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Mother's Day

She was a dark-haired, high-cheeked child born to a family of six. She was the youngest child in the clan, two brothers and a sister were born years before. Her father was a man devoted to the Word. He preached Bible scripture every day as if he were standing at the pulpit of a Baptist Church speaking to a large congregation of fundamentalists looking for salvation at the end of their wretched lives. Her mother was not really a mother, although she dawned the mask of motherhood when it suited her. She was particularly selfish with her time and money, everyone said she was plain self-centered. If anything did not suit or serve her, she had no part in it.

Being the youngest of four children, the little girl was the recipient of non-gender specific hand-me-down clothes of all qualities. She was entitled to the last scraps of dinner, whatever it was: uneaten crusts from sandwiches on stale bread; a small cup of soup; five or ten Cheerios from the box; Kraft macaroni and cheese made on the stovetop; and her favorite, canned Vienna sausages. She dressed herself, washed her hair when she took a bath and tried to be an "A" student in kindergarten to prove she was worthier than the other kids in her class. She thought all kids lived like she did. She was never disturbed over her impoverished life because she had to reference to compare it to. It was what it was and she was determined to do the best that she could.

As she matured as a toddler to a youngster, her mother and father became more dysfunctional as parents and as individuals at the same time. Her mother became reckless and self-centered, her father became a pseudo-Gideon.  So, this five-year child took on the task of mothering her mother. She saw her father as someone chasing Divine deliverance, and he would chase it until he died. He would never be delivered. She could not help him. Over the years, she watched him disappear as if he were a member of a large cast of participants of some surreal magic trick created by Salvador Dali to be performed on the stage of life.

Her mother was a handful. She partied at bars all night sometimes, leaving the little girl left in the back seat of her mother's car. It was common for the little girl to be left in movie theaters, bowling alleys, and grocery stores. The little girl wandered the streets at night, trying to find her way home. Nothing bad or horrible happened to her because she was protected by an Arch Angel, but none-the-less she was put in some pretty tough places just trying to survive.

Her mother's reckless and carefree behavior rippled through their family like the waves of a meteor crashing into the ocean. The little girl watched her sister turn to drugs and her older brothers left home before she recognized their vices. The little girl put blankets on her mother who laid passed out from alcohol. She fed her mother food she had cooked and made sure the wash was done every week. The little girl was a straight A student in school, and when she had time, she dreamed of going to college, getting married to a handsome and caring young man and working in the real world for real money.

One night, after she said her prayers to a God she did not quite understand, she looked up at her ceiling of her small bedroom and said, "I wonder what's it's like to be a mother? Are all mothers like my mom? If I was a mother, would I be like her? Hope not. Amen." Then she turned on her left side and fell fast asleep.

That night, the Dream Master came to her. He was an ancient sage, one teaming with the wisdom of the ages. He lived in the space between reality and fiction. He controlled the thoughts and minds of people through their dreams. The land behind the veil of death gave him great favor and trusted him to connect the pieces of everyone's lives. He had a great task, but his sole purpose in life was to die and become this Divine consciousness in the realm of sleep. He cherished his role. Over thousands of years, he had grown a long white beard to match his long, gray-silver hair and protuberant nose. It seemed as if the architect of human form plucked the nose from a honker from a Frenchman and stuck it in the center of his face for visual effect. It worked.

The little girl started into a deep sleep, which allowed the Dream Master to appear. He connected to her neocortex and neuro-associative sensory areas of her brain just like a computer connects to a hard drive. He started to speak to her from her vast unconscious mind, high on a cliff overlooking an ocean of her preconceived and ill-conceived thoughts, he softly spoke, careful not to startle her which might wake her up before he could deliver his full message, after which he would return to the land behind the veil of death.

"Hello, my beautiful, wonderful child. You've been born to a family to shape your life. Yes. You're meant to be a mother. No one here intended for you to have to mother your own mother. Good job! Keep it up!" He stepped back from the cliff of unconsciousness.

