Also, my father was never late for a meeting, much less a flight -- ever. So when I didn't tell him I was AT the airport, he called repeatedly to monitor my progress. Only this was one of those dreams. I couldn't get to the phone. My body moved as if in Dippity Do. (My parents embodied all things 70s.) I remember training my gaze on my forearm and willing it to pick up the phone. When I finally did, his was a stentorian command -- "YOU NEED TO GET TO THE AIRPORT NOW BECAUSE YOU ARE ON THE LAST FLIGHT FROM EARTH!"
I promptly woke up. I remember my dreams most nights. When I deconstructed this one with my husband -- who, when it comes to Jungian dream interpretation toggles between sincerity and hilarity -- we decided that my subconscious definitely needed to hear from my father in week six of this brave new world order. And yes, he was sending a message. He was letting me know that I'm moving closer to him every day ... and the world we know is ending. Just as it did on 9/11.
As we are invited, globally, to take the Hero's Journey a la Joseph Campbell, the obstacles are undeniably mounting. We are deep into Act II ... and yet we (mango clowns notwithstanding) persist.
We keep doing what my dad would have done.
We keep calling.
And taking care of each other.