Last night I had a dream: I walked into my office at work and started to search for my baby. I knew that I had a baby and that I had not been a good parent because I had been neglecting it. I had to dig it out from under layers and layers of blankets and clothing. When I uncovered it, it was this shriveled, tiny thing that was no larger than my hand. And I could see that it was struggling to breathe and that it was very weak. I began to feel a sense of panic. I started to force milk down its throat and it gradually began to look better. The legs began to curl up into the usual fetal position and the color got better. I remember feeling immense relief that it did not die. That’s all that I could remember of the dream.
When I woke up this morning, the dream immediately came to mind and I knew that the shriveled up baby was my spiritual self. It was almost like a lightening bolt, the clarity of the dream’s recall and my instantaneous understanding of its meaning. Continue reading