I hear a voice right before I wake up. It’s a woman’s voice, and what she’s saying doesn’t register.
“Katie’s died,” she says. “She froze her eggs. She left one for you. Do you want it?”
“Hell yes!” I say, not thinking. Then cognition kicks in. My thoughts are a jumble. Katie’s dead? Huh? How? Why? And why would she leave me an egg? Oh god, what if I can’t carry it? What if there’s something wrong? What if I die?
My fear jolts me awake. I’m actually sweating, my heart pounding. Why would I dream that?
I get to work. Katie is not dead. I see her in the hallway, nod to her. That’s generally what it is between us. We work together, but that’s it. Not friends or anything like that. Why would I dream that? Why would I dream she would even think of me if she did die to leave me something like that?
I forget about it eventually. The world goes on. Craziness at work. Craziness with family. And then my side starts hurting, really bad. It feels like I’ve got another cyst. I’m supposed to go the the gyno in a couple months. Should I call and go early? Get an ultrasound?
I’m standing in the kitchen, putting something in the microwave. Suddenly, there is flare of energy in my side. It’s clearly energy, like a block blowing loose and pent up chi surging through the now open channel. Disturbing, but it doesn’t hurt. And gradually, over the next few days, the pain goes away. Problem solved.
I get up in the morning and go to the bathroom. I’m half asleep, but even so, I know something is different. The amount of slippage as I wipe. I bring the paper up to my nose. The smell of urine is overcome by sweet, ripe apples. My heart starts pounding. How can this be? I’m not supposed to be able to ovulate? The gyno said so. Yet here it is. I know what my mucous smells like midcycle. I know that smell.
Katie left you an egg.
And then I cry. A miracle has happened, and my sweetie is away, thousand of miles away, and here I am, with a gift I never thought I would have again, and might never have again, and he’s not here. He’s not here. How cruel is all of this, how cruel.
Everything cycles just as it always does. Two weeks go by. My belly swells. My face breaks out. I eat an entire bag of Oreos and half a bag of potato chips for dinner. My legs swell up. I’m so angry at the least little things I want to rip throats out. Everything cycles just as it always does but I do not bleed. My body resets. The cravings go away. The weight goes down. It’s as if it never happened. It’s as if I imagined it all.
And then, my side twinges again.
I am in the dreamtime. Chris is there, and she and I and a guy are standing at a table. Chris is buying us tickets for something, but I don’t know what. It makes me think about this dream, but it’s Chris. The man starts to hand us tickets, and Chris gets very upset.
“No,” she says. “That won’t do. They need to be covered in rhinestones. Those, ” she says, gesturing at the tickets on the table, “are not good enough for my family.”
The guy and I look at her like she’s crazy. Did she just say rhinestones?
The guy behind the table doesn’t blink an eye. “You mean like this?” he asks, presenting her with a large steel gray ticket bedazzled with hundreds of tiny sparkling little rhinestones.
“Yes,” she says, emphatically. “That is exactly what I want.”
“It will take some time,” the man behind the table says.
“We’ll wait,” Chris says, with a tone of satisfaction. She wanders off to look at the other tables in the room.
Someone else comes up to the table to buy tickets. The guy I am with and I scoot over to the left to give the person room. As I look over to my left, I see a cafe table in the far corner of the room. There is a pole that runs through the middle of the table, from ceiling to floor. Tucked away in the corner, on top of the table, curled up in a little ball, is my dog. She is sitting there with that Well? Stupid humans! look dogs get when they are exasperated with how thick we are.
I am in a house. It is a very grand house, reminiscent of those turn of the century castle wannabes the robber barons built to show off their wealth. It’s run down, though, and a bit shabby. I seem to be the mistress of the house, and I have a legion of staff hovering around me. As I’m exploring room by room, the staff nervously follows me. They seem like a flock of flighty birds. I realize as I am exploring that there are no doors to the outside. I look out the window. We are on the second floor. Well, there has to be a staircase or an elevator somewhere. I take off again, flock of servants on my tail.
I don’t remember how it happened, but I am on the ground floor, which does not have walls! This entire castle house is built on stilt-like columns. The house is on a busy downtown street. I immediately think Chicago, but there is nothing that I am seeing that would confirm that. I just know, Chicago.
In the real world, I am backing down my driveway to go to work. There is a good six inches of new snow on the driveway, on top of what was already there, and I can’t see the ditch on either side of the driveway.
As I back onto the road, I stop. There, on the side of the road, is a dog. I immediately think it is my dog, but then realize that her ears are floppier and her coloration is different. I feel an immediate connection to this dog, but then I remember this dream.
I hesitate, and sit there in the car watching the dog. She is taking a shit in the yard, and she is straining. She has the runs. Poor baby. I should pick her up and take her to the vet. I crane my neck to see if she has a collar and tags. She doesn’t. She’s a stray–or not. It looks like she has recently been clipper cut. So not a stray. The couple who used to live here used to have a little dog. Maybe she ran away and came home. I should pick her up and call them. I’ve got my dog’s crate out in the shed, I can bring it in and put her in the laundry room.
No, the dream. She is not your dog. She is someone else’s dog. But I feel such an immediate heart connection to this dog.
As I sit there, dithering about what to do, the dog decides for me. She looks up at me one more time, darts behind my car, and then takes off at lightning speed across the neighbor’s yard, back into the woods toward the lake. She seems to know what she is doing and exactly where to run. So maybe she lives with one of the families back by the lake.
