Finding Home, Chapter 1; Dream with a Grandmother

July 4, 1993, Dream with a Grandmother

I was at a meeting in an old house. It was on the top floor and there were a lot of stairs, I’m not sure if that is important or not. I could not recognize the people I was with, but in the dream I seemed to know them. We were laughing and joking around, making fun of our situation. I think we were meant to be accepting this as important, but we didn’t seem to be taking it seriously.

An Elder came into the room whose presence upon arrival settled the room down. She was obviously in charge of our meeting, but I still was not taking the situation seriously as I didn’t understand my reason for being there. I was talking and poking fun and distracting the others while she was speaking, not giving her my full attention. When she asked me a question, I responded with a flippant answer.

Suddenly, she was beside me staring at me with a ‘no more messing around’ look on her face. She said to me in a stern voice  “Don’t you know who you are”? I stopped what I was doing as she now had my full attention and I looked her in the eye, became very serious, suddenly humiliated by my behaviour. Looking into her eyes, everything went still around me and I began to see a vision through her.

I was at a PowWow, a place that felt familiar as if I had been there before. I kept looking through the crowd certain that I would see myself in the crowd. Suddenly there I was with a group of native women. I was dancing with them.

I appeared to be the only white person in attendance and yet I felt as if I was one of them despite the colour of my skin. I stood out because I was dressed in a beautiful white deerskin dress decorated with amazing beadwork on the bodice, and my hair was done up as if for a special occasion (something I don’t normally do).

I was the only one wearing such a special dress. It seemed to be an indication of who I was, although waking up I did not yet understand its significance. Another detail I noticed was that my facial scar was very obvious, highlighted. Something not to be ashamed of, but to wear with pride as a warrior would a scar from a hard won battle.

I woke up feeling a sense of inner knowing and peace. This was just a beautiful moment. I felt like I belonged, was part of something important. I found it interesting that my facial scar became a focal point because I have always felt it was a scar of shame. Not until I had the dream reminding me of its birth on my face did I understand that it was indeed a battle scar of sorts . . . and meant to be respected.

When I met the Iridologist years back, he offered his knowledge to help me get rid of the scar if I desired. I thanked him but did not feel that it would be right to eliminate this reminder of my past, whether it was good or bad. Somehow it seemed important that it remained. Now I was receiving confirmation that this was true, I am meant to keep the scar to remind me of who I am.