When I first went into hospital I was in for six days. For the first four of those I didn’t eat, and for the first five I couldn’t sleep. Then, on the fifth night, exhausted, I fell into a profound sleep, and received a vision – I believe from God – about my illness, showing its causes and what was about to confront me.
In the final part of this vision, an ugly midget, dressed in a black suit, informed me that he wanted to ‘acquire my power of flying’, and as I tried to escape him by flying through an open window, I found myself caught by the leg and unable, physically, to free myself from his grasp. Further, as I tried one last feint to free myself, it was as if the window pane itself shut down on me, and I woke with a start – a pain across my midriff, as if I had been divided in two.
This proved very prophetic, for following 2 major operations, the final problem I was struggling to resolve was getting my stomach to work in conjunction with my small intestines – there seems to be a rift, a divide between them, exactly as in the vision.
As a great believer in the power of our self-beliefs and the images and stories we create for ourselves, I spent time in the hospital trying to re-engineer the vision – re-visualize it with a different ending. I was, in a way, trying to will myself better. I imagined new endings, but for all that, none of the images had the vivacity and intensity of the original dream, so it didn’t work.
The great fear became not that I would die, though I was terrified of that, but that this illness would cause me to lose ‘my powers of flying’! When I heard the midget say that in the vision, I instinctively understood that this was a metaphor for my creativity and the very poetry of my soul. Poetry allowed me to fly.
I had been waiting and praying, therefore, for a healing dream to counteract the power of the original nightmare.
One day, I got up and went to the hospital chapel. Alone there, I prayed and meditated deeply for a short while. When I got back to my bed, I suddenly had an idea. I grabbed my notebook and in a wonderful moment of no more than 25 minutes in total I downloaded a poem called ‘Healing Dreams’.
I didn’t ‘work’ at the poem, I hardly had to correct it; I simply had to be inspired. It didn’t require sociological or political knowledge – it just required that I be open to the One Spirit that moves everything.
And as I wrote the final line – a line I didn’t really write – I cried. For the poem was as good technically and artistically as anything I had ever written. I realized that post the operations, post the attack of the small dark figure in my dream, I could still fly – and, therefore, I was already whole and healing.
I would like to share with you this poem, which has meant so much to me, and was and still is a breakthrough. I believe in my healing because it has come from the Spirit.
The Healing Dream
The healing dream cannot be compelled;
Like God, is not forced;
Its alphabet is strange, not spelled,
Original and unsourced.
The healing dream will not be obvious;
Like beauty, so surprises;
Its symbols transfigure me, us,
And cannot utter lies.
The healing dream may not be real;
Like imagination, deep in the soul;
Its potency – yet – makes me feel
And feeling I am whole.