Wednesday, November 26, 2014


Most of my dreams fade away as soon as they are over, but every now and again one will stick around for a bit after I wake, giving me a chance to wonder what the heck my subconscious is trying to tell me.  This morning was one of those mornings.

I'm not going to share every little thing that happened in the crazy, mix-matched dream I had - mostly because some parts are unrelated to the scene that I will write about here, but also because certain parts were just too personal.  Yeah, yeah, I know.  Those are the parts you want to read about.  Well, sorry, but it's not happening.  The only thing I'm sharing today is poo.

Seriously.  Poo.  Also know as feces, excrement,defecation and sh...shhhhhhh.  Nope, can't write it.

There was a baby in my dream who was covered in it.  Fellow moms and dads may know what I mean when I use the term "poo explosion."  This poor baby apparently had a MAJOR explosion.  Like an "up to his neck" explosion.  He was on the floor, lying on his tummy, covered in his own excrement, as his mom sat on a nearby bench chatting with a friend.  I stopped, smiled at the mom, and then call her attention to the baby.  Ya know, just in case she somehow hadn't noticed.

She knew.

She was not happy that I dared point it out.

Who was I to judge her?!

Her anger should have unnerved me but I had a goal.  That poor baby needed to be cleaned.

"I'm offering help.  Are there wipes and a clean diaper that I can use?  I don't mind doing this for you."

The mom's friend pushed a couple of wipes and a diaper toward me.  I scooped up the poopy baby and went into a tiny restroom.  It did not have a changing table.  For some odd reason, dream me thought that it would be okay to put the baby on the sink edge to change him. Naturally baby keep trying to flip over and off the sink so eventually I gave up and put him on the icky ground while rinsing the two wipes over and over to use again and again.  The cleansing was difficult, but I knew that it was something that had to be done.

That's it.

The dream scene shifted at that point.  I'd like to assume that I was able to not only get the baby fresh and clean but maybe even give him a sense that someone in world was caring for him.  Since he was only a dream baby, I guess it doesn't really matter.

So what does matter?  Why did I dream about a soiled baby and a mom who was more concerned that she was being judged than she was about her own child? What was the lesson that I was supposed to be learning?

None of us likes the idea of being judged, do we?  After all, if we are judged, we might have to face the fact that we may be doing something wrong.  If we are wrong, then it's possible that we'll feel compelled to change.
Change takes effort.
Who has time for that?
Isn't it easier to just throw an incomplete, out of context Bible verse (Judge not!) at people?  That way we can sit back comfortably in our own arrogance while ignoring the innocence that lies covered in filth.
I don't know about the rest of you, but something about that really stinks to me.

Facing judgments can be difficult, but maybe it's also necessary.  How else are we to grow?  It's said that we learn by making mistakes, but unless we recognize those mistakes for what they are, we have no incentive to learn from them.

So go ahead - judge me.  Point out those fault that I should fix.  Highlight my mendable flaws.

Help me clean myself.

Sunday, July 6, 2014

The Fight Inside

It doesn't take much.  I open to door to the cabinet and the faint scent meets me.  No more is needed.  A single whiff can bring the tease of a taste memory on my tongue.  

Longing takes control.
I don’t just want it – I need it.

My brain tries to caution me, but reason won’t work.  Far too quickly, I’m too far gone.  The reward easily seems worth the possible costs.

Before I know it, I’m in the kitchen, placing a filter, and pouring the water.  A scoop of chocolate cream is spooned into a cup.  Coconut milk is warmed along with a half teaspoon of organic sugar before a splash of coconut extract is added.  Next comes that magical moment when I break the seal of the jar that holds my aromatic treasure.  The grounds are measured and put in the machine.  In place of the pot, my prepared cup sits on the warming plate waiting for the stream of coffee to fill it. 

The first sip is divine.  A sensuous awakening spreads throughout my body.  Once again, I understand why this bean nectar is loved by so many.  

It doesn't last.  

Today, I remember why coffee is wrong for me.  Today my head weeps in agony.   The punishment is almost too much to bear.  Pain scours away at the memory of the pleasure until it fades away.  The world has become heavy and dull.  Love has sharpened into hate. 

The only way to prevent this torture from visiting again is to purge coffee from my life.  
I'm going to do it this time!  Today, I will rid my home of those hurtful grounds.  

There is only one problem.  
I know that as soon as I open the cabinet where the coffee is stored, the aroma will take over again.