It seemed to begin one morning late in Sheila's life.
She awoke and yawned and stretched. With a severe start, she realized that she was a child again.
I'm dreaming, of course I'm dreaming, she thought.
Huddled under the blankets, the reality of the flesh and blood and the warmth of the morning light coming through the window established itself and did not dissolve into another awakening.
Sheila was frightened to death.
Peeking out from under the covers, she saw a bug scurry across the floor.
The day started to unfold. Her parents and brother and sister and the fondly remembered ritual of their mornings together began. She had to be pried out of bed, at first with friendly cajoling and then concern. She was nearly catatonic.
Her worried family took her to the doctor that afternoon.
She was examined and given a mild anti-anxiety medication for what the physician thought might be the possibility of a dissociative disorder. Talk therapy was discussed but was never pursued.
For that night, when Sheila went to sleep, she was the 75 year old again that she knew herself to be, living independently and with a full memory of what had happened.
She calmly thought things through and when evening came, and she went to sleep and,
as she suspected she would, awoke as the child--
she was able to keep a tenuous but serviceable grip on her thoughts and behavior.
When slumber came that evening to the little girl,
she returned yet once more to the woman she had been,
and continued to do so as time went on.
This familiar self helped her to stay centered as she began to relive the life she had known.
Only this time, remembering many of the things that had happened, she was able to make changes— thereby altering some of the outcomes. Although, the same overall pattern stayed in place.
It became a living experiment.
She would sometimes zig where she had zagged before and sometimes she wouldn't.
Some changes improved on what had originally happened, some had unexpected results.
Sheila began to gain insight into the act and the art of expectation.
As overwhelmed as she felt at times, she never tried to tell anyone what was happening.
There was really no way to do that, anyway.
She cherished all the moments that she was being granted to know the ones she loved again.
And when at last, Sheila the woman passed away, Sheila the girl awoke and cried all day.
Boy problems, the family speculated.
Night fell. Sheila was afraid to fall asleep. What would happen now? Where will I go? she thought.
3 am came, and then 4. She saw a bug scurry across the floor. She drifted off.
The Spirit of Sheila the woman awoke and gazed down. She knew that She had been dreaming.
Dreaming of—variations on a theme.
She felt Someone gazing at Her. She looked up.
It was a beautiful face that She could barely see in the Light.
She realized that it was Her face, eyes open yet sleeping, dreaming--
dreaming of variations on a theme.
She awoke.
And on a small, beautiful patch of Heaven's Garden—Shayla danced.
She awoke and yawned and stretched. With a severe start, she realized that she was a child again.
I'm dreaming, of course I'm dreaming, she thought.
Huddled under the blankets, the reality of the flesh and blood and the warmth of the morning light coming through the window established itself and did not dissolve into another awakening.
Sheila was frightened to death.
Peeking out from under the covers, she saw a bug scurry across the floor.
The day started to unfold. Her parents and brother and sister and the fondly remembered ritual of their mornings together began. She had to be pried out of bed, at first with friendly cajoling and then concern. She was nearly catatonic.
Her worried family took her to the doctor that afternoon.
She was examined and given a mild anti-anxiety medication for what the physician thought might be the possibility of a dissociative disorder. Talk therapy was discussed but was never pursued.
For that night, when Sheila went to sleep, she was the 75 year old again that she knew herself to be, living independently and with a full memory of what had happened.
She calmly thought things through and when evening came, and she went to sleep and,
as she suspected she would, awoke as the child--
she was able to keep a tenuous but serviceable grip on her thoughts and behavior.
When slumber came that evening to the little girl,
she returned yet once more to the woman she had been,
and continued to do so as time went on.
This familiar self helped her to stay centered as she began to relive the life she had known.
Only this time, remembering many of the things that had happened, she was able to make changes— thereby altering some of the outcomes. Although, the same overall pattern stayed in place.
It became a living experiment.
She would sometimes zig where she had zagged before and sometimes she wouldn't.
Some changes improved on what had originally happened, some had unexpected results.
Sheila began to gain insight into the act and the art of expectation.
As overwhelmed as she felt at times, she never tried to tell anyone what was happening.
There was really no way to do that, anyway.
She cherished all the moments that she was being granted to know the ones she loved again.
And when at last, Sheila the woman passed away, Sheila the girl awoke and cried all day.
Boy problems, the family speculated.
Night fell. Sheila was afraid to fall asleep. What would happen now? Where will I go? she thought.
3 am came, and then 4. She saw a bug scurry across the floor. She drifted off.
The Spirit of Sheila the woman awoke and gazed down. She knew that She had been dreaming.
Dreaming of—variations on a theme.
She felt Someone gazing at Her. She looked up.
It was a beautiful face that She could barely see in the Light.
She realized that it was Her face, eyes open yet sleeping, dreaming--
dreaming of variations on a theme.
She awoke.
And on a small, beautiful patch of Heaven's Garden—Shayla danced.
Written Content G.A.M. cc
ShayLa pinepine
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