Eileen Loveman Daily Posting

Sometimes I wake up with a word or a phrase streaming through my head, the last thread of a dream before I wake. Remnants of the last conscious thought before I fall off to sleep.

 

They are crystal clear, I understand exactly what is being said.

 

I tend to refer to them as little messages.

 

What do they mean? Don't know.

 

Where do they come from? Couldn't tell you.

 

I've learned to listen to them. They are not like voices in my head, I'm not crazy.

 

But they tell me to call someone who is in trouble.  I was just getting ready to call you!  they'd exclaim.  How did you know?

 

Sometimes they appear like random lights, like across the top of the buildings on Times Square in NYC, or stock price numbers like on Wall Street.

 

Take her to the doctor

 

Get in the car and just go there

 

Check the stove

 

I used to think I would remember the messages when I awoke in the morning.

 

But I never do.

 

So I've taken to writing them down. I keep a pad of paper beside my bed.

 

I read them when I wake, before the first sip of coffee, before I rise to check my email for the day.

 

Little messages. They mean something, but sometimes I can't figure them out. Where do they come from?

 

Who is whispering in my ear?

 

Angels?

 

My sister?

 

Bingo Mary?

 

My Dad?

 

I don't care who is helping me. But they are.

 

They are the full answers to the half a prayer I started before I drifted off.

 

Sometimes they are the answer to a question I have asked myself all day.

 

A final sentence in a poem I wanted to share, but wasn't ready to give birth to yet.

 

Ideas for stories usually start out with the title, previously flashed across my mind. 

 

Like this one.  Little Messages. 

 

I always listen.

 

Do you?