Often when I’ve talked about dreams, I’ve thought about looking at them, trying to understand them or decipher them. But truly when I think about what dreams are, I realize that our dreams see us, not the other way around. When know that we are seen, it makes it just a little bit easier to open our hearts, and be in vulnerability. Simply being seen by another is enough to stimulate our soul into rising. There is a force in us that seeks love the way the stem bends toward the sun, as strong as a seed willing its way out of the ground.

I think this is why eye contact is considered to be rude, invasive, and aggressive by many. Because it stirs the soul and what stirs the soul stirs fear, because it is the part of us that knows we are alive.

To acknowledge that you are living is to face death. It is much more comfortable to ignore the reality that you are alive, some lead entire lives doing it, and I am no exception. After all, what is scarier than feeling like you are going to die? Stepping into your power, stepping into your soul, stepping into your aliveness, requires that you feel this level of intensity.

I’ve had people tell me they think it is rude to talk about dreams because they are so boring. I’ve always found this funny because there are so many boring topics that are perfectly acceptable to talk about—the weather, sports, clothing. Truly I think it is labeled as ‘boring’ for the same reasons making eye contact is seen as ‘rude’—talking about dreams stirs something in people, it makes them feel something—it could be a wide range of things—that they would rather not feel.

I’m someone who has been described as ‘rude’, and I couldn’t deny that I probably have been. But truly I would prefer to err on the side of rudeness than skirt an important truth or miss an opportunity to let someone know that I empathize with their experience, and I care. When you turn the light on someone’s dark corner all these bug scatter and shame comes up and sometimes it shifts really quickly into aggression or withdrawal or judgment. Deeply witnessing someone else takes a steady hand and an open, unconditionally loving heart. I’ve learned the hard way without those tools it can be wounding and oppressive.

On the other hand, we cannot be afraid of the truth. The truth is our birthright and it is fleeting and it is contradictory and it is personal and it is the bird’s song as the sun begins to rise. The truth is the only time things feel alright. And it has nothing to do with right or wrong or good or bad—it lives somewhere beyond the us we think we are, it lives where our dreams live, it lives right on the tip of the tongue.

Krishnamurti said “Truth is a pathless land,” which to me means, every path leads to it. But dreams are a path that I’ve come to hold very close to my heart. This is because they are so unflinching, so all-encompassing, and so personal. Every night dreams bring you the experience of one more aspect of your truth, shining just a little more light on your soul—and in doing so, reminds you that every single night, you are deeply seen.

Truth is not a solid line, it is a glittering diamond whose glory can shine forth differently from each person’s eye. Dreams remind us of this diamond inside–sometimes gently, sometimes forcefully. Reminding us that there is a real us down there, and it glitters in the light and spins inside our stomachs and it urges and it yearns and it loves and it creates and it learns and it grows and it heals, and that this is the part of us that is alive. This is where our truth comes from, where the truth comes from, and it is precious simply because it is, and it is because it is seen. Your dreams see you.

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