What follows is part of an ongoing series about how dreams helped me, as a daughter and caregiver, during my mother’s experience with Alzheimer’s, her death, and my grieving process. CLICK TO START THE SERIES.

In a time of grief, dreams point the way back to joy

After years of helping to care for my mother and witnessing the ravages of a disease that stripped her of memory, identity, and language, I was eager to learn more about joy, which at times during my grieving process felt as if it existed on a distant planet–not at the center of my 5’4″ body. And yet, that was just what the yogic system of the 5 subtle bodies promised.

So, in the months after my mother’s death from Alzheimer’s disease, I attended a lecture about the 5 koshas as they are called in yogic teachings. According to this system of belief, our physical body is just one layer that makes up who we are. We also contain, sheathed one inside the other, the energy body, the psycho-emotional body, the wisdom body, and at the center of them all, the joy or bliss body. 

After the lecture, when I went to sleep, I asked my dreams to show me how to locate that inner body of Joy or Bliss. Here’s what happened:

In my dream I am in a dark, cold house, where people are sleeping. In this freezing environment littered with sleeping bodies, I see one of my favorite sitcom characters, Rory from the Gilmore Girls. In this dream episode (no spoiler-alert needed, this dream has gone off-script) Rory is mourning the death of her mother. Even in the dream I am aware that, Rory’s grief over her mom, with whom she has a very close friendship, echoes my own grief about my mother.

In her own voice

I woke briefly, and at first thought the dream was far off topic: there was no joy in it. But then I realized those sleeping bodies in a near-freezing house might represent the grieving parts of myself that were frozen, and keeping me from experiencing bliss.

So I reset my intention and went back to sleep.

This time in my dream I’m walking down a hallway when I hear a phone ringing somewhere behind me. I turn back to answer it, and when I pick up the receiver I hear my mother’s voice, as clear and bright as if she were standing beside me. I call out for my siblings to come listen in.

My mother says, “I have something great to tell you guys, you’re going to love this!”

My siblings and I are filled with glee. It’s not so much that she has news to share with us, but that she is there at all, talking and laughing like her old self.

After all, it’s been years since we’ve heard that happy, easy voice of hers. The voice that seemed to have a smile curled into its syllables, a little twist of irony around the edges, and a hint of Brooklyn in its dropped t’s (bo-uhl for bottle) and squawking vowels.

Then, just before I’m about to wake up, and thus “hang up” the call, my mother announces that she is with, The guy from The Twilight Zone.” My siblings and I burst into a new bout of laughter, imagining mom with a seemingly random, retro TV character.

But then I woke back in the world without her.

I was buoyed for a time by the pure joy of our dream visit. Then I began to reflect on what else the dream might have been telling me about where to find the Joy body, and how to access it.

The dream reminded me that death is not finite; it showed me that there is an eternal connection between my mother and my siblings and me. Death was an illusion. My mother was just a phone call away.

But this wasn’t news. After all, how many times had people, in an effort to comfort me, repeated that my mother would always be with me in spirit, that love never dies—and all of the other clichéd condolences of Hallmark cards. Well-meaning though those sentiments are, they are powerless against the tidal waves of grief that come with mourning. The dream, however, allowed me to experience the truth behind those hackneyed phrases and canned words of commiseration. And that felt experience was truly comforting.

And there was more: The dream led me deeper into the twilight zone.

Into the fifth dimension

It turns out, when my mother said she was with “the guy from the Twilight Zone,” she was offering some unexpectedly enlightening information.

Growing up, I watched re-runs of that show, but I was too young to have really gotten into the series, which aired from 1959-65. So after I had the dream I went online to remember who “the guy” from the show was, and to see what connection he might have to my question about the Joy body.  My initial Google search led me to Rod Serling, the show’s creator, and this introduction from Season 1:

“There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man’s fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call the Twilight Zone.”

I had to blink my eyes to be sure I wasn’t still dreaming; that description was a perfect guide to the bliss body and where to find it. It could indeed be described as a vast, infinite, timeless dimension between shadow and light, beyond fear and on the path to true knowledge or enlightenment. And perhaps the realm of dreams, where imagination can help us see beyond what our eyes can perceive, we can begin to discern it.

So there it was. I had my answer. True and everlasting joy is always there, but I had to move through my inner shadows and fears to find it; I had to move beyond what I could see awake, to the timeless dimension of dreams and imagination to truly experience it.

This single dream and this one example show how much is available to us when we no longer see dreams as something that just “happen to us”, but as a twilight zone that we can traverse skillfully. Then we can return from our nightly journey into the fifth dimension with wisdom and comfort to sooth our fears and help us move through grief—and into joy.

Related Posts

Crazy Good: Dreaming of Mom, by Tzivia Gover | Apr 9, 2015 | Dream Life, Dreaming of Mom

Mother Daughter Dreaming, by Tzivia Gover | Feb 28, 2018 | Dream Life, Dreaming of Mom

If you or someone you love wants to talk about your dreams, you can book an appointment with Tzivia for a dreamwork session. Mention that you are a caregiver and receive 20% off.

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Forgotten Dreams

Tapping into the Power of Sleep and Dreams for Caregivers of People with Dementia and Alzheimer’s

44 pages; Only $2.99

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About Forgotten Dreams

Although it’s her job as a self-help author to help people take good care of themselves, when her own mother began to slip into dementia Tzivia Gover had difficulty following her own advice. After all, the taxing nature of being a caregiver takes its toll on physical health and mental well-being. And, as Tzivia found, even the simplest self-care fixes like getting a massage, taking long baths, or taking some extra “me” time can feel out of reach for caregivers—either because of cost, time, or both.

But Tzivia has identified a surprising source of generous, wise guidance that’s close at hand, free of charge and requires no extra time or travel. Dreams can coach and comfort caregivers, and offer new perspectives, creative solutions, and spiritual strength and meaning through what might otherwise feel like a devastating ordeal.

In Forgotten Dreams Tzivia shares her story along with easy to follow tips and techniques that will help caregivers:

• Sleep better and find moments of rest in stressful times
• Learn to recall and record dreams
• Discover how all dreams, even nightmares, can be tapped for help, health, and spiritual and emotional healing

Tzivia is passionate about using her research on sleep, dreams and mindfulness to help others reap the benefits she has experienced from living in harmony with her dreams. In her private practice as a Certified Dreamwork Professional, and as the Director of the Institute for Dream Studies, she has worked with hundreds of clients, many of whom have been caregivers themselves. The gifts she offers in Forgotten Dreams will help families and loved ones of those with Alzheimer’s Disease and dementia to sleep more soundly and use their nighttime dreams for support and guidance–so they can find meaning and even joy, even in deeply challenging times.

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The Perfect Companion

The Mindful Way to a Good Night’s Sleep is an ideal companion volume to Forgotten Dreams

Learn more about how to sleep and dream mindfully, and wake up well. OrderThe Mindful Way to a Good Night’s Sleep when you pre-order Forgotten Dreams.