The other night, the last night before returning home from a visit at my parent’s new house, I had a really odd dream.
I was pregnant but the baby wasn’t growing. There was a problem with my heart that was preventing normal growth. My heart wasn’t strong enough to fuel it. It was odd that no one seemed concerned that my health might be in danger, and no one seemed concerned for the baby either. It was just a fact: I was pregnant with a baby that wasn’t growing because my heart wasn’t strong enough.
Pregnant, again. That’s what everyone was telling me, it’s what they believed and were convinced of. For a while, I went along with it, but eventually it dawned on me that there was no way for me to be pregnant. My dream self was going through my recent sexual encounters. No chances of pregnancy. I hadn’t been to any clinics for that purpose either. I was perplexed. I began to doubt the assumption everyone (my wife, friends, family) had that I was pregnant.
I started to smoosh, and move and manipulate my giant belly, trying to figure out what was in there, cuz I was convinced it wasn’t a baby. It wasn’t a hard, continuous mass the way my previous pregnancies had been. As I moved and dug in with my hands, I could feel distinct lumps of different sizes… one larger one that acted like an umbrella over the center of my belly and a couple of smaller ones underneath.
There is a lot of symbolism with pregnancy: nurturing and nourishing and birthing a new entity. There has certainly been a lot of birthing and rebirthing in my life recently. So, I wonder, what is this new birthing that my heart doesn’t have the strength for?
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