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The other night I had a vivid dream that my youngest daughter had died.

There is a time when I would have been unable to even bring this to consciousness, let alone write about it. It has always been my deepest, darkest fear, to lose a child, and this fear has always been there prominently with my youngest.

In the dream I could conceptualize her under her grave, which happened to be in a dark, jagged cavern of colorless rock and stone--no lush lawn, no flowers, just a gaudy gravestone, that glowed, like a tacky neon sign in Vegas. I found myself digging frantically in the earth under her grave marker to retrieve her little bear, so much loved by her in her five short years, that it is no less 'real' than the Velveteen Rabbit.

I found the bear mixed with rubble above where she was buried, brushed it off, and clasped it to my heart, as if it was the last part of her I could keep with me. I pressed the little bear hard to my nose, sniffing for remnant smells of my daughter. The smell I clung to in the dream bringing a mixture of pain and peace was actually that of my daughters as newborns, that sweet smell that leaves them after the first few days, that I had noticed more prominently in my oldest daughter.

The rest of the dream I was crying out for my daughter, switching abstractly from moments where it felt like we were playing together, to intense moments where all I could do was cry out for her.

At one point I was calling for her, talking to the people around me, asking where I could find her, reminding them she was gone. The people looked at me impatiently, like I should have gotten over it already. It was clear that they had moved through their grieving and were fine now, but I couldn't move on. I felt caught in a loop that kept replaying itself, crying out for her, and having no choice about it. It was as if the pain had fused with my human body, and there was no other purpose for the body other than to be in pain and in vain, to keep her memory alive--to find her.

It wasn't until I woke up, and broke the spell the dream had over me, that I recognized that along with the people I'd seen in my dream watching me, I'd also seen a little golden bottle placed inconspicuously on a chest of drawers. It had a subtle golden essence glowing around it.

The character of me in the dream had looked at it, but had been too wrought with pain to really see it. So, who had seen it?

Whoever had really seen it, recognized it to be an angelic presence, glowing gently on the sidelines; right there beside the woman, who had become synonymous with her pain.

This was the first very tangible experience for me of accessing the observer in my awareness.

When I awoke, to numb the pain, I asked fervently for meaning to come to me, so, that I might have a place to rest with the fear and dread still strong from the dream.

What came to me immediately was that the loss of her is symbolic of separation from the whole. The idea that we are stranded here, and bereft of the Beloved.

Because my daughter felt like a soul mate, coming to me, like an angelic gift, validating who I was, loving who I was, and at a time when I would say that I had died to life-- of course, there would be profound fear of losing her.

How many stories end in finding our soul mate, and then losing them. There is even a song about it--Only the good die young. The Course of Miracles refers to death as a kind of loop replaying our separation from All that is.

So, what was beautiful in this dream was that I was able to face this profound loss in my dream, to let the pain rip through me, to watch myself in a state of being torn apart, unable to see anything, only able to cry out for my little one. And yet, a witnessing consciousness noticed the subtle, radiating angelic presence right there.

This dream also made me think of how I am always crying out for connection, for oneness, for this world to shift into something loving and caring, something resembling a sweetness that I seem to remember-- that feels so natural to my being, but foreign to parts of me--and to this world in general. It occurred to me that with all this crying out feeling fused in my body, maybe it is hard for me to see the angelic presence that is there, beyond this illusion that feels like a vacuum of separation.

I feel ready to let this pain come to the surface, to notice how it weaves itself through all of my existence, through all of our existence. How we don't want to face it, because we are sure if we do, it will kill us--and maybe it will.

And yet to be sure, we will all be okay, even if parts of us don't look it.


  1. Cher Brookster, This was difficult to read at so many levels. My ego has yet to allow me to totaly accept the re-uniting with the One. But I do feel the pain of that estrangement, and wish it to be. I need to give K and MJ a hug, do that for me, will you? Dad

  2. This is a post of extraordinary depth, wisdom, power--and beauty. It spoke to and stirred my soul. Thank you!

  3. Yes. We will all be okay.

    Your dreams are such a gift!

  4. Oh, Brooke. I don't think I can possibly explain with words how deeply I felt every part of this post. I'm not going to try, I'm just going to sit here with my broken open self and feel it for a while.

    Your words are a gift.

    You are an angel in my life.

  5. Hi Brooke,

    A powerful dream!

    All this talk of love can seem a bit daunting when we are faced with another day in the life of an ego, fused to a body on planet chaos. The good news is that you are starting to reveal these darker parts of your mind Brooke, and even if you are not ready to heal them just yet, you are still willing to stand in the curiosity of your life and embrace the uncertainty of it all. Its safe to let go.

    Love Nige

    p.s Would you and Julia ever consider flying over to Vancouver for a life transforming workshop?

  6. Hiya Brooke,

    Long time no read - Nige and I were away this weekend assisting on an incredible, life-transforming workshop - and what a beautiful relief it is to take a few moments to reconnect to you.

    Echoing your other comments, I too understood this post on different levels. I'm really interested in the 'witnessing consciousness' that you described, as well as the gut-wrenching sense of loss and grief you describe so eloquently. I often dream that Nige leaves, and it's not unheard of that I wake up sobbing. On a deeper level, my soul is yearning to know that I rest in God.

    If my purpose here is to return to a state of love and peace and extend that out to others, I know for sure that connecting with you helps me to do that.

    Thank you.

    P.S. Nige and I really mean it about Vancouver! Check out...

  7. thank you for sharing. as always, i look forward to your next post!=)

  8. Oh Brooke,
    I caught myself holding my breath as I read this post. The longing and searching, the languishing and the torment, and then the indifferent world scolding, “You need to get over it.” I followed you Brooke, as I always seem to do, and finally caught my breath when you mentioned that small golden bottle. “Ah…there it is.” I said to myself, “the answer. My Beloved…the Presence.”

    Every day that I live I feel that separation, the desolation of loss. I hold onto what I have with greedy hands, unwilling to let go. But then life comes in and pries my desperate fingers away from that velveteen rabbit and I feel the loss all over again.

    I really do try to surrender on my own but the concerns of life wedge themselves between me and the truth. I call out, and strain my neck, looking above the crowd for that familiar face. Is it me? Yes. Is it God? Yes.

    I’m not afraid of my own physical death. I’m afraid of the death of my life; and my inability to do those things that were chosen for me to do…while I’m here. I’m afraid of getting so distracted by the neon lights, the boogey men, and my own image, that I forget that it’s all an illusion, and that it’s the invisible things that matter most.

    I’ve had a few dreams over the years that have stuck with me. I call them my God dreams. I knew while I was dreaming these dreams that they were spiritual and direct messages to me. Those dreams keep me piqued and alert. They prevent me from becoming totally disorientated and lost. I don’t know if one thing that I just typed makes sense. Maybe tomorrow it will.

    It seems like you and I are so similar. I guess we all are in many ways, but you and I seem to parallel one another. We’re classmates sitting side by side, passing notes and chewing gum…making plans for the weekend. Funny huh?

    Brooke, please feel free to email me at I don’t know your email or I would email you. Where are you geographically?

    I love your heart and that precious and bold spirit of yours.



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