This morning, for first breakfast, she brought the tea outside. She sees the bare Catalpa tree and the browned out hedge. Then she remembered to be mindful about the birds and she listened for them. She heard a woodpecker in the trees across the road and a few crows that drew her ear around the house toward the west. With her listening, a cardinal, vibrant red, came into the Catalpa with its muted alarm chirrup.
This in turn rose up two titmouse birds out of the center of the tree and into the side nearest to her. It is a very little light grey bird, with its own distinctive wa-wa sounds. It had black rings around its eyes and an overly large yellow beak, like it did not belong to the tiny face. The bird looks a little fearsome face on. It was finding foraging among the ivy leaves that climbed the tree and she could see the bird going through his morning functions. One time the bird flew so fast toward the ground she hadly saw it as it picked up something and went back up into the tree. All of this brought her delight and joy as she looked at the beauty of these little birds, and heard their sounds. All the sounds of the road fell away. They were very happy to feel the warmer weather again as she was. Sixty degrees, dampness on the porch and even the fake flowers looked fresh.
When she heard the clock tower in town start with a somber nine o’clock sound she rattled off the porch inside to light her candle and to burn some incense and determined to do it right, for silence and for concentration.
She thought of some clients and the pull and shove of motherhood and of being the good mother and of being the good child. She though of telling the mother to pretend to be the child and to carry on like her daughter and scream and roar and accuse the child of leaving her now that she has had a tantrum. She grinned a little at this though.
And that the mother not take those tantrums as evidence of a bad child and bad mother, but more as an outcrop of a past time of trauma that the child endured, a result of huge losses at an early age.
And that the child is bringing a gift to her of tapping into the mother’s feelings of lack of control each time the child has the tantrum, in turn cobbled into the mother’s experiences of childhood. She may have to look at some of her own systems to help her resolve this, so her frustration can be put away safely in the right side of the brain and she can approach her child in love, however the child is acting.
These are not all the detail or all the solution, but it was fun to see it a bit differently for a minute. A slow turning over of the leaves of the trees, a deep well of purity needed from the mother in which the child will be safe, what ever tantrum she needs to spread around to imitate the original pattern of the trauma, to get it out and drop it with this mother. She made sure to sent light to the mother and daughter, and both adults, like two sowers of the seeds of love, increasing love a hundred fold between the mother and daughter. That is the promise.
Rose asked for silence again, saw something plastic binding her and asked for healing. She had to wait until after the silence, when the plastic was gone and the light, like the golden light of a sweet candle, was within her and she felt the presence shifting her north and south, up and down, and obeyed some directions about breathing and movement, then and only then could she feel a change inside, pray some more for others and finish with singing her long time songs.
After Second breakfast, she was tidying up the mounds of clothes in her bedroom and making beds and wiping up and tidying up what she had created in the past two days of working away from home. On the porch again, writing, the cat sleeping on the chair nearby, the sound of far away sparrows and traffic, and the day goes on. It is time for first lunch she said. It was well past midday.
I am available for dream counseling at my home office. I look forward to seeing you there. Love from Rose