Love

The middle-aged woman sits with her therapist in the small room with the mold stain on the ceiling.  It is a free counseling clinic.  The woman never signs in with her real name.  She is ashamed of herself and what her name is.  Is her name vulgar?  Is the woman named after someone famous?  Questions remain unanswered.  The therapist a graduate student sits uncomfortably on the torn tweed sofa.

“Have you had anymore dreams?”

“Yes”

“Did they take place in Italy?”

“No, I’m not sure where I was, but it certainly was not Italy.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, this time I was on a bike. I was traveling against traffic.  Yet, the lines on the road were different.”

“How so?”

“Well, I was facing the oncoming cars, but the yellow line was on my side.  In the middle of the street there was a white line.”

“So the traffic was traveling opposite from us?”

“Yes”

“How did you feel?”

“I felt free. Not that the lines made me feel that way, but the landscape was open.”

“Was anyone with you?”

“Nope, I was by myself on the bike. There were a few country homes.  I saw sheep, cows, fields of harvest, a castle, rocks, hills and the ocean.”

“Do you think you know where you were?”

“Maybe, Ireland.”

“Did you ever stop riding the bike?”

“No, I remember clearly getting tired, but I kept going.  The scenery kept changing making it so interesting.  The hills were exhausting.  The ocean winds were challenging.  The gentle touch of the sun empowered me.  At times when I felt as though I could not pedal anymore it seemed as though the winds would stop and I would find myself coasting down a hill looking upon a vast landscape.”

“Do you feel that this dream had any significance in your life?”

“Yes, I do. I felt it was a summary of my life’s journey.”

“How so?”

“The beauties of nature, the harmony with the sun, the struggle against the hills, the rhythm of the pedals against the winds, the refreshing sparkle of the ocean breeze are all metaphors of events and people in my life.”

“How does that make you feel?”

“Loved”

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