The Field, the Dream, and the Ones Who Stayed

A journal entry from the threshold of memory and becoming.

There are moments when our spirits wake before our bodies do.
Mine woke in the middle of the night — not from noise, but from knowing.

It began with a dream.
A field.
Warm dirt beneath my feet.
Women I recognized without introduction — some from my childhood, others from photos and family stories, and many I couldn’t name but still knew.

I wasn’t afraid.
I was being returned.

Returned to a memory my soul carried long before my mind could recall it.
Returned to a place where my ancestors weren’t just history —
they were present, watching, waiting, nodding.

Since that dream, everything feels different.
Softer. Heavier. Truer.
Like my life is no longer a linear path, but a circle folding back on itself —
offering me the chance to not just remember,
but to reclaim.

Some things I now know:

• The body doesn’t lie. Neither does sacred fatigue.
• Love can coexist with memory, even when the memory hurts.
• We do not always receive apologies. But we can still find peace.
• Sometimes closure is not reconciliation — it’s a ritual, a boundary, a blessing.

And the dreams? They matter.

I dreamed of signing something — a contract of sorts — and waking to light.
I dreamed of a woman smiling at me who, in waking life, could never speak the words I longed for.
But she came back in joy.
And somehow… that was enough.

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To those on the edge of remembering:

You are not alone in this threshold.
There is nothing wrong with your softness.
There is nothing weak about your need.
You are allowed to grieve what never happened.
You are allowed to love from afar.
You are allowed to rest — deeply, defiantly, often.

If your body is tired, it might be because your spirit has been doing the labor of generations.
Let the tears come. Let the couch slide from the door. Let the light back in.

We are not here to carry the pain alone.
We are here to plant something new in its place.

And when you’re ready,
the Field will welcome you too.

— Evome’