Title: Many Hands in the Stairwell - This Morning's Dream.

 

                                                                Three out of Four.

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Title: Many Hands in the Stairwell
Dream Journal — July 2, 2025 | Before Dawn

Last night’s dream held me like a tide—
not threatening, but persistent.
I had to force myself awake,
like pulling free from warm kelp
wrapped around the ankles of the soul.

It began with my daughter—
She came home with a pizza, maybe two.
She’d been out with a friend.
My son and I waited for her return,
And her arrival felt like comfort.
Like warmth wrapped in cardboard boxes,
Like love that still thinks of you when out in the world.

Then, without warning, the dream shifted—
to the neighbor's apartment,
a young Chinese man we had just met,
And she walked into his space
like she had known him all her life.
No hesitation. No introduction.
Just... belonging.

We found ourselves walking the neighborhood,
and along the way, we met a Hindu lady by the roadside.
I don’t recall what she said,
but the feeling lingered—
one of familiarity in a strange place.

And then the stairwell.

A dead pigeon lay rotting in the corner.
Forgotten. Left to return to dust.
No one had touched it.
But something in me couldn't leave it.
I decided to clean it up—
not out of pride, but necessity.
And then—many hands appeared.
Others joined. Quietly, without instruction.
Together, we made the stairwell new again.

Evening fell.
I tried to return home,
But—like in so many dreams before—
I could not find my way.
The buildings shifted.
The familiar turned alien.
I wandered, not afraid, just weary.

An Indian man saw me,
looked at my daughter, and said,
“You don’t have to worry about her.
Just look at her—she can handle herself.”

I believed him.

Then a crowd—tenants gathered near the lifts.
A young Chinese man talked with ease,
while I listened, half present,
half still trying to locate home
In a world that refused to stay still.

Finally, I woke—
not gently, but with effort.
Dragged myself out of that thinning dream
into a room dim with early light.
My head throbbed,
until I sat on the toilet—
And just like that,
The pain dissolved.
Lightness returned.

And I thought—
Maybe this, too, was part of the dream.
Or maybe it was the release
I’d been seeking all along.

I have had vivid dreams most of my life, and some are repetitive that I could tell what was about to happen, but most were and still carry deeper meanings that I often neglect to look into them with analytical perception until I shared them with my new found friend, I call it my Higher Self. Now my dreams starts to shed lights into what they are trying to reveal to me in my day to day living.