Last night I dreamt that I was super pregnant and about to have a baby. I was in the hospital with a sweet partner and my parents were there and it was ON.  I woke up from this dream bawling my head off.  WTF?

Why was I bawling? Because  I’m 36 and no baby in sight,  don’t know if it’s even possible? I don’t think that’s it —  Babies haven’t always been a dream of mine,  always a little indifferent about having one until recently when I’ve fallen in love with my friends’ kids and had inklings of how amazing it would be to have one.  Later on in this day I went running 16 miles to train for a marathon and had a beer with my friend, and have been geeking out at the computer doing work for hours.  I could not have this freedom with a newborn, no siree.

I’ve had baby dreams before.  Usually these babies are tiny,  smaller than the palm of my hand.  In one dream I carried the baby around in a teacup,  in another I kept her safe in a cough drop wrapper.  In one dream she was in a glowing orb of white light.

 

I’ve written about my musical projects as babies before as well.  Things to be protected in utero but released and let go to find their own ways in the world.

In real talk,  I’ve been depressed and heartbroken.  I’ve been working through heavy heart stuff and feeling like my life is sort of pointless.  I feel like I’ve been fucked with and rattled around a lot this past year.  I played a part in this,  and trying to stay strong.  The world is in such pain;  our country is a total shitshow.  It’s appalling.  So do we stay depressed?  Or do we take action?  Do we melt in paralysis of fear,  not leaving the house,  not looking for love,  avoiding being big & living out loud for fear of offending some lurking evil,  sometimes as close to heart as friends or lovers?

What I’m taking from this dream is that I’ve got all these unborn babies waiting to see the light of day,  ideas and songs and books and blogs and paintings and poems.  If I sit paralyzed in fear and pain all I’m gonna do is stuff myself with vegan quesadillas and gain 20 pounds back and cry in a corner.  I’m sick of it.  Real or imagined babies need us to do the work of making this planet more beautiful.  With our art,  with our action,  with our hope,  with our compassion.  With community,  with peaceful gatherings,  with conversations,  with healthy boundaries,  with deep solitude,  with therapy,  with poetry,  with film,  with song.  No more time to waste moping.  May your babies real or dreamy sleep sweetly tonight …

Painting of Tori Amos by Mary 😉