Scary Dream

Tap, tap, tap. Tentitively tapping.
“Mummy,” my nine year old whispers, face buried in the door.
“Yes,” I answer, immediately awake. It doesn’t matter that it’s 2:45 in the morning. I am mountain lion alert and ready to pounce on whatever it is that has disturbed by sleeping baby.
“Can I come in?”
“Of course, love.” The door creaks open and I move over and turn back the covers. My little one crawls in and snuggles into the warm space I have left for him.

“I had a bad dream,” he confesses.
His golden eyes are wide and round, bravely struggling to hold back the fear that woke him so abruptly. In the dark, they search for mine and when our eyes meet, the scariness of his dream leaks out in small, hesitant tears.

I pull him closer to me. He is warm and damp with fear. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
He nods.
His words spill out in a confused jumble, the sequencing falling into the familiar scatter pattern of dreams.
“Ea was in her car and a bad man was chasing her and there was this ghost and the man was beating on her windows and Ea couldn’t get away and there was a river and it was dark and no one was helping and she was alone and I don’t know what the ghost was doing and then I woke up.”
“Wow, that sounds scary. I’m glad you told me about it. Now...let it go,” I soothe, gently blowing over his head. My breath scatters the threads of his dream and they dissolve in the darkness.
He snuggles in closer and nestles his head under my chin.
“Pink cloud or white,” I ask.
“Which one is stronger?”
“Well, pink light is love and white is God. What do you think?”
“I think they’re the same.”
“I think you’re right. Let’s do both.”
Together, we surround ourselves in the protective light of love and the Divine.
My baby relaxes.
Before he drifts off he mummers, “Mummy, it’s okay if I have bad dreams because if I have all of them now, you can just blow them away for me and then I won’t have to have any anymore.” Then he nods, as if setting that thought in place, turns his head, and sleeps.