Blog Layout

Call hunting in my dreams

carriesuepepper • Mar 25, 2012

There’s a feature with some “VoIP” (voice over Internet providers) phone services referred to as “call hunting.”  With this service, if someone dials your phone number and you do not answer, the next number in your ring list will be dialed. This process will continue until either a phone is answered or the end of your sequence list is reached.

In my dream this week on my Road to Ruby journey, I was reminded of this kind of process as I go about looking for my team of 12.  In the dream, it was called something like “roll over calling” or something like that, but what it meant was that it doesn’t matter whether someone answers, or whether they say no, or whether they are rude or closed or too busy or anything else – the idea is that it’s on to the next . . . the hunt is on for the one who has open ears and an open mind and is ready for what I have to share with them.  Again, as this thought drifted through my sleepy subconscious, I remember smiling and I remember the feeling of knowing that my thoughts ARE changing, that I am on the right track, and that that even though – during my waking hours – when the frustration level is high and I continue to wonder where in the world I will find these 12, I know that I will.  They are all on my path and they will appear as the sequence continues, as I dial the next number, or bump into the next person – wherever they may be (at a coffee shop or on a walk along the river, or in the Goodwill store, or in the grocery store . . . or my neighbor right across the street – I know that there is no end to this sequence list.  One will lead to another and then another.

This kind of hunting takes me down a road of mystery where I never know what or who is around the next bend in the road.   And so, my hunt will continue.  And, as Og reminds me in The Scroll Marked III:  “ The prizes of life are at the end of each journey, not near the beginning; and it is not given to me to know how many steps are necessary in order to reach my goal.”

Who is next in the sequence . . . perhaps Og knows, perhaps God knows, and perhaps my subconscious mind will tell me in my next dream.

The post Call hunting in my dreams first appeared on Carrie Pepper.

Carrie Pepper

By Carrie Pepper 15 Feb, 2024
Separate Lives
By Carrie Pepper 04 Feb, 2024
Today, while out on a walk in a very high wind, I spotted a little bird way up in the tip top of a bare oak tree; she was holding on every so tightly as the wind tossed and shook the branches. Hold on, little one, I thought. And just then, this quote came to mind. “A bird sitting on a tree is never afraid of the branch breaking, because her trust is not in the branch, but in her own wings.” ― Charlie Wardle As I watched her, I imagined my own wings and wondered just how hard the wind is going to need to blow in my life for me to loosen them, pinned tightly to my sides, unfurl them—then TRUST as the currents lift me off my (branch) and I soar effortless and without fear.
By Carrie Pepper 30 Nov, 2023
Out on my morning walk, street signs acted as memory joggers. Perhaps they were nudges so that I could remember, and be grateful for, these two women who were there for me as a kid. BRADFORD was the first sign. Grammy Bradford. I never called her anything else and I have no idea what her first name was, but I do remember she was there to tend to me when I was little while my mother went off to work at her government job "in procurement," which she hated. I know nothing, really, of what she did there, but I do remember the room. It seemed there were hundreds of desks in this huge room, no partitions. Dark grey desks and heavy black telephones. I visited her there a few times and she'd give me tablets and pens to keep me busy. I was ALWAYS thrilled to have a tablet and a pen! What she did there is a mystery to me, but when she and my father would argue, which was often, she'd always say, "I want my own money," and so off she went to work every morning at the Defense General Supply Center. He told her she didn't need to work, that he could support her, but, again, she wanted her own money. Back to Mrs. Bradford, Grammy. She was a bit on the heavy side (which I thought made for the best, most cuddly hugs) with long grey hair that she wore up with tons of bobby pins. She always wore a floral bib apron with large pockets and she'd fill them with pears when we'd go to that special corner of our back yard. Oh the smell! Those yellow pears and the carpet of yellow leaves. Memories of Grammy Bradford brought back memories of Thelma Massenburg. She looked exactly like Aunt Jemima (OH FOR HEAVEN'S SAKES, we can't say Aunt Jemima anymore!) Recently a friend told me he'd made pancakes and I asked what kind of syrup he used. When he said, "Pearl Milling," I thought it sounded kinda cool, but when I looked it up I found out it was the new name for Aunt Jemima syrup. SERIOUSLY? Anyway, she was wonderful. She cleaned our house, scrubbed the floors and walls and worked harder than anyone I'd ever seen. I loved her. She always wore a bandana tied around her head. She lived in a tiny reddish tar papered house with ten children. Who knows where they all slept! She was diabetic and I was a little stinker and liked to tease her with Hershey Bars. I'd wave one in front of her nose and she'd smile and say," "You bad, chile." The last time I saw her she was in the hospital and her eyes were very, very yellow. Liver disease. The scarf that was always wrapped around her head was gone and I am sure that I could hear her say, "You bad, chile," although she probably didn't. Thank you my sweet Thelma. My Aunt Jemima.
More Posts
Share by: