Musings of a Hypnotherapist-Nashville TN

It Will Never Happen Again

It Will Never Happen Again
February 20th 2015
I dreamed I was staying in a B&B. The entire house was filled with flower arrangements sitting on every surface. They were all in various states of disrepair. Some were so far gone with putrid water and an aura of dead petals encircling their base. The cards that stuck out of each read “Happy Birthday!”, “Happy Valentine’s Day!”, “Happy Anniversary!”. I was scrambling around desperately trying to keep them in good repair. Changing the water, trimming the stems although most of them were way beyond needing to be thrown out.
I had walked in the front door and straight down the long hallway to the back room on the right. I walked in and * was there. This room was also filled with flowers but they seemed to be fresher. He became angry with me and began to yell and threaten me. He grabbed me by the wrists and I thought that he was going to hit me when there was a knock at the door. He opened the door and their was a biker dude standing there with a new flower arrangement in his hands. He said “Delivery” and * took it and handed it to me. For a fleeting second the expression on his face changed, softened, became kind and loving. The note on the arrangement said “I’m Sorry”. * took it from the man and handed it to me. When the door closed it started all over again. I said, “Why are you doing this to me?!” He was in such a rage he could not have a conversation.
I then found myself outside the room in the hallway. The raised voices receding into the background. It was dark and the air was heavy and oppressive. The cloying scent of decaying flowers was strong. leaving me with the impression of a funeral home. About half way down the hallway and to the left was the delivery man. He lay slumped on the floor with two other men. All of them where in black leather. Like they were in the same motorcycle gang. As I looked closely I recognized them. The one that had delivered the flowers was * and the two others were * and *. I looked at them closely to see if they were still alive. They were breathing but just barely. They were dry and desiccated like thousand year old mummies. While simultaneously they appeared oily and dirty. I did not want to touch them.
Then I woke up.
  


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