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Chapter 23

New Life Entering

One day a baby doll came to me. It was just, she wasn't a doll, she was a real live baby. She  was the smallest thing I've ever seen, just about as long as the pinkie finger of a five year old girl. The baby was put in a box, in the exact same manner as if she'd been a doll. A pink cardboard box it was with white symbols typed on it. She was put in that box for protection since she was way, way too little to be out in the open. I loved her instantly, loved her with all and everything in my heart, but I was scared too, because, I was just a child myself, five years old, and I thought to myself: "How am I to take care of this tiniest of all tiny little babies when I'm just a child myself?" I never questioned how and why she was given to me though, I just received her with a huge, heartfelt gratefulness. Along with this fear and worry I wouldn't be able to take proper care of her.
          I remember thinking that she'd been given to me, to me, and whomever had put this wonderful little creature in my care must have the greatest faith in my being able to take real good care of her. In the dream that thought made perfect sense, and so I followed it and did whatever I could think of to safeguard and make my baby happy. When first she came to me she had this knitted little hat put on her tiny head, and even though it was the tiniest hat I'd ever seen it was still one size too large so it kept falling down over her puny face. Every time that happened she thought it was night – because of the dark it created. I pushed the hat up again with the tip of my pinkie finger, very, very carefully since she was so very, very little and fragile, and I laughed at her funny thought in delight and said: "No, no, no you tiny silly, it isn't night descending, it's just your hat falling down again!"
          Since she was so little I came up with the idea to use a nipper when feeding her, dropping one small, small drop of nourishing liquid at the time into her little mouth. This was funny to watch; she raised her head up and held her mouth wide opened, eagerly wanting the nourishment, and in doing this she looked just like a baby bird when it gets fed by its parents. When cleaning the box in which she was living I used my pinkie finger again, since all of my other fingers, however small, still were too big for it. And I did a lot of other things to keep her satisfied and happy. But all the time I had a gruesome, nagging, worrying feeling that perhaps one day I would forget to do some of all the things needed to be done with a baby, who is so totally in the hands of others, so totally exposed to others taking care of them. This ever-present, distressing thought continued: "If I forget, then, when I remember I've forgotten, it will already be too late."
          One day me and a female adult were going to see a theatre. I don't know who the adult was because the perspective in the dream was that of a five year old – me! – and I reached only the waist of the adult and never look up at her face. I looked at her hand, which held mine, and I looked at my baby, which I huddled close to my body with my other arm (still in her pink cardboard box). And I looked around the place we were entering. It was a beautiful outdoor theatre located in a sunlit airy forest. The construction reminded of an ancient Greek amphitheatre; circular, made in stone and built to fit in with the terrain. On one of the stone-benches a gang of teenage guys were hanging. They stared at me and my baby as we walked passed them, their eyes filled to the brim with spite and irony, and when their cruel glares happened upon me I came under their merciless scrutiny. "Do you really think you can take care of that baby?! You're a friggin idiot if you believe that!", they shouted at me. And then they laughed a mean laughter and went on: "Just you wait and see, you'll forget about her while watching the theatre and then what will you do? She will die for sure, she'll be dead once you find her again, you'll see, you'll see." And they laughed again, their cruel, cruel laughter.
          I tried not to listen to them, and I pretended as if I hadn't heard them. I cast a glare their way and then turned my eyes back on the hand I was holding. But I had heard them – oh yes, load and clear – and hearing my biggest fear spoken out load like that really got to me. I squeezed the hand of the adult harder and pulled my baby tighter.
          Then there was a gap in the dream, the next thing happening was me coming back to reality after having been absorbed by the play while it went on. The first thing I did was to turn to the place where I'd put my baby. But the place was empty, she was gone! I looked everywhere around, evermore desperately, but she wasn't there, not anywhere. I screamed in absolute devastation. The adult woman took me by the hand and said in a calming voice: "Hear now, little one, don't be afraid, we'll search for her together and we'll find her and you'll get her back, don't you worry. Come on, let's look around!"
          We walked towards the theatre entrance in our search for her, and so we came to walk past the teenage guys again. They spotted me and noticed I hadn't got the baby anymore, and then they laughed really hard and sinister and yelled: "Didn't we tell ya this was going to happen! You damned fool!" I couldn't pretend not hearing them this time, tears streamed down my face and the whole of my being radiated a panic so vast and so deep it was all I could do to keep it from engorge me. As much as it hurt hearing them shouting this at me now, it was nothing – nothing! – compared to the pain I felt having lost my baby. The adult woman by my side said: "Don't listen to them, sweetie, they don't know anything, we'll find her!" But by now I was beside myself with pain and fear and panic, I was sucked into a horrendous, gruesome state of mind, distorting the adult's voice into something blurry and unreal, making it sound as if she was not sure at all of us ever finding my beloved baby. From that moment on all that existed in the whole of the universe was pain, panic, emptiness and absolute fear; my baby was not with me, she was nowhere to be found – and it was my fault. Because I had lost attention, and let myself get caught up in the theatre.
          There I woke up, in panic, and a dire anxiety overflowed me. My face was wet with tears, my body was tense and sweaty, and my soul was filled to the brim with a grief so strong I've never felt anything like it ever before. I glanced at the clock; 5.36.
          For a long while I just laid there, in my bed, not knowing what to do to get the dream and the dreadful feeling it had arisen in me to ease somewhat. Then, suddenly and totally unexpectedly, I fell back asleep.

