The Seashore Dream
How I tried to reach out to the outside world but couldn’t make it, as depicted by a dream I had in 1964.
How I tried to reach out to the outside world but couldn’t make it, as depicted by a dream I had in 1964.
I am standing now at the railroad station of the small village where I reside with a Polish family.
Who is watching over me in this silence that I feel?
To endless days On lonely avenues.
In 1975, I was pregnant for the first time, and the world seemed different. This dream epitomizes my new connection to the world.
I wanted to help my mother, you see, and at the same time to establish a certain authority about myself.
When you are five and a half years old, at what point do you start crying because you haven’t seen your mother?
They took my father away. They came one evening and took him away on a stretcher. Two policemen in blue uniforms bent over the black, blanketed heap And heaved up the poles And opened the door and left.
Last night I dreamt of my father. He was not my father as I remembered him. He was another man, and yet my father. His face and clothes were from another time, Another place.
Our feelings are always there—waiting, attuned, alert, and yearning for attachment. So we were created. Such is the path of our lives.
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