Mystics and philosophers often describe life as an amusement park ride, exciting at times or downright scary but without real danger to the true self.

On October 30, I dreamed that my little three year old boarded a massive ferris wheel.  More precisely, the ride was a vast circle of seats hanging by a tether from a massive pole as tall as the Eiffel Tower.  The circle spun around as it was flung nearly a quarter of a mile out across the land.

The ride was highly traumatic.  I ran for my three year old.  “Get him off the ride!” I screamed.  He was too young.  When I approached the gates, some people were helping him out of his seat.  He was trembling and crying and horror stricken.

The trauma of the ride was so intense, he felt he was going to die.  I put my arms around him and said, “It was just a ride.  You were safe all along.”  He clung to me, but my words were little consolation.  The damage was done by the fear itself.  I knew I would need to spend months holding him close and restoring his sense of well being.

Nearly six weeks later, I feel much like my trembling three year old.  The wheel in the sky has been turning and spinning so furiously, fear has been the only constant.  It was only a ride, I tell myself, but the damage is done.

My lapse in trust is the true source of trauma.  Trauma, yet another part of this amazing ride.  The time for healing has begun.