DREAMS
10.15.20
From growl to purr.
He said “I want it to burst from my lips.”
It was less burst, and more serene. Entwined its way between the borough of her lips and the nape of my neck, it nuzzled itself in a sleepy cradle of two spoons and a million different carbon molecules.
As if to say, “rest now.” That moment the rescue realizes this home is no foster. The refugee breaking bread with his kin in a new country, a new tire bolted safely, getting to see your grandmothers’ face one more time before she dies, the empty chamber of a retired gun, a child returning home from the hospital with normal oxygen levels, clocking out on your last day of a job you hate, walking in on the first day of a job you love, the first bite after break-fast, a warm shower on cold skin, you are safe here.
Me? I am lightning, thought tornadoes slapped against the walls of my heartbeats skipping from disbelieve-to- panic-to-ecstasy-to-what? Relief?
If you could lay your eyes upon the most fire-hardened, most cruel and unpitying person alive, during sleep and at the moment of waking, you would see in them for a moment the untainted child spirit, the pure innocent. In sleep we are once again brought back to a state of sweetness. In sleep we are remade. We are reassembled from the inside out, fresh and new as innocents.”
Clarissa Pinkola – Women Who Run with Wolves,
Chapter 5. Hunting, When the Heart is a Lonely Hunter
The Sleep of Trust