Tag Archives: complex

Molecule Model Flower


My breakfast looks like a tree.

I eat it that way without knowing,
influenced by a child’s appreciation of symmetry:
one bite here, one bite there,
leave a stem to hold the thing,
for stability.

In my dream
the girl child unfolds a creation of both science and art
that comes from exploration
and the space set up to do that.
The space and she are open and bright.

She looks at me as I am watching and wondering at the unfolding
of a complex creation made of layers of paper:
both black and white,
six-sided cells attached by one or more sides
in the form of petals and flowers,
a honeycomb relationship unfurling down and across and down,
both delicate and certain,
seemingly no accident,
but predictable, no.

Kids these days!

I am an arm’s length admirer of origami,
its enfolding of science and art,
but mostly its magical quality
of two dimensions becoming three,
and by wonder suggesting more.

The girl’s cells of black and white combine
to make a delicate, certain network
recognizably organic, yet of discrete parts.
Black, white, yes, no, one, zero, all, nothing, empty, full.
A story and a rest,
sleep and waking.
Alone and together.

But mostly I have wordless wonder
at the occurrence of such a thing
in such a place,
and the girl expects no accolades,
but holds the molecule model flower by one petal
and watches it unfold.



The refugees’ movement toward us is triggering our DNA-held refugee stories.
Anxiety can go through the DNA; we existed in our grandmothers’ bodies.
The fears of our fathers are passed down in traditions, body stances, breathing patterns, averting of gazes, hackles rising at the particular trigger, compassion rising and quelling in a complex dance.
You don’t have to live like a refugee?
We do, somewhere in our bones and dendrites, even if it is just about the memory of leaving our mothers’ bodies, our safe water and land.
I imagine wearing a head scarf as a statement of my own freedom – wearing 10 headscarves if I want.
And the confused, angry young man shackled by his conservative three-colour and ball cap wardrobe has yet to embrace the possibilities of self and self expression. Eh.
Trapped in his refugee DNA.
Last night, this morning, I dream the man in the suit is pursuing the aware, sovereign children with the valuables.
This happens in a hotel complex.
The children are not alone, have a team of other children and even adult allies working together though the allies are unseen.
Now in an unusual, lovely cottagey room, beyond the service corridors, at sea level with a sea vista, I worry that the man is coming.
I encourage them to leave behind a piece of the treasure, something gold like a signet ring, hidden to recover later, because the man is getting closer.
In the hotel complex I am disoriented. I find it hard to return to my room.
I will take the elevator to the second floor and start there.

I have been working toward taking back my projection of the male, the masculine.

Here the dream is asking, among other things, “What is the hotel complex?”
Temporary accommodation – supposed to be about relaxation, and also staying here to accomplish business and move on.
And also a place of intrigue because so many lives can intersect.
And life can feel like a hotel – such a short time, with so many going in so many different directions – with different agendas – and no fixed address.

I seek refuge.

I worry about the man.

I rush the children away from the sea vista – the see vista.

A cottage can be a temporary refuge too, where we orient ourselves by the ocean, receive direction from the unconscious source to see more clearly.

Look at all these others right by the ocean and yet hidden behind brick walls!

Maybe the treasure does not need to be hidden anymore. Maybe the sovereign signet ring can be recovered and used – the sovereign seal on sovereign documents, messages, decrees. What that might look like … signify … yes.