Have you ever had a dream that stayed with you long after you woke up?
I recently had one that felt less like a dream and more like a conversation with my subconscious.
It began on my farm.
I was doing chores when I noticed a beautiful Appaloosa horse standing with one of my alpacas. I had never seen the horse before. My first thought was that it must belong to the neighbors and had somehow jumped the fence.
I went to call them…
…and realized I didn’t have my phone.
Then I looked toward my barn.
It was gone.
I closed my eyes, opened them again, and searched for it. For just a moment I thought I saw it.
Then…nothing.
I remember asking,
“Where is my barn?”
The instant I asked that question, I realized I was dreaming.
Oddly enough, I couldn’t wake up. I even pinched myself, but the dream continued.
And that’s when things became even stranger.
Things That Didn’t Belong
Children suddenly began running through my pastures.
A delivery truck pulled in with boxes of chips and snacks.
“I didn’t order this,” I told the driver.
Later, an airplane taxied right into my old house—the one that burned years ago. When investigators arrived, one suggested that my insurance should pay for the damage.
I remember feeling frustrated.
Why would I be responsible for something someone else caused?
The dream kept changing, but one question quietly followed me through every scene.
What is mine to carry…and what isn’t?
A Lesson in Discernment
As I reflected on the dream later that morning, I realized how often we do this in everyday life.
We carry other people’s expectations.
We accept blame for things we didn’t create.
We try to repair relationships that only one person wants to repair.
We hold onto responsibilities that were never really ours.
Sometimes we spend years carrying emotional packages that someone else left at our doorstep.
Maybe we need to become a little more comfortable saying:
“I didn’t order this.”
Not with anger.
Not to avoid responsibility.
But with wisdom.
What Is Mine?
At the very end of the dream, I climbed into my old Honda Civic.
Ironically, earlier that morning—in real life—I had needed to jump-start it.
As I drove home in the dream, warning lights flashed across the dashboard.
This time, though, I didn’t panic.
I simply slowed down.
I paid attention.
I listened to what the car was telling me.
And I kept moving toward home.
That felt important.
Because the car was my responsibility.
The airplane wasn’t.
The unwanted delivery wasn’t.
The children’s choices weren’t.
The car was.
Maybe That’s the Invitation
One moment from the dream continues to stay with me.
When my barn disappeared, I didn’t immediately accept what I was seeing.
I questioned it.
And that question awakened me inside the dream.
Perhaps awakening often begins the same way in our waking lives.
Not because we suddenly have all the answers…
…but because we finally ask a different question.
Maybe that’s what the listening field is all about.
Not listening harder.
Listening deeper.
Listening with curiosity.
Listening with enough openness to ask:
- Is this really mine to carry?
- Does this belong in my life?
- What is life inviting me to notice?
Sometimes awareness doesn’t begin with an answer.
It begins with a question.
And perhaps that’s how we find our way home.
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