Where Dreams and Nightmares Live

God I'm being such a crabby bitch today! It's totally not that time of the month for me, so I don't know what's going on.

I am heading to Vietnam in a few hours, so that for sure is going on.

I know that leaving one place and arriving in an unfamiliar place always brings up anxiety for me. But I think there's more here.

I think it's the fact that I'm going to Vietnam, which is at once extraordinarily exciting (surprisingly so) to me, and also somewhat unnerving.

When I sat in the cave 3 days ago, the most unexpected of the 3 messages that came through was, "Dreams and nightmares live in the same place. Go there."

It was very clear. I don't fully get it yet, and that may be what this next part of the journey is about. Living that.

Because it has become clear to me during the past few days that dreams and nightmares are indeed what Vietnam is all about for me.

Dreams of bright green rice paddies in lush, terraced valleys. Farmers in traditional dress walking on narrow paths behind oxen. Bustling cities, women dressed in red riding amidst a swarm of bicycles. A rich culture, a strong, proud people.

Nightmares of war. Of napalmed children running naked down a dirt road. Of night after night of carpet bombing in the cities. Of zippo raids and machine guns and landmines. Of one day in 1968 when a US army company entered the hamlet of My Lai, rounded up a few hundred women, children and old people, and machine gunned them into ditches. Later another commander was quoted as saying that every US company had its own version of My Lai.

So nightmares. And dreams. And this place in the world where they seem to collide for me. And the place in my heart where they intersect.

And living from that place on this journey. Taking in those lush rice paddies and stunning harbors and strong, proud people. Experiencing a wildly new culture. And also feeling the grief I feel, the anguish, over what my government did to those people. Going to the War Remnants Museum in Saigon. Visiting My Lai and perhaps laying flowers at the memorial. Saying to someone, anyone, a grandmother who lost her sons, "I am so sorry for what my government did to you. I was not even born but I feel a lot of grief over it. May it never happen again and may our two people continue to heal and to forgive."

I was born 2 years after the last US troops left Vietnam, and yet this sits so strongly with me. Even a desire to be forgiven.

In part I think because since middle school I've been entranced by the war, and knew, without a doubt, that if I was alive back then I would have been a leader against the war. I wanted so much to have been alive back then.

Perhaps past lives are at play here. Certainly some of my own history with violence is, and it would probably help for me to remember that. And also the history my family in Europe suffered through. Because some of them were also shot into the graves they dug themselves.

And perhaps I am projecting some dark, hidden parts of myself onto Vietnam and what happened there. Some parts I prefer not to see but that terrify me and certainly come out in my dreams. Some parts maybe I need to seek forgiveness for, most likely from myself.

This may sound unnecessarily depressing. To meet it is not. To me it is very real, and rich, and it is what is coming up. It does not dominate - the main thrust for me is adventure and exploration of a beautiful new land. And the grief part is there too, and the mystery that surrounds it.

So I'll go with all of it and live it as fully as I can or want to, and we'll see how it plays out. I'm excited, and of course I'll keep you posted. In less than 5 hours I'll be in Hanoi!

Much love,
Roni