The little girls smiled as she stayed deep asleep. While in her unconscious slumber, she asked him, "When will I be a mother? I'm afraid I'll be like my mother."

The divine Dream Master smiled and returned to the edge of the cliff, "You will be the exact opposite of your mother. What you endure in the next twenty years as her mother will allow you to endure your next twenty years as your daughter's mother. But there will be big problems. There's always a problem. Nothing good or great comes without sacrifice. But when you are in the space where you belong, none of your actions will ever be felt as a sacrifice."

The little girl rolled onto her right side, "What troubles? What hardships? I can't live like this. I have nothing. I am hungry. I am afraid."

The Dream Master looked down at the ocean and saw the calm waters become choppy. He could feel the little girl's fear, almost to the point of terror. "Now there. Nothing to be fearful of. Life unfolds in a complex way. Your Mother had a poor mother. Unfortunately, she didn't learn what not to do. She took the easy way out. She emulated her. You are different than your Mother. You will be opposite to her in every way. Any style of parenthood, taken to the extreme, will be unhealthy for you. And, especially your child. Too much salt or too little salt makes a pitiful soup. Balance and Harmony make the best soup. Life is a soup."

The little girl stayed in the moment. She did not wish to awaken. She could see the waves crash of her unconscious mind at the shore of sub-consciousness. "Who will be the father of my child?" The Dream Master replied without hesitation, "Someone opposite of your Father. Your Husband will not be a Husband because your focus will not be his Wife. You will choose someone who cares not how you Mother. Choosing the Man you choose allows you to be the Mother you never had. Your child will experience too much Salt even though your intentions will be virtuous. Your child will have beauty, intellectual gifts and a keen sense of survival. You've all those things. You'll live to be a Mother, a single Mother, although married like your Mother. When your child is grown, you will choose to be a Wife. A Man will come into your life. He will be someone you love profoundly. He will love you profoundly. Beyond the Stars. You will be his Moon. He will be your Sun. Motherhood will be something you experience to its fullest. But the Soup of Life will become clear. He will be the Pepper in the Soup. At the same time, you will adjust the Salt. We desire that for you."

The little girl reached out to touch the old man. He was like a hologram, untouchable. She looked at him and asked, "Why? Why must I have Motherhood before Wifehood? Why can't I have them both?" The Dream Master replied, "Because you do not know how to choose. Everything to you is important. But Motherhood trumps all suits in the deck. You will sacrifice the greatest man for the perceived welfare of your daughter. Even when you are wrong, you will be right. A great man might be a great father, but you had neither. You would feel very critical of a great man who tried to help you adjust the salt of Motherhood. You can't see what you don't know. You can't be who you haven't met. You will live an interesting life. You will be the Queen of Pentacles. You'll sit on the Throne of the Left Hand Path. I've told you enough. Remember the Soup of Life needs both Salt and Pepper. Everyone's taste is different. The Great man you will marry is more like me; I like Soup a bit on the Salty side myself." He laughed loudly as he faded away into nowhere.

She awoke and immediately began to question the words that came to her in her dream. As much as she tried, she could not fall back asleep. She thought about soup, salt and pepper, and how to accept her fate. It sounded heartbreaking in so many ways. She found no remedy to soothe her Soul. She got up early that Sunday morning.

Everyone was asleep in her house but her. She started looking through the pantry and refrigerator. She found chicken, a few old vegetables and some salt and pepper. She looked on the top of the refrigerator and found a cookbook. She opened it to page 454. She started reading the recipe for Country Chicken Soup. As she started to make the soup, she noticed that her Father had circled the calendar for this Sunday. It was Mother's Day. She smiled as she thought about getting the right amount of salt and pepper. Little did she know her dreams would come true, but not how she planned.

The Dream Master kept an eye on her. So did the rest of the Collective Divine. He would return to her dreams when necessary. But not for a long time.

Kevin S. "Kiki" Merigian © 14 May 2017, Mother's Day

 

   

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