The headless baby

It's not often I:

a) dream or

b) dream and remember it.

But, lately, I've had a few whoppers and my wonderful spiritual friend has taught me the value of dreams. I participated in a spiritual dream group for a year and learned so much. But, with some sleep issues, I was unable to be the dream-recording warrior and jot them down right after I had them. So I have to rely on the ones I can remember.

In the most recent, a coworker – with whom I actually did work once – entrusts his one-year-old gorgeous baby boy to my care. I don't even hesitate and enjoy this budding relationship. He follows me everywhere and seems content. The catch is these older women in white, kind of out of the frame of the dream, keep telling me how to care for the baby. And when I don't do what they suggest, they do it anyway. They remove his head (no gore or pain, this is a dream after all) and stand it neck up on the stairs. That little face is so vacant and the body doesn't know what to do, so I keep taking the head and putting it back and the kid stays almost glued to me.

There's something about this dream that relates to a provocative book I just read, PUSH, whose main character is beaten and sexually abused from age 3, constantly told she's nothing and floats through school making A minuses without knowing how to read. Her prayer is that someday, something WILL happen and those words will make sense. At 12 and 16 she delivers her father's babies. But something in this child, who is forced into a wretched adulthood too soon, knows she is better than her circumstance. It's confirmed when Precious starts an alternative school and the teacher acknowledges her, sees her for who she really is, not a thing to dominate. That's when Precious blossoms. Keeping her second child, then moving to a halfway house shows her love in addition to that from her teacher and classmates.

Precious is that baby struggling to become whole, keeping its head attached ... no matter what the chorus of women in white says.

For some, it's a literal journey. For me, I think the headless baby is one of my inner children also seeking acknowledgment and wholeness. And it's up to me – just as it was to Precious – to tend to that child.

• Is there something in my life I am not tending to?

• Am I paying attention to my dreams?

• Can I listen to myself above the noisy chorus of others that may not know the right path for me?

• Do I have some stillness in my life to pay attention at all?

chubby and curly-headed,

this cherubic baby asks so

little ... just for some attention

I am not sure just how

long she has been asking,

it's only now that I

am listening

can I give this

wee one what she

needs?

can I trust myself,

my inner voice

against that

of the outside?

if I don't, what

will happen?