Night Journey

Last night in a dream I wandered the streets of Paris. At first I felt abandoned by friends and family, and scorned by parisians whose language I stumbled over. I moved as one lost, not knowing if, where, or when I would find myself. Yet the city enticed me; my sadness at being alone was overwhelmed — by active beauty. Around me inimitable streets, bridges, gardens and sculptural buildings attracted my eye, involving my alien body in the life that pulsed so irresistably around me. For all of the night, sleeping and waking, I remained a captivated dreamer and a liberated soul. I was a flaneur, freed from time and compelled by my own meandering progress, but eventually an encounter with a writer inspired me to settle down and translate my experiences into words.

This was obviously an escape dream, a reprieve from the day’s nonstop participation in the lives of others. The dream returned me to myself, restoring the balance, so to speak. I was willingly reminded of my other side: lone wolf, explorer, one who prays by moving and is restored by writing her internal revelations. . .

Interestingly (regretfully?), I was called out of this restoring blog by a family crisis that must be answered. It was a life or death situation, or seemed so.  Don’t they all seem so? The day was long and compellingly involving. I didn’t come home until five, and had eaten no lunch. I was experiencing the kind of numbness that comes from denying one’s inner cries. How can I acknowledge those cries that must be so deeply buried that the cries of my children overwhelm them? For I find them to be easily ignored when those persistent and long heeded cries break into my space. The children’s cries are welcome because I don’t know any other way. The mother heart leaps to respond, while the deeper, pre-children portion is only a few cries short of withering from neglect. That portion woke me last night with its unmet needs, and we lay there struggling for quite some time. It wasn’t an easy time. My  need for sleep was at odds with her efforts to make me listen.  So today I am tired, yet it seems I am listening now, and bravely sharing her need if not the solution. Could my recognition that her need is my need be the solution — possibly even for my children?


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2 Responses to “Night Journey”

  1. Christopher Says:

    Marvelous what things dreams bring to us. A Spanish poet speaks of the waterwheel of dreams, the buckets scooping up and bringing us the healing water. Maybe our waking self is the poor, blind mule who moves the waterwheel. Probably unnecessary, but here is a photo, from Murcia, so you can visualize
    Think of the mule’s interiority too!

    • leiflife Says:

      Christopher, Thank you for healing water, and for the poor blind mule, who plods on without knowledge of the good accomplished. Without receipt of the healing waters?
      The image was helpful, but not nearly as strong as the one you summoned to my mind with your words. The mule may be tired this morning, but fully in receipt of the healing waters of friendship — and dreams…

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