Last week I had a dream that I was high up on a hill, away from everything, hiding something in my Ayahuasca blanket. I don’t know what I was ‘away’ from. I don’t know what I was hiding. I don’t know why I was hiding it. I don’t know who I was hiding it from. I don’t know where I am hiding it, or where it came from either. In fact, it confuses me to why I was hiding anything at all. I don’t know a lot for someone who has become so accustomed to revealing dark truths about herself.

I am so deeply emerged in my well of healing that I was so sure that I have uncovered every sludge covered rock at the bottom, and tossed it above to expose it, so we can examine the situation closely. But no, more surprises in this tale that is my life. And I have a strict ‘No Secrets’ policy for myself. That’s a different story, though.

The dream was relatively short. The road looked like a dirt road on The Farm. I was alone and had parked the car on the incline just before a sharp turn. I was crouched in front of the car at the bend, wrapping something haphazardly in my treasured blanket. The ‘me’ witnessing the dream didn’t see what ‘it’ was. I folded the blanket carelessly over the thing and stashed it in a bush just near the fence line.

Just as I did that, I hear two taps from the driver’s side of the car. I turn to look up and am shocked to see The Man from Peru there. While I had driven up the road, he had foot-falconed it up the side of the mountain. The look on my face tells me I was not expecting company. His presence is commanding. An intensity in his eyes. I panic, apologise casually, and quickly walk back to the passenger side door. I scramble over the centre console and into the driver’s seat to make my escape. At the same time, The Man from Peru is walking around the front of the car. As my butt cheeks land in the driver’s seat, The Man from Peru turns back to look at me. He’s staring at me fiercely. We stare at each other for a few seconds until he turns to look down at my stash.

I wake up from my dream crying, silently screaming in panic. I am left with the feeling ‘I’ve been found out’.

An odd way to wake up from a dream, but not uncommon for me. I have only recently started dreaming again. Though I would call this type of dream ‘disturbed sleep’, not a nightmare, for this idle Sunday afternoon nap. No, this dream is trying to tell me something. But what exactly?

Firstly, I am upset that I am hiding anything from myself. I feel disappointed by that. I want to know everything about myself. The good, bad and the ugly. Some more ‘good’ stuff would be great for my unbalanced scales, but hey, maybe I gotta keep sifting through the sand until I get to the treasure. Then, if I am trying to hide this thing, I am not doing a very good job of concealing it, for one. Two: this thing I am hiding is not bad, or scary, or anything like that. No, this thing is ‘precious’, treasure of some sort. Treasure is the last thing I would think I have within me and if I have treasure, why can’t I know about it? Wouldn’t knowing I have treasure be good for Team Morale? We’re quite skint on that already!

This man, I am seen him briefly before in a dream, though only his head. It was covered, like he was revealing himself to me, introducing himself. He disappeared as quickly as he appeared, before I had the chance to ask him his name, or ask him anything at all. This time, it was his full body. Still no conversation aside from my insincere apologies. Saying sorry for sorry’s sake. He had a long staff this time, maybe to help him up that steep hill we were on and it seems like he has been travelling around inside my Being. I was not scared of him. I have great respect for him and in the dream I guess I wasn’t expecting him to find me and yet he did.

I spent a few nights after that trying to ask myself and my Dream Centre the following questions:

1. What version of me was doing the hiding?
2. What was I trying to hide?
3. Where was I hiding it?

I thought those questions covered all bases. I am only new to trying to drive my dreams by asking myself questions before bed. I didn’t dream anything that I could recall for a few days and kinda just stopped.

Then last night after Blade Runner and the whole ‘your memory is real’ event, I came home to journal before bed. Before I went to sleep, I asked my myself ‘if you want to give me something to work on, you can give me something small or something big, I don’t mind, but please can we do it slowly’.

This morning I discovered what I was hiding: convulsions.

No wonder my back was killing me before I went to bed. I think I woke up 5 or 6 times to the feeling of my body contorting. My lower back curling back on itself. My legs stiff, my toes curled. Whatever is doing the release did it gently for me, which I am grateful for. It’s not the first time it’s happened either, though the other times were not gentle. Usually it’s been while I’ve been on ketamine. I am told it is not pleasant to witness. I wouldn’t have any recollection of the ketamine contorting either. Well, not all the times. Mostly my mind would wipe my memory of it. Sometimes I would be present for the beginning of it, even that part was not pleasant to experience. Though I felt surprisingly good this morning after this gentle release.

I do believe that these are felt memories from childhood. I do believe this is what I was hiding in my Ayahuasca blanket. Hiding it in the blanket meant it was an offering. I hid it haphazardly because I *wanted* it to be found. Had I driven there to intercept his path? To get there before he did? I wanted The Man from Peru to find it. I wanted him to help me with this secret I have been hiding from everyone, including myself, for a very long time. This secret that I don’t know how to get help for. This secret that I don’t know what to do with.

I have been thinking all day that I should tell a doctor about the convulsions. Maybe get a scan of my brain, or something. Part of me is worried that the doctor will think that I am making it up. Part of me thinks I’ll get locked away because of it.

I don’t know what to do. But I have to try. One doctor already thinks I am an alcoholic, junkie with a life story too complicated for me to get help for. What’s the harm in adding another descriptive to her ‘sorry, can’t help you’ stamp of disapproval?

I don’t know what to do except ask my Dream Center tonight for some more information. I am ready and willing.

Sweet dreams.