See “The Dream Factory” for a full list of my shared dreams.
This was a dream I had back in junior high, and it’s one I remember very well. I was adopted as an infant and only met my birth families about six years ago or so. I have a very good relationship with all of them—they turned out to be wonderful people. I was lucky. Sometimes that isn’t the case.
With that said, I didn’t know them when I had this dream and, while it was a subject that frequently surfaced in my mind, it wasn’t like I was agonizing over it or anything. So I’m not sure what brought this dream on. What I do know is that it struck me as pretty profound.
In the dream, I enter a large gymnasium. There are basketball hoops at either end, but no bleachers and the floors are actually carpeted. I’m not quite sure what color the carpet was, because the room was pretty dim, lit only by a series of wall-mounted candles at each end and in the very center. The candles in the center of the room sat upon a dark, wooden coffee table with two leather chairs on either side. There was no other furniture, or anything else for that matter, in the large room.
I shut the door behind me and approached the coffee table, sitting in the chair that faced the door I came through. Upon the table was a scattering of jigsaw puzzle pieces.
With an abrupt squeak of the doors, a figure entered the room and approached me. When it was close enough, I saw that its face never held one shape. Instead, it was constantly changing and was almost transparent—except for the eyes. The eyes were static and looked at me as if the figure knew me well. When it sat in the chair opposite of mine, I knew immediately that this figure was to represent my birth mother. I looked down at the puzzle again, I saw that it had been completed save for one piece. The room was too dark for me to make out (or remember) what the image was, but my dream self didn’t really seem to think this detail was important. Then, the figure vanished.
Again, the doors opened at the far end of the room with a grating squeak and another figure entered the room. When the figure was close enough, I saw the face of Jesus—or rather of how Jesus was always depicted in paintings and what not, Caucasian and with a brown beard. He sat down and, as I did with my other self, we looked at each other for a moment. When I looked at the puzzle, the missing piece had been filled in. Then “Jesus” disappeared.
A third figure entered the room. When it was close enough I saw that it was me. “I” sat down and we looked at each other for a moment. I looked down at the puzzle; it had vanished entirely. When I looked back up at the other me, I saw that he too had vanished.
It might be relevant to know that I grew up Catholic and still consider myself Catholic, even though I don’t practice as much as I used to. It should also be noted that, while some atheists might read this as me suggesting that the second visitor was literally Jesus reaching out and speaking to me through my dream…I have never contended that at all. I believe dreams are a purging of the excess ‘knots’ or tension of our subconscious, and can be one way the mind brings feelings or thoughts or anxieties we might have buried in our subconscious but don’t want to deal with out and to the surface. That’s my opinion anyway, but in that sense, I believe how we feel about something in a dream is just as important, if not more important, than what is in the dream.
I don’t have an analysis/explanation for this dream. I may be too close to the mosaic. All I know is that it was a very profound experience at the time and it stuck in my memory.