The first time Wayne Dyer appeared to me in a dream was May 1, 2014. The next day I miraculously met up with him near the beach in Florida. (Former blog describes it in detail – click here) And the day after that he invited me on stage at the writing workshop he presented. (Me / Hay House platform – YouTube – click here). Are dreams designed to inspire us or show us the future?
That dream didn’t pack a big punch or anything. In short, I was in so much physical pain that I fell asleep and dreamt I was in the emergency room of a hospital near my hotel. When the nurse pulled the curtain back, I saw Wayne sitting on the exam table right next to mine. He was friendly and talkative but seemed rather concerned about something. Then I woke up.
During the incredible encounter the next day, he excused himself for taking a call in front of me. It was the call he’d been waiting for from the hospital where his daughter had just undergone a procedure. I remembered my dream the night before – chills everywhere. Had I picked up on that some how?
The second time Wayne appeared to me in a dream was just a few nights ago. Wednesday, maybe Thursday. This dream had a bit more substance to it and is well worth describing but unfortunately my morals won’t allow me. Let’s just say I was working out some long forgotten fantasy I’ve had about my idol – and it was hot! In the heat of the moment, he backed off to catch his breath. He chuckled a little and said his heart was beating way too rapidly and he needed to slow down! Then his smile faded and he had that same look of concern I remembered from the previous dream. That’s when I woke up.
My initial thought was, “Damn, that was a good dream!” That was followed by, “Oh God, I hope something bad didn’t happen to him!” I mean why would I dream about a man I haven’t thought about in quite a while? I poked around the web relieved to find nothing current about Wayne Dyer except his ongoing travel schedule. No news is good news. The day went on and the dream faded.
Sunday night at 7:55 p.m., a friend sent me this text, “I just heard about the passing of Wayne Dyer. How sad. I immediately thought of you knowing how much you love and respect him.” An instant lump formed and I couldn’t swallow. Within the hour about a dozen similar texts and emails came in. It feels silly to say I sobbed, especially given folks in Wayne’s personal circle (family members, colleagues, etc.) are probably reeling right now. But I can’t deny the interesting, difficult to describe connection we seem to share. Barely perceptible on this conscious plane, but fully existent, fully engaged on another dimension.
Wayne is the primary subject of an entire chapter in my yet-to-be-completed book. My deep desire was to tell him that and last May, I was given that chance when we crossed paths. Even better, I was able to hand him a very rough draft of that particular chapter when he invited me to the stage. When I learned of his passing a few nights ago, I knew I had to write my own tribute to him. This morning, I realized the tribute was not only already written, but hand delivered to the man while he was still in the physical realm.
I once heard Wayne tell a story about his tennis partner who constantly insulted himself. Wayne told the guy, “Stop bashing my tennis partner! I happen to like him!” I remember wondering how many people had wanted to say similar things to me through my years of obsessive self-berating. If we take the sage advice that has helped to heal our own wounds and pay it forward to the next lost soul, how quickly might we heal the whole world?
I needed help with some projects around the house, so I hired *Hank (a friend of a friend). He was a kind, hard working man, mid 50’s. I sensed his sadness despite his good sense of humor. Within a couple days, I saw the rather fresh scars on his wrists. Hank was a cutter. Surprising for a guy that age. I didn’t let on that I knew, just searched my house for additional jobs to keep him coming back and listened while he spewed a laundry list of reasons to hate himself. According to Hank, he was a loser, misfit, failure…who couldn’t get his act together. With a 3rd divorce in progress, he grieved his wife, his dog and the dream house he built himself (now occupied by the wife and her boss).
One morning, Hank paused his verbal-self-bashing and went outside to grab a tool from his truck. I quickly ejected the southern rock music from his CD player and popped in one of Wayne Dyer’s audios. When he protested, I said, “As long as you work for me, I refuse to have you bashing my handyman. I happen to like him, so if you continue, I’ll have to fire you!”
He laughed nervously, “Are you serious?” I was dead serious, considered it an intervention. I told him I had been through my own hell with divorce, loss, relocation, etc., but the grave that nearly swallowed me was the one I dug myself. I had been my own worst enemy. Not anymore. I pointed to the boom box, “That man you hear on that audio set me straight! I use to be depressed and penniless and now my life is so together I can afford your high price for handiwork!”
Long after Hank finished my projects, I received a postcard from him:
“Everything happens for a reason, isn’t that what you said? If it weren’t for you, I hate to think where I’d be right now. I kept up with the “positive” stuff like you insisted, and even bought more of Dr. Dyer’s stuff. (Thanks for introducing me to it). In September, I packed myself up and came to a place I always felt I belonged. I’m living in AZ amongst my peeps. I never thought I’d be able to say I love myself. Thanks to you, it’s easy. Peace. – Hank”
Years ago my friend Deb, who had listened to me rave about Wayne Dyer for years, asked if I took the time to thank him. I told her a guy that famous probably gets overwhelmed with all the fan mail. “So what?” she pressed, “Doesn’t he deserve to know? How do you feel when someone thanks you for something you did that made their life better?” She was right. Nothing made me happier than an unexpected note of appreciation – like the one I got from Hank. I sat down and wrote Wayne later that day…
The act of saying “thanks” is powerful, regardless of the result. I figured the letter would get lost in a pile of thousands like it, but that didn’t matter. He still deserved to be thanked and sending it was good energy. To my amazement, he not only responded, he did so in a handwritten letter within 2 short weeks and included a gift! An autographed book. Then another book months later. Then a flip calendar… The generosity was astounding.
I’m sure Wayne’s current audience is chanting “Job well done!”
Wayne, there is no doubt in my mind that you now dwell amongst the Masters where you will continue your work in an even greater way. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
*The name “Hank” is fictitious to protect the identity of the actual gentleman described.
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(Please repost with this link at the top: Reposted from the Bare Naked Talk blog.)