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A new dream comes about. At the centre stage is a peculiarly looking woman, it's like she isn't real, akin more to a figure taken out of a tale told to children. In this dream she's very much alive and "for real" though. She's wearing a white trench coat with a belt, the type that was high in fashion during the late 60's. She has semi-long blond hair in a dark silvery-sort of shade (and for some unfathomable reason she looks just like a Filifjonka from Tove Jansson's stories). When the dream begins she's running back and forth on the edge of an enormous painting. The painting goes in black, the same colour as the space, the Universe surrounding it. To the bare eye it isn't easy to distinguish where the painting ends and the surrounding Universe begins, but this doesn't seem to bother the woman – nor seems it troublesome to the other two beings in this dream; the beholder of the woman, and me – the onlooker watching both the woman and her beholder.
          The beholder of the woman is God Himself. I don't know how I can know this so doubtlessly, I just do. I somehow recognize the smile on His face and the look in His eyes; they're filled with the highest Love, a wordless, infinite Wisdom, and totally lacking even the slightest trace of worry. Seeing the calm and joyous expression on His face, in this situation, annoys me because the woman He is watching is beyond herself with worry and concern. She's running there, back and forth, on the edge of this huge painting, constantly raising and lowering her arms to make a physical enhancement to her inner state of anxiousness – the movement is so strong her whole upper body follows her arm-motions – exclaiming a her deeply felt concern: "My oh my, my oh my, how is this going to turn out?" Over and over and over again she's crying out these words as she paces to and fro on the ending (or is it the beginning?) of the painting.
          She's obviously not aware, and hence not afraid, of being so close to the edge. I – the onlooker –  is well aware of it, but she's not. But as I watch her running there I feel no fear she's going to trip and fall, it's like the possibility of this happening just isn't there. As she is not even aware of being that close the the edge there's evidently something else that bothers her so immensely. It's impossible to say exactly what it is though, because whatever it is, it's all enclosed in her mind. Her worrisome pacing and exclaiming goes on for a while, and then the painting starts to grow. It expands in all directions at the same time with a speed so super-high its beyond any measurement. The painting's expansion grows faster as the painting grows larger. To me it looks like it keeps a constant speed on the edges but accelerates ever more in the middle, and so, since it grows larger by the millisecond, the speed seems to increase uncontrollably when observing it as a whole. Watching this gives me the impression the expansion is infinite and everlasting.
          When the painting starts growing the woman gets even more anxious, not because she's noticing this though, no, she's crying "Oh no, oh no, now they've gotten children on top of everything else, oh no, how is this going to turn out, oh dear me, they don't know the amount of trouble there comes with having children!!!" The beholder – God – smiles His all-knowing, wondrously loving smile as He watches her in all her worry, concern and anxiousness. I know, as I watch Him, as I watch her, as I watch Him watching her, that He knows she's got nothing to be worried about, not really; everything is just the way it is supposed to be, precisely as it was always meant to be – including her worrying so much. This comforts me a little bit; if He knows this, this is true.
          But all the same I'm terribly upset with God since He just watch the woman, watch her worry and the totality of the situation, that He sees everything and knows everything is exactly as it should be – but don't tell her this! He could so easily just let her know and so set her mind at rest. I'm thinking: "Why can't He let her know? He sees her worry, that it's genuine and deeply felt, and He sees that she has nothing really to worry about. So why can't He help her, ease her pain by letting her know what He knows? Why?" I just can't wrap my mind around it.
          I myself am hindered to intervene in any way as I'm just the observer of it all, there's simply no way for me to reach her, but I know He can, at any moment of His choice. I'm getting more and more annoyed with this non-intervening thing until I wake up in pure frustration. 6.59 am.
          I stay in my bed thinking about the dream. Slowly it feels as if an answer to my question comes to me: God is not telling the woman anything because the worry she's feeling isn't based in reality. From His all-including above perspective God can see that there isn't anything real to be worried about, and hence He doesn't intervene. Well, I can't say this answer really makes me understand, but strangely, realizing all of this goes way beyond my comprehension comes as a huge relief to me, because I can rest there, I can rest in my knowing it's pointless to trouble my mind with what I know I cannot comprehend. There, and in the certainty God unhesitatingly trusts Himself, I can rest.

What did you say? Yeah, I know ... God is tricky to be sure!; letting me know exactly that which I wanted to know by showing it to me, and in this round about way, telling me that even if He would intervene, even if He would tell the woman, load and clear, there isn't anything really to worry about, it wouldn't set her mind at ease because she – me, that is – wouldn't be able to listen, being beside herself – hence not within herself – from this overwhelming worrying feeling ... Bringing me this dream is actually the only way He can get through to me with this information now. How, I wonder, can anyone not Love Him?!

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When God said Let there be light,
and He saw the light, that it was good,
I believe that what He saw was Himself
and just like a tiny Trossle
when she looks at herself in the mirror of her soul,
she smiles giddily widdily happy and rejoices
because what she beholds is the most precious and beloved vision there ever was!
Yeah … that's my belief! =]

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