I dreamt I met my 6 year old self. I was in an old Victorian house, in a large foyer with a marble floor that resembled an enormous chessboard and a grand circular staircase on the left. To the right was a small, wooden, run-down door. I entered it and went down the stairs to the cellar. At the bottom was an oval door, which I first thought was a mirror because it was made of glass, but as I came closer I saw that it was opaque and cloudy, and gave back no reflection. I knocked on the door and waited. She extended a hand through the liquid glass and pulled me into her world.
We went into a dark forest and sat down near a weeping willow tree, with branches hanging like curtains over a small pond with bright orange fish. She turned to me with melancholy eyes and said, stop pushing. And then I transformed into a grandmother, not my own grandmother, who I barely remember, but an archetypal white-haired, old woman who touched the child’s face softly and spoke to her with gentle words. I cannot remember what the I-who-was-not-I said. (more…)