Ark Made of Gingerbread

Another nightmare. Amazing about dreams. I try to crunch the images in them like numbers: "That means this if I add it to that or--." Then, if I stop trying so hard, suddenly, it comes to me, what everything means. The pain comes too if I can stand it, coal hot. Last night, the dream board (see 3/4/09) delivered an exquisite sequence of images. An ark made out of gingerbread with parts that needed to be glued together with frosting. Parts that kept falling off. A project that might not come together in time. A truth sayer. And more. In my early twenties, I read a seminal sentence in The Christian Science Monitor..."Beneath, even the most extensive of any adult incrustation, is, always, the child waiting quietly at the heart." I still love that idea even though I no longer entirely agree with it. My inner child does not wait quietly. My inner teenager, the subject of this dream, does not either. Except today. She is fragile enough to be seen through to all her inner organs, to the blue veins in her wrists. And only I know why. Only I can do something about it.