Posted at 12:37 AM in feeling, listening, photography | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBack (0)
Posted at 07:35 PM in about me, feeling, listening, photography | Permalink | Comments (6) | TrackBack (0)
For many years, the most commonly recurring dream I had was about me discovering a newborn animal or nest of newborn animals, usually by kicking or stepping on them. The setting was usually my bedroom or another room in whatever apartment I was living in at the time. I’d trip on the babies, and then I’d be both shocked that there was a nest of babies I somehow didn't realize was there and also horrified that I’d squashed them. In my early twenties I also started having a recurring dream that when I looked in the mirror, I saw a glimpse of something in my eye, and upon looking closer in strong light I saw the face of an embryo, sleeping restlessly where my brain ought to be. In my early thirties there was a new dream. I would discover a baby in my midst, usually by accidentally injuring or neglecting the baby. And suddenly I'd realize that I was babysitting but had somehow forgotten. Sometimes the baby was maimed. Sometimes the baby was dead. Sometimes during my shock and horror at finding one frozen baby in my car, the babies would multiply into a ten frozen babies. In my mid to late thirties, a new dream took its place. I began to dream about a fetus inside of its mother, restless and anxious, afraid to be born, not wanting to be born. I haven’t had one of those dreams in a long time. I never thought the dreams were literal. I am an excellent aunt and babysitter. A couple of years ago, I ended almost five years of both individual and group therapy. My therapist had a theory about dreams that made a lot of sense to me, and it has since deeply affected how I think about the human point of view. Her theory was simply that in many dreams you play every part yourself. Every person represents some part of you. She made an educated guess that I wasn’t caring for myself the way I should, that I was neglecting my vulnerability, that I was hurting myself by continuing on the path even after discovering this. I’ve made changes in the way I treat myself and in how I respond to others. Though I’m quite sure I have many more changes to make, lately I feel peaceful in a way I don’t think I ever have. Last week I thought about the possibility of having a child of my own. Though that idea is something I have always felt strongly ambivalent about, I felt differently about it. I’m not sure if I will have a child, but I do feel sure this means I am ready to explore some things I have never explored. There is a yearning in me to understand. In May, I’m going to be forty years old, and while I don’t put much emphasis on age in my life, it does feel like a crossroads of sorts. I feel like all my potential paths are good ones. I feel like I have been walking many paths in my life and instead I want to walk one path, and I need to be fully present on that path. The love between a mother and child has always seemed like something wonderful and amazing and yet out of reach, and for good reason. That love is something I have always felt other people can have or understand, but not me. That love has been terrifying to me personally, in my relationship with my own mother, which has been rife with issues of ownership, invisibility, fear of loss, intrusion, abuse, sadness. And yet other things. In the past couple of years I’ve begun to have a relationship of sorts with my mother. Maybe for the first time since I was a wee babe. This kind of love is so tangled up in my heart and head. I have some sorting to do. This is one of those times when I need to find those ignored, intertwined parts, gently untangle them, dust them off, and understand. In a way it seems like I’ve already been there and done that, but I also know I’m different now. I have different questions. I will learn new things. I think I’m ready, but I need to take baby steps. |
Posted at 07:00 PM in about me, dreams, feeling, photography | Permalink | Comments (8) | TrackBack (0)
Yesterday something big and life-changing sort of almost happened. Well, I thought it could have happened, but it didn't happen. And I was a bit bewildered by my own response: something I thought would make me panic instead made me feel peaceful. I was reminded that my life has undefined potential - a fact that I somehow forget on a fairly regular basis. Even though I believe in this potential, even though I practice feeling hopeful, even though I know transformation and redemption are real, I am amazed when I am visited by possibility. Sometimes I respond to mystery in ways that make me see myself with new eyes. I remember that I am more than a collection of old thoughts and feelings. I am also new responses to possibility. Things I cannot yet know. …Sometimes we just get to have the experience of "maybe" to help us clarify how we would feel if it were so. - A message I received yesterday from a good friend. And she was right. - - - - I grow and change, and somehow I forget that I will again feel the wonder of assumption-shaking, complacency-breaking possibility. The future is a mystery. Even the future me is a mystery. I think that’s pretty wonderful. Each and every time I open myself, each and every time I remember. |
Posted at 09:44 AM in feeling, photography | Permalink | Comments (7) | TrackBack (0)
Posted at 09:00 AM in feeling | Permalink | Comments (15) | TrackBack (0)
Posted at 07:00 PM in about me, feeling, handwritten, memory, photography | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBack (0)
One day in the park, I found a little girl, about four years old, crying by the merry go round. Tears streaming down her dirty cheeks, long braids hanging behind her. I didn't know her; she must have been visiting the neighborhood. I remember the smell of cut grass, the twitch twitch twitch of the night sprinklers coming on. I asked the little girl why she was crying. She said she was lost, that her parents were gone and her sisters were gone and she couldn't find them. She sobbed harder and louder as she told me her story. She gasped and stuttered, snot flew out her nose and she wiped it on her arm. I'm not sure exactly how I felt... though I have thought about this moment many times in recent years. I think I felt sorry for her. But my disgust was stronger. And so was my anger. I told the girl her sisters were gone for good, and that her parents were never coming to get her. I walked home, leaving her all alone as the sun went down. All the kids were on their way home for supper or to watch tv. As the summer noise and heat dissolved into the twilight and quiet cold was settling in the desert grass. I was eight years old. - - - - I was learning how to abandon myself. I was passing it on. I was transferring my feelings. I didn't know I felt abandoned. I didn't know how to feel my own hurt. I was hurting others, and numbing myself. I watched and learned. How to hurt. How not to cry. How not to feel. I realize now that what I did was a reflection of how I felt inside. The lost little girl who wanted her parents. The tenderest, least powerful person I knew, my brother. I poured salt on his wounds, straight out of the shaker. I told him monsters were coming to kill him in the night. The sweet, retarded girl at camp I had befriended, Shannon. My only friend that summer when I was ten. I took a fistful of fine ground black pepper and blew it into her eyes like a kiss. I knew I was like them, somewhere down in my shameful weak little heart. I wanted that tender, powerless person inside me dead. I wanted all tenderness gone. From everyone. I have forgiven myself for these things, mostly. I need to say this loud and clear. I am sorry. I came back to get me. |
Posted at 07:17 PM in about me, feeling, memory, photography | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBack (0)