Coffee, Dreams and my Dad…

Two cups of coffee this morning…

CaptureThe cobwebs of sleep refused to dissipate with out reluctance and coffee has finally done the job. 3:30 a.m. I sat up on the side of the bed and realized that sleep was aloof, but confusion reigns. Just like the rain outside, confusion kept dribbling through my mind. Not much, but just the remains of dreams trying to bubble up and bring their presence back to the surface. It is interesting to wake up and wonder at times is this a dream still, or is it reality mixed with the last and or previous dreams. That is a good question and when you dream as vivid as I do, it takes a few minutes to congeal the facts of life…

I enjoy my dreams, even the ones dredging up the past. Even the terrible past. My dreams are full color and I control what happens many times. I have dreams that I have to make decisions and those decisions affect the outcome of said dreams. It is really neat at times. Sometimes I can just play in my dreams and waking up is sometimes the nightmare, for the dream is a interesting and complex world for the most part…

I have a connection with what many call the afterlife. I use to think everyone could see such things and at an early age, I realized that not everyone could. This is good and bad! For, most people do not connect with the past, present and or future, in any form. They just seem to function and mostly that is on a remedial level, at best…

* * * * * * * * * *

My dad was in my dream last night…

My dad died at 50 years old. Thus I am much much older than he was when he died. Years ago my dreams started to place me older than him and when I meet him in my dreams, he is confused at first and many times never sees who I am. I am 6’3″ tall and my dad was 5’10” tall. He weighed about 220 and I weigh about 245. Thus I am leaner looking and much taller. Everything about me is huge compared to him. I gathered my genes for my physical self from my grandfathers. The German and Englishman genes won out…

My dad was a good man under all the facade. He just never was able to overcome his mother dying when he was 7 years old and thus, he never became who and what he could be. My dad was in the Korean War and that scarred him for life. Silence was the only medicine for war in his eyes and I understand that to a huge extend, for the most part. Being of a family based on immigrants to America many years ago. I feel the same genetics flowing through my blood and therefore, I live in Russia… 😉

In my dreams, my dad is so young! He is still the age as when he died, but he is so young to me. It is as though he has become the child and I am the father. It is strange to affront and last night he became aware of the fact that where he was at that moment, was not the US!

He was with me at the bell tower in our village and he was looking around. He was confused, then he turned to me and I could see he had no idea who I was. He asked politely, “Would you please tell me who these people are?”

I looked around and saw what I always ignore and after a minute of observation, I said, “They are Russians and they are the dead of the village.”

This caused him to contemplate and as we stood there on the hill where the bell tower is, I watched the souls wandering aimlessly, as though they were looking for something, something that could never be found. Every once in awhile, one would stop and bend over, pick up something and after looking at it, toss it away or stash it somewhere out of sight from all, including me…

Then something happened that was interesting to me!

My dad said, “They speak a funny language!”

That caught my attention, for they speak English to me and it seemed strange that I understood them plainly. But my dad, was only hearing words of Russian and when he said that to me, I could hear the Russian also. At the same time, I could hear the English. That was interesting, well at least to me it was…

Then I felt my dad staring at me…

I felt eyes upon me. I turned to my dad and looked at him he said, “Do I know you?”

I thought about the past meetings and thought about how telling straight truth never really worked, so I tried something different…

I said, “My name is Kyle!” and I left it at that…

He stood and looked at the bell tower and mumbled something about how beautiful it was and I asked him to sit with me in my favorite spot. It was big enough for two and we sat and watched the birds, bees and souls milling about. He kept looking at me and then he said, “Well Kyle, I feel I have to go!”

Then he said, “I had a son once, his name was Kyle! You look like him, but he was much younger than you.”

That then was the key, to relate to them, with only what they had experienced. For relation of present and time since they died, has no use for them. I thought about that and with the realization that my dad had stayed with me much longer than in the past. I kept quiet about who and what I am, for the energy drain becomes higher with having to think of the present. It was a theory at that point in my mind. A theory that became fact in my dream…

I just said, “Was he a good kid?”

He thought a few minutes about that and I could see him fading slowly, for their energy is limited in these constructs. Then he said…

“He was very strong physically and mentally the equal and he was so much more than he ever understood. He was a free spirit and would never do what everyone else would do. I respected him for that, but that is what caused me terrible headaches and heartaches in our life.”

Then he said, “I tried to teach him and for some reason, he is no longer around! Did I do something wrong?”

I watched as my dad became almost transparent and then said, “No, I would imaging you did just fine! You are a good man and that rubs off on your kids!”

And as he faded from sight, I said, “Come back to talk when you gather strength again!”

My dad could not say anything at that point, but he gave me a wave, as he faded from sight…

WtR


kKEETON @ Windows to Russia…

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