Tag Archives: mother

a child pointing to vulnerable flesh that thought it was invincible

 

Primula

I have not dreamed this flower.
It just is.
In the midst of pandemic compliance
we are still part of spring in the north,
or autumn in the south.

As I near grandmotherhood for a second time, I continue exploring my legacy.
My father used to say there were a lot of people walking around Toronto
with the ass out of their pants because they didn’t get the trump out.

One day, aged, he woke from a nap in a wistful state and spoke of his dream:
a little sow in heat that he is leading on a string.
He walks it to the market downtown but just can’t do it, can’t enter that space.

He is speaking in an Irish accent with a softness and a fondness I have never seen.
I research the original occupant of our old house:
a butcher from County Tyrone, once the town’s mayor.
I find old pictures of the downtown Square
where there used to be a market on the grounds,
long before my father’s days here.
Carriages, fences, long dresses.

My hurry up legacy is the message that violence is so expensive.

Right now the sundering at birth is not so much moving from breathing water to air
as entering a world where one is made to chose between the mother and the father.
Moment one, and even before, the beliefs of our ancestors and their ancestors fill us.
Ancient systems made people things.
Boy children were made things that would own things.
Children and women were made things to be owned.
Men as things were made to trade people as things, made to corral allies,
made to make families tribes of deals made and broken,
empires of loyalty and enslavement.

The first breaths are of the air filled with the idea of people as things.
The first breaths are filled with the fallacy that one must chose love for the mother
or love for the father,
fallacy because it is not love in either case when people are treated as things.
This is the sundering, the system of the false bottom choice.

We are all born in the middle of the story of things.
This story keeps us blind to the story.
The heart of the child knows there is a false bottom story,
but needs others who will get to the bottom
to be freed from the empire of things.
The emperor has no clothes,
and the energy of the people goes either into trying so hard
to believe his clothes are as fine as he says,
or into trying to find others who, like the child,
will say he is naked and foolish.

A house of cards.
The world turned into a game of cards.
Getting the trump out is only playing the game.
Taking the little sow to market is part of waking up in the middle of a story
and not recognizing the ancestors’ voices.
The stories fill the air of birthing rooms.
To heal the wound from belief that we are things,
we need to see we are the ancestors telling stories.
The new story needs to serve the child, not the empire.

The first flower flowers in the north or south at its season.
It just is being itself.
This writing is more than a trump card.
It is a quiet trumpet like the opening of a primula in tune with the coming of a child.
It is a child pointing to vulnerable flesh that thought it was invincible,
that thought it was separate from nature and was a thing,
but is a being.

Birch Mother

CCF12112012_00001.jpg

Well!
Perspective is everything:

While I am researching the occurrence of ladder imagery in my dreams I come upon something that quietly astounds me in that it is a giant message of comfort that I have missed almost entirely.
When my mother died I asked for a sign – or perhaps made or chose a sign of connection with her: the birch tree.
Apparently the sadness of separation I had felt from her much of my life was infused into this symbol in spite of itself, perhaps in spite of my mother’s best intentions, and in spite of my desire for a true connection with her. In first reading the dream I missed the promise in the symbol’s bounty.

In 2009 two weeks after my mother’s birthday I dream:

I am at a park or retreat – other people are there – in their 20s or 30s.
Like a chalet.
Nice hilly setting.
Up nestled into the hill I see a patch of huge birch trees – they are gigantic and some are grown together at the base – they are beautifully placed in the side of the hill.
They must be 10 feet in circumference.
I have never seen birch trees this big…
There are maybe 10 trees.
There is something clean and real about them – reassuring – unlike most of the rest of the energy on this property.
It is like they belong to the property from when it was an estate – times of nobility and integrity.

At that time, in my reflection following the dream I note the connection to my mother, but it is not until now, almost seven years later that I feel the loveliness of the imagery and the support it can convey.

To be fair to myself, I also see the strength of the complex that was at play between my mother and myself, and the resulting relationship to my internal mother.
Wordy communication was not our way – more like moods and resulting suppositions.
And it is just so darn impressive how one can keep replicating this original experience of separation over years through the imagination as though it is still in play, inevitable, part of the “architecture”.
The confusion and frustration resulting from living with unconfirmed theories is reflected in the next scene.
The dream points toward the layer (grungy 70s carpet) of the past that is impeding progress:

But in the building the architecture is challenging.
The steps up to the loft that have to be climbed like a ladder are sloped and covered in carpet.
So the age shows – grungy.
Maybe they have been like this since the 70s.
I wonder if this was done on purpose as a psychological challenge.
I think it is stupid.
And it really does make more work and less efficiency and imposes unnecessary danger.

By revisiting an old dream I get to acknowledge having come far enough in mending my mother relationship to be able to see how that carpet of the past imposed such interference!

The above are excerpts from a dream of many scenes. And there are more levels to this dream, but for today I take this as a reminder to check my assumptions and check my old dreams for new information! I know that dreams communicate information for the immediate situation and reveal themselves over time. This is confirmation.

Another repeating motif from this dream that I will investigate later is estate!

Meanwhile back to the ladder research…