How real are borders?

We all know that the United States and Mexico are two distinct countries. There is a long physical border, from Texas to California, from Tamaulipas to Baja California Norte. Hundreds of Mexicans die every year as they try to cross the border itself and the unforgiving desert north and south of it. That's all too real.

But one day recently the border dissolved a little for me. I habitually see myself in Mexico as a guest in a country where my understanding of the language and customs is imperfect. This has simply felt like part of my identity, like my curly graying hair.

Nothing dramatic happened. I was just walking across the small town we're staying in, buying some bread here, some fruits and vegetables, stopping in at the ATM machine for more cash. But I noticed with some surprise that I didn't feel that sense of being an outsider. Delicious!

Another morning recently, I woke remembering a dream in which I had been petting our dog Sunbeam, who died in January (as I blogged on January 20th). In the dream I said joyously to my husband Kelly, "Sunbeam isn't dead!" Somewhere in my mind I also knew that back in Colorado there was a box of ashes waiting for us to have a ceremony with them, but the greater reality in that moment was in the connection with Sunbeam.

When I woke and remembered the dream, I cried a little, till I telepathically heard Sunbeam saying to me something like, "I'm NOT dead. The only thing you can't do in waking life is touch or see me, but you can do that in dreams."

How real are borders?