Gardner, Ingrid - A large room full of mirrors and crystal
Type of Spiritual Experience
Ingrid never did find out why her brother was like this, but from this she simply forgave whatever it was that had made him so. As she said, I never actually hated him as he seemed to hate me, in fact I used to look after him, because my Mum had asked me to and because I actually cared about him.
It was as if there was something inside that was getting to him. I just wished him peace, that is all, wished him to be happy and not eating out his heart.
A description of the experience
I was in a large room with mirrors and a lot of glass in it, pale blues and pinks, pleasant pastel colours. Lots of light – natural I think, at least it was a pleasant light not the sort of harsh light you get from neon strip lighting or similar. The floor was something hard too and the ceiling. I seem to remember it was extremely thick greenish glass – the green being caused by the thickness rather than any colouring. In the centre of the room was an oblong table in glass or crystal if you like and round the table crystal chairs. I seem to remember the room was supposed to be a kitchen because it had island units in it and rings – in crystal of course- but these seemed to play no part in the dream they seemed to be there just for scenic effect.
I was there with my brother and mother and father. My brother used to taunt me and try to get me wound up when I was young. Continual niggling, unpleasant little jibes designed to get me angry and make me unhappy. I don't know why, jealousy maybe, he still does it with me and he does it with his wife, but she takes not a bit of notice, I used to, still do. He always seemed to relish the thought of annoying where it most hurt – going in with the knife at the weakest point.
My father had told me not to rise to all this, to ignore him, and then he would eventually give up, but of course that is easy to say but difficult to do. And he didn't give up, he took out all his inner vindictiveness on me.
All around the room on shelves and the table were beautiful crystal or glass statues and works of art, truly beautiful and they seemed to be mine – precious things I valued. It was the beauty of them that seemed to matter so much the value was in their loveliness.
The dream was truly weird in how it evolved. My brother would say something, my parents took no notice, but the vibrations kept on smashing these precious things. Either they would explode into any number of different pieces, or they would rattle across the table and fall on the floor. Object after precious object, destroyed by talk, by words I don't even remember in the dream, all I remember is the loudness of the vibration and its effect.
I woke up almost crying – all that lovely precious stuff gone!
And in the dream I said nothing to stop it, nothing, I suppose I was doing what my father had told me, turn the other cheek, don't let him get to you, no violence, the path of least resistance. Oh but the loss, the loss............