Had my scopes done a couple weeks ago, and the results of the gastroscopy were not as positive as I had hoped. My stomach condition hasn’t healed. But I’m off my meds and am experiencing only the mildest symptoms for which I’m extremely grateful. In addition, I’ve developed another condition as a side-effect of the medication. I’m not going to mention what it is because to name something is to give it power, and I don’t want to do that any more. So henceforth, it shall be referred to as “the condition that must not be named.”
I was disappointed for a couple days or so. After all, it’s so unfair. I have an exemplary diet and I’m faithful to my exercise, and I live a healthy lifestyle. So, you know, what gives?! After some more honest reflection I think I know what it is I’ve left undone.
My inner work.
Oh, I’ve just been playing with meditation, and stress management, and confronting and releasing the pain of the past. Dabbling. Just enough to say I’m doing it. But I’m not. Not really. And when I admitted that, the thought occurred to me that my physical self won’t heal until my inner self does.
And that, children, is what they call motivation. 
I’ve stepped up my practise, and as if to confirm I’m on the right path I’ve been getting dreams of power. I almost never remember my dreams, but lately they’ve been coming through loud and clear. One in particular.
I’m holding a sword. I can feel the weight of it in my hand. My opponent steps out from behind a wall and I advance on him. I never take my eyes off him and my grim, determined expression never changes but as I move toward him I drag my sword against the wall causing a shower of golden sparks which I know will intimidate him. One phrase keeps repeating through my mind – “I’m done playing.” We engage and I vanquish him.
Then a woman confronts me holding some sort of silver metallic instrument. It’s not a weapon, but a device designed to pull the sword from my hand by centrifugal force. It would have worked too, only I don’t let go. When we’re face to face I yank the instrument from her hand and disdainfully toss it away. I say, “Get out!” She just rolls her eyes. I scream at her, “GET OUT!!!” And she rabbits off fast as she can.
Finally, an old wizened man lies on the ground in at my feet. He’s dying, but with his last breath he thanks me for giving him an opportunity to fight a worthy opponent before he died. I feel no remorse at having killed him, only respect for an honourable foe.
It was The Mister who interpreted the dream for me. “Sounds like you’re doing away with everything in your life that does not serve you, or your healing.”
I know in my heart he’s right.
So listen up all you blocks and barriers, fears and resentments, worries and stupidities that have kept me bound, scared and living small – you might not be able to see it, but there’s a sword in my hand.
And I’m done playing.
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