Art, Faerie, Amanda Palmer, and musings…

My post I dreamt of my mother last night. We sat and talked on her bed in the room my parents had while I was growing up. It felt like a death-regret talk. The kind I have had with the old and dying about what they wish had been different in their life. My mom died when she was 50 of breast cancer, I was 12. In the dream she was frustrated because she couldn’t figure out what she wanted. She was filled with anger and jealousy, both directed at me and at others. She was a hugely creative person, very kind and empathetic. She felt the pain of others too much. I think it tapped into her own pain and so was really uncomfortable. At that time tools for processing the issues in our lives were not very well known and definitely on the fringe. She was too scared to dig deep, too afraid of the shadow. She was never able to access her voice, her needs, and her mission. She did for others to the point of loosing herself. I believe this caused a level of resentment and discontent that opened the door to illness and ultimately her death. In the dream I asked if she was open to hearing my thoughts. I have felt for most of my life that her mission was to help others through her creativity. In the dream she said no, she wasn’t open to me, she was angry and too locked into her dysfunctional pattern. I think the dream had everything to do with where I am in my life right now… and also the book I just finished earlier that evening.content.