I’ve been really unwell since the last two days. Feeling feverish, getting cramps, and retching uneasily around midnight. Somewhere deep inside my stomach, I feel a painful unease. Trying to sleep at night has become a tough project now. So, I try to dream of soothing things – like jasmine petals in a tub of cool water in which I soak my feet. Or standing in front of an ice-slab that’s placed before a cooler on a hot, humid day. Last night, though, I dreamt of something very beautiful and profound.
I was lying on bed wearing my polka-dot cotton shorts and a military-print vest. It’s around two in the afternoon, and there’s a child on the bed. I think the kid is around three or four years old, and is painting something or arranging blocks. I imagine it’s a girl because I sense it’s my baby. Thus far, I have only thought of being a mother to a daughter.
I’m looking at her very lovingly, playing with her little toes and watching her flinch and wiggle her feet away.
I can’t see the face of the baby, though. Her breathing is even and peaceful. I’m relaxed just listening to it.
I get tired of the silence, so I ask her something. Although we are decades apart, and although I am her sole caretaker, and she is my daughter, etc., this conversation oddly feels woman-to-woman.
“Is this world good? Or this world bad?”, I ask her.
For a few moments, I hear her calm, peaceful breathing. Then she replies, “It’s mine.”
Ah, the simplicity of arrogance. Truly, her mother’s daughter.
I was lying on bed wearing my polka-dot cotton shorts and a military-print vest. It’s around two in the afternoon, and there’s a child on the bed. I think the kid is around three or four years old, and is painting something or arranging blocks. I imagine it’s a girl because I sense it’s my baby. Thus far, I have only thought of being a mother to a daughter.
I’m looking at her very lovingly, playing with her little toes and watching her flinch and wiggle her feet away.
I can’t see the face of the baby, though. Her breathing is even and peaceful. I’m relaxed just listening to it.
I get tired of the silence, so I ask her something. Although we are decades apart, and although I am her sole caretaker, and she is my daughter, etc., this conversation oddly feels woman-to-woman.
“Is this world good? Or this world bad?”, I ask her.
For a few moments, I hear her calm, peaceful breathing. Then she replies, “It’s mine.”
Ah, the simplicity of arrogance. Truly, her mother’s daughter.
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weirdly enough .. my tummy too felt rather queasy last night. maybe it the universal feel queasy day yesterday .. :)
For a few moments, I hear her calm, peaceful breathing. Then she replies, “It’s mine.”
Oh how true innocent and honest it sounds. How lovely to all the senses and how childish now to think of. Even Alexander after conquering the whole world couldn’t have fathomed to say that, so calmly without inhibitions, which a child of four could say so convincingly because, she’s not know the pain of loss and fear of defeat. But how beautiful it looks to see the confidence of life winning over the world and ready to conquer it and take it by stride.