As I drive to work, I think about the dream with the dog. Enough things have come true that I’ve seen in dreams that I accept that it happens, but it happens with such irregularity that I’m always a bit stunned when it happens.
The dog was only the first part of the dream. What could the rest mean?
And as I try to make a connection, I think back to the old woman with the keys and suddenly I see one.
Hekate has keys.
Katie. Hekate. I know, it’s supposed to be pronounced HEK it, but around here folks would pronounce it heh KAY tee.
Hekate offered me an egg. And then nothing came of it. A dog that is not my dog, and a vision of my mom and the little girl and my dog.
And then six keys.
I Google. The only thing I find about six keys is The Six Keys of Eudoxus, which seems to be some kind of alchemical text. I am not into alchemy. It makes no sense. But broadly it’s about transformation, keys to transformation.
Hekate gave me an egg.
Hekate gave me six keys.
Hekate told me I would know what to do with the keys on the twenty-fifth.
Obviously the dog thing happened to let me know that I should be thinking about this dream. But I still have no idea.
Something is going to happen in a doorway(portal) that has to do with keys to transformation on the twenty-fifth.
Hekate is a triple goddess. She is maiden, mother, and crone.
Hekate stands at the crossroads.
She is nighttime. She is magic.
Hekate helped Demeter find Persephone.
Purification.Expiation. Stygian dogs.
A protector. A bestower of blessings.
In a dream I am in the woods. It is winter, the trees are barren. These are old trees, high and wide and rocketing into the sky. This is an old forest. There is snow everywhere. It is bleak and freezing.
I see a man in the distance. It looks like Gareth David-Lloyd in a lab coat. Dr. Bob, maybe, from Casimir Effect? But before I have a chance to try to call to him, he disappears.
I am surrounded by a blizzard of snowflakes. The snow is falling so fast and so hard, that I can’t see, and the wind is whipping it into a cyclone that is swirling around me. I am at the eye of the storm.
Through the raging of the wind, I hear the flapping of wings. I try to open my eyes, shielding them from the wind and snow with my hands. I hear the flutter of wings draw close, but can’t see anything. Then, suddenly, a bird swoops down and then right up into my face so that I can’t miss it. I am startled, but stand my ground. It is a snowy white owl, a small one, and it hovers right in front of my face. Its eyes meet mine and I can’t look away. I am filled with awe but also dread. The bird is beautiful, pure white and almost shimmering. Yet there is also the savagery of the predator in its eyes. It will not let me look away. I don’t understand what it is trying to tell me. Then, I wake up.
Is this Hekate again? A bringer of wisdom? (the doorway, again? Knowledge of the future? A message from Higher Self?)
Or a harbinger of death? (am I going to die? Is someone else going to die? There’s that fear, those damn past lives, coming up again?)
Guinnevere? (me as Guinnevere? That’s too absurd for words.)
For the last few nights, nothing. So exhausted, I can’t even connect to the reiki. I can’t even connect to my sweetie. I’m out as soon as I hit the pillow.
I’m sorting through links. I click through a few, and I see a reference to someone I used to work with. I keep clicking through, and then, I find an obit. It’s an old obit. It’s been a couple of years. But I don’t keep in touch with the people in that office, so it’s not unusual I wouldn’t have seen it before now.
There’s only been one time in my life that I have had someone who hated me so unreasonably and so deeply that they made it their mission in life to torment me at every opportunity. I have no idea what I ever did to make this person hate me. Jealousy, maybe? Insecurity? The fact I didn’t kiss her ass like everyone else? That I wasn’t afraid of her like everyone else? Who knows? I treated her the way I treat everyone–that we are all equal and all responsible for our actions.
Anyway, she hated me. I was desperately ill at one point, to the point of being on the verge of dying, and she went after me even harder. You know, the kind of person who, when sensing vulnerability, goes in for the kill. So in addition to fighting for my life, I had to fight her, and all her little minions who blindly followed her and did whatever she told them to do.
Sounds more like high school than a workplace, doesn’t it?
Obviously, I left, which is what she wanted. Some battles just aren’t worth fighting. But I hated her for the way she treated me. She drove others away too, just as vicious and hateful to them as she was to me. There was a flood of people who left. Yet she was still there.
But not now. She’s dead. And I don’t feel bad. I should feel bad that I don’t feel bad. But I don’t. I never went after her. I never engaged in the same nasty tactics she used against me. I could have. But I didn’t. I never went after her on the astral. I just walked away. I disengaged. It’s been years, and I never think of her anymore. But here’s her obit, and I recall everything she did to me, and there is no emotion there.
I can’t lie and say Oh, too bad. What sad news. I’m not dancing on her grave. But I have to be honest and say a part of me is glad she is gone. And I can’t even say that it’s altruistic, that she’s now not going to be hurting anyone else.
I refuse to feel guilt. I have a right to my feelings. She abused me. And I have a right to acknowledge how deeply she hurt me at a very desperate time in my life. So if that makes me a bad person, or a rotten reiki person, or a disappointing new ager, so be it. We are all dark and light, even me, and there is only so long I can bury the dark before it festers and poisons me. Better to let it out, acknowledge it, and then walk away, clean and healed.
Her name was Kate.