The Dream Continues: Life Lessons in Short Stories

Integrate your child-self


The road along which I travel is beautiful. Blue sky is my roof and rich red soil my carpet.

And yet, I sense somebody follows me in my dream. They trail behind me, at times picking up speed. On other occasions, lagging.

But always, their presence jars my psyche.

My consciousness rattles with the knowledge I am pursued. Looking back, I see no one; nothing shows itself or accidently allows a glimpse of boot, jacket, or hat sliding behind a rock or bolder.

I carry on, enjoying birdsong and sunshine, viewing the emerald fern fronds uncurling before my eyes and delicate blue-winged insects sipping nectar from tall golden blooms.

The one behind me, though, gains ground; I know it.

Soon, whoever lurks in the past will come to my full attention, breaking me from this moment into a time long ago.

Should I resist? Flee? Avoid meeting this now vague, but soon to be clear memory-ghost?

Or, is it best to sit, to wait and see what, or whom, emerges?

With a single sudden turn, I hear my voice call out to the past “who are you? What do you want with me?”

About me flowers swoon, bending in the breeze, and peace beckons from a faraway place, somewhere I’m destined to go.

Nobody answers my call, though I sense their presence still, and scour every tree, hedge, and furrow for a sign they aren’t a passing fancy, a creative muse out of hand and on the loose.

A bushel of fine-leaved branches shake, stealing my consideration. Is this entity a child, someone who wants to play?

I ponder the concept. Maybe the figment of my imagination from the past, a memory-slip not yet evaporated, needs something from me.

“It’s safe to come out.” I offer soothing words, now less afraid and ready to be kind to the potential memory-child.

And with slow gestures, one tiny hand clasping the top of a fern, another pushing aside a magnificent daisy, she stands before me; a girl, slightly higher than the surrounding crimson poppies.

“Hello child.” I smile and brush a wisp of hair from her forehead. “What can I do for you?”

Tentatively, she grins in return and whispers “you left me.”

What’s this new idea? This realization the past has not followed out of malice but wants to catch up with me for care?

“You abandoned me” she mouths through pink lips and sad eyes.

How could I ever abandon a little one? I didn’t know, didn’t realize my childhood self was meant to come with me and grow as I grew.

Instead of keeping her by my side, I’d left her at a convenient part of the journey, one where I thought I no longer needed her.

I stretched out my hand and she coiled her small fingers in mine.

“Come with me.” I let her know she was welcome, and she faded into me like the sun dipping behind the horizon.

I recognize the hero of her dream doesn’t give up parts of her heart, abandoning them as though they are of no use anymore. She integrates her former selves, each step of the way, and becomes whole.

Copyright © 2019 Bridget Webber. All rights reserved

More reading material




Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store
✨ Bridget Webber

✨ Bridget Webber


Writer, former counselor, author, and avid tea drinker learning how to live well.