Dream, and Letting Go

Massive purge of closets today--I mean, a mountain of clothes....old T-shirts from trade shows, old kids clothes they will never wear again, old clothes that simply are not my style anymore, including most of my old, baggy turtlenecks I wore when I was especially overweight:  I keep a pair of black jean and a pairs of khakis.  I do not wear these things anymore: I wear skirts all the time, cotton in summer and mostly velvet in winter, with tight or flowing blouses, long gypsy ones with leggings underneath and long colorful stockings, and a skirt/sweater/blouse style when I have to look professional.  Whatever: I am sort of a hippie.

 I gave away sweaters that make me look fat, one that is relatively pretty but depressed me (reminding me of lousy teaching experiences), polyester T-shirts that no menopausal woman in her right mind would wear.  If I had not worn it in years, with the exception for very good classic dresses I might wear sometime, really, a mountain got given away. I wear long, flowing sweaters now because that looks nicer with my skirts, with the exception of a couple of carefully chosen pieces.  I have a lot of classic clothes now that will last some time: that is all I wear now.  I do not want any poor-self-esteem clothes.

Somehow all this purging was precipitated by a dream I had about Asha: she was in my dream, though I could mostly see only her hands showing me black-and-white photographs of her life, including (warning: triggering) photos of her death scene.  I was appalled at the latter and asked her why I must see these, and she said I had to find the strength to look on this if I were to write about her in the way she was pushing me to do.  "I push you harder than you know," she said. 

I cried out to her in my dream that I did not have the skill or strength to write her book, that my writing is terrible, and the feeling of unworthiness against this subject, the fear I have in approaching people who knew her, is too great.  It was an apocalyptic cry out: note that in my last post, I explored deep feelings of unworthiness in general, unworthiness to have been a part of m's family that I know now contributed to the gulf between him and me.  "Yes, you can and must, no one else knows how to write my book," were the words I heard from the dream-Asha as I woke up.  She really did call it her book, curiously--in some ways, it is. 

When something comes to light, especially in dreams, I feel the psyche is ready to do battle with it, so I will try to replace my unworthiness with a more positive sense of my own worth (somehow) and just keep writing as best I can.  Asha came and pushed me further last night, and for that I am grateful.