To Heal a Wounded Heart by Pilar Jennings

Author:Pilar Jennings
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Shambhala
Published: 2017-12-12T05:00:00+00:00

Later that night, after dropping off Lama Pema, I lay in bed thinking about the event. I thought of the young Harvard undergrads coping with vexing struggles—anxiety, addiction, and loss. Most of them had experienced a radical reduction in suffering simply through appealing to their dreams for help. The researcher had seemed a reliable source—a scientist with testable data, nothing more.

I thought of my own vexing struggles—the anxiety about who I would lose if I pursued the teaching position: Lama Pema, Martine, my parents? It had all seemed too much, the comingling of love and loss. I asked my dreams for help, and that morning I reached for my notebook and wrote the following:

Martine and I are walking together hand in hand, shopping, and having fun. Soon she discovers a little dress in a shop we’d been exploring. It is dark navy with large white buttons and miniature toys—cars and dogs and whistles—decorating the front. Martine is in love, staring at it and then at me as if to indicate she’s found a real treasure. I’m not sure it’s a practical dress; it seems too cumbersome and am about to say so when my mother arrives. She too loves the dress and thinks it’s wonderful! Her excitement matches Martine’s.

I can see that Martine really enjoys being with my mother—she seems captivated by her, her easy exuberance, her obvious, spontaneous playful joy.

With this in mind, I tell Martine that she might enjoy coming to Los Angeles with us for that week—we are scheduled to leave shortly. She loves the idea. It then occurs to me that a week is a long time, and her grandmother might object. Can I renege on my offer without hurting Martine?

We have little time before our plane leaves, and while holding Martine’s hand, we dash off to find her grandmother and ask if she will approve of our imminent trip. The plan is to meet my mother at the departure gate after speaking with Martine’s grandmother. We run off to find Carol, and when we do so, she looks terribly thin and frail. I worry for her and gently hold her face in my hands. With reverence for her very being, I tell her that I will take good care of Martine while in California. She nods and gives her approval. And so off we dash, but we are late for our plane! We run and run, looking for our gate, for my mother. We can’t find her. Then I wake up.

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