection I had felt.
2. The ease and acceptance that had accompanied my I Am-ness – both in my own eyes and in the eyes of everyone else.

And, now fully awake, I decided the time had come to step into my Dream Weaver aspect.
To fully accept that this is who I Am.

 Later that morning, as I took my dogs to their usual walking spot, I had to cross a parking lot.

As I walked there, I felt into my dream again and I deliberately chose to align that sense of I Am-ness with ‘Life as Dani’.

Moments later I came to a U-turn in the road. A big van had just come around the bend – where it came to a stop.

There wasn’t a more awkward or inconvenient place for him to have halted, what with people coming from two directions in, literally, the narrowest part of the bend, and nobody from either side being able to look beyond the van.

Except for me. I was at the foot of the U and could see everything.
And as I stood there, waiting with my dogs for traffic to clear so that I could cross, I observed the van.

The van seemed to be having engine trouble – even though the engine could be heard running. It also seemed as if the driver couldn’t get it in gear.

The driver must have been in his late sixties and he now brought out his cell phone. Meanwhile, a car drove up behind him and that driver was utterly unable to assess why the van had stopped, if he could overtake, or what was happening around the bend.

I checked for oncoming traffic and signalled the driver to overtake the van, which he did at once, smiling at me in passing.

Moments later another car drove up behind the van. This driver also wanted to overtake but, again, she couldn’t see what was happening up ahead.

I was just about to signal her, when I noticed oncoming traffic. Raising one hand to tell the latest arrival to wait, I signalled the woman to overtake the van and move on ahead. She waved and when the oncoming driver passed me a few moments later, he too, waved.

I have no idea what the problem with the van was. While I was ‘directing traffic’ he occasionally moved the car a few inches forward and after a few minutes he had moved far enough out of the curve for me to move on with my dogs.
I do remember being rather amazed at how the van driver didn’t look up at all. Utterly oblivious to the world around him, he went from stopping the car in an awkward spot, to focusing on his cell phone – as if nothing else existed, only pausing occasionally to fiddle with the engine and the gears.

As I continued my walk, I looked back at what had happened. Me, in a place of ‘total overview’ had directed traffic for a matter of mere minutes at a point in the road that is notorious for being too narrow. Frankly, the event hardly merited a description, it really was a non-event.

But even so, as it happened, I felt connected with all that was.