In May 2024, I wrote a QuietQuest post called Beyond the Bells and Whistles: The True Value of Meditation. It resonated with so many of you, perhaps because it reminded us that meditation isn’t about chasing visions or colorful displays—it’s about the quiet, consistent work of presence and peace.

Since then, my own practice has been… well, uneventful. And that’s not a bad thing. In fact, it’s often the point. Until one morning, when the still waters revealed a hidden current.

The Dream That Came to Meditate

I set my 6 a.m. alarm like always, settled into my morning meditation, and drifted into the deepest relaxation. Somewhere in that liminal space between wakefulness and sleep, a dream arrived. It wasn’t a wild, cinematic vision—but it was potent.

I found myself walking into a small dining or rec room that felt almost military. In the corner sat two friends from my past—Randy and “Skittles.” I haven’t seen either in years. The joy was instant and overwhelming. I hugged them both, kissed the tops of their heads, told them how happy I was. It was pure, uncomplicated love.

The setting shifted. I wandered through dim hospital-like halls, then outside—where several men rolled out an empty hospital bed. It carried only empty and half-full Pepsi bottles, which they dumped onto the ground. Odd. Specific. Haunting.

At some point, my eldest son appeared, telling me I looked so young. I know I look younger than my age—but hearing it from him, in a dream, felt like a message.

Symbols in the Stillness

The Friends: Randy and Skittles belong to a chapter of my life that was joyful but also tangled with addiction. Seeing them now felt like revisiting that chapter without being pulled back into it—loving the people, not the patterns.
A Conscious Trigger, a Subconscious Release: A few days before this dream, I looked up DJ Funk—music my friend Randy first introduced me to. Skittles was simply part of that time frame, but DJ Funk was woven directly into my friendship with Randy. At the time, it felt like a casual search, a flicker of nostalgia. But in hindsight, it may have been the key that unlocked this dream. That music was a soundtrack to the “contained space” of our shared past—a world of joy, camaraderie, and also the addictions I’ve since left behind. By revisiting it consciously, I may have nudged my subconscious into opening that memory room, letting me step inside, greet it warmly, and then move toward the healing and release that followed.
The Hospital & Pepsi Bottles: Pepsi was once my constant companion—and honestly, a love-hate relationship. I knew how unhealthy it was for me, yet there were times in life when I didn’t seem to care as much. The ebb and flow of health choices is real; sometimes we make them, sometimes we don’t. I quit twice before (once for two years, another time for about eight months), but this time the relationship is over for good. It’s been five years since my last Pepsi, and even the zero sugar version ended earlier this year. In the dream, the empty bed and discarded bottles felt like a ceremonial release. That addiction—and the part of me that clung to it—has finally died.
The Contained Space: That rec-room-like corner is the “private world” of my past life in addiction. Contained. Sealed. I can visit it in memory, but I no longer live there.
My Son’s Comment: This wasn’t about vanity—it was an affirmation. Overcoming my addictions has preserved my vitality. My son’s words were a mirror reflecting not just how I look, but who I’ve become.

Why This Matters for Meditation

This dream didn’t arrive because I went searching for it—it emerged from the still waters of steady, consistent practice. The “uneventful” meditations built the quiet foundation where a moment of deep insight could surface.

It’s a reminder:
Even when your meditations feel basic, they’re still doing their work. The mind and body are always listening. Sometimes, the most profound messages come when we’re not chasing them.

If you’ve had “ordinary” meditations lately, I invite you to see them differently. They may be the very ground where your next deep current of insight will rise.
Has your own quiet practice ever revealed a message you weren’t looking for? I’d love to hear about it.