Can a Dream Feel Different from a Dream?

There are dreams that don’t seem to come only from our memory.

Sep 09, 2026

This post is also available in Spanish. Read it here

Some dreams are simply dreams. And then there are dreams that feel different. Over time, I have learned that dreams can also be a form of communication. Not every dream carries the same meaning, but some arrive with a clarity and a presence that do not feel like the result of whatever we happened to be thinking about during the day. They have a different texture, a different depth. And when you wake up, you know that something happened.

That is what happened to me two nights ago.

I dreamed about Matías. In the dream, he said to me, “Mommy, teach me how to get dressed.” I taught him how to put on a little pair of shorts. There are details of that moment that I prefer to keep private, but I remember the feeling of being in that familiar place again: being his mother, helping him, teaching him something as simple as getting dressed.

Then I had another dream.

An enormous eagle appeared inside a house. It belonged to a woman, and at first, I was frightened. It was too large, too imposing. But the eagle ended up on me. I was sitting on a sofa, and it stayed there calmly, resting on my body. Little by little, I stopped being afraid and began to touch it.

Then something even stranger and more beautiful happened. The eagle brought its beak close to my eyebrows, almost as if it were combing them. There was no aggression in it. Quite the opposite: there was a kind of intimacy, as if this enormous and powerful creature felt completely at ease with me.

Later, a man appeared. The eagle took his glasses with its beak and put them on. They fit perfectly.

When I woke up, I did not feel as though I had simply had a strange dream. The feeling was much deeper: this was lived. Not simply dreamed. Lived.

While I was telling Andrés about it, I looked at my phone.

It was 10:08.

10:08 is the time Matías left.

To me, that was not a coincidence. It was a synchronicity. One of those small pieces that appear at exactly the right moment and that, once you have learned to recognize the language of the beyond, you know are part of the message.

I do not need a rational explanation for every detail. Nor do I need to prove to anyone what these experiences mean. I know what I have lived, and I know that communication with the beyond exists.

Over time, I have also come to understand that this communication does not necessarily happen in the same way for everyone.

My father, for example, has a language with me that manifests primarily through dreams. I have already shared that story in other posts on this blog.

With Matías, it has been different. His language has appeared in many forms: a giraffe making a particular sound, an animal, a word, a video, someone calling me to tell me they had an experience connected to him, or a synchronicity appearing at exactly the moment it needs to appear.

I have learned to recognize them.

And I think that is part of what happens when someone we love leaves: we also begin to learn a new language.

It is not a language that someone teaches us. We learn to recognize it. At first, we may not know what to make of certain experiences. Then we begin to notice patterns, symbols, recurring moments, and particular ways in which that person seems to draw close to us.

And once you begin to recognize that language, you cannot stop seeing it.

That is why the eagle stayed with me.

An eagle already has extraordinary vision. It can see from distances we cannot even imagine. And yet, in my dream, it needed glasses.

That made me think about my own way of seeing.

I have always felt that I have a strong ability to observe. I notice errors, contradictions, and patterns very quickly. I can look at a situation and find something that does not fit. But perhaps having vision is not only about seeing more. Perhaps it is also about learning to change our perspective.

The eagle could already see perfectly. And yet, it put on a pair of glasses.

Maybe the message was not, “You need to see more.”

Maybe it was: “Learn to see differently.”

Perhaps that is one of the things the language of the beyond teaches us. Not only to pay attention to signs, but to expand the way we perceive them.

Because when someone we love leaves, the relationship does not necessarily end. It changes form.

And we change with it.

We learn to listen differently. To look differently. To recognize what we once might have called chance as synchronicity. We learn that a dream can be much more than a mixture of memories and thoughts.