Pregnant, that is. Or I am, but it’s not what you think.
In my dream I was pregnant, and there was a strange search of some kind. For a father. Very specifically: “for a father.” Not “the father.” There was also a pile of dirty dishes. Just a few. In a plastic bag, I think. Eventually I rinsed them out and gave them away.
I was on my way to the airport. I had been away for about a month. The feeling / thought that lingered and stayed with me as I started to move from dream state to waking state was a sort of persistent pattern that went more or less like this: “I don’t know if I can still abort. I didn’t know before I left, I wasn’t sure. Now I’m sure, now I know. Is it too late to abort?”
I woke up from the dream slowly… and in my belly that feeling of being pregnant stayed with me.
No, I’m not pregnant. And no I am not planning to have a baby.
I think the dream was about my writing. The message from within was just “too late to abort” or “no don’t abort; take this to term.”
It’s been about a week since returning from nearly a month in Asia. I’ve been away from the writing part of the work since the new year (though I was binding some writing into little booklets for a while). Now I’m home and working again.
I think that was my body telling me to not leave aside the writing too long. “Take it to term.”