dreams

Twice I've had dreams where I woke up absolutely ticked off. Last night was the second time. I dreamt that, for reasons unknown, I had lent out my bedroom, bed included, to my erstwhile husband and some woman. Mind, I would N E V E R do any such thing, but there you have it. Also, neither he nor she, whoever she might have represented, appear in the dream at all, at least, not that I recall.
The attention-getter was what was left behind. The bed had been made up, like nothing had happened. The floor didn't have any clothes strewn around, not even a stray sock. But the walls??? The once-lovely walls had scribblings all over them, at all angles. I consciously read a couple of them, then realized with horror what they were, as my eyes leapt around the room. SHE, whoever she was, had scrawled text-message styled paeans of praise for his sexual prowess. "2 gud 2 believe!" Indeed. As if my sanctuary, my bedroom, with its beautiful aged mint barriers to the world, were a public space for tawdry graffiti etchings.
I was so angry! I woke up ready to go after someone, anyone, but especially him and her. But it was just a dream. That's all. Neither of them had done anything like that, not in the past and not now. And yet, it took a while for me to calm down about the situation. A situation, you understand, which was a figment of my imagination. An invisible tree.
Well, I have a choice, as I've said before. When an invisible tree rises in my path and threatens my sanity, I have a CHOICE to acknowledge it as a real presence ... or to look straight through it to the side of reason. WHY had this tree thrown its limbs in my face? What bugaboo was at its core? What changes might I need to make to uproot it, leaving not even a stump to mark its place?
Good questions. I feel better all ready, just talking about it, telling my ever-rolling waves, allowing them to stanch the mental bleeding and drag the ragged remnants out to drown in the deep blue of its depths.