My father lay in bed reading from his kindle by the light of the bedside lamp. I came in to say good night. I was thirsty, and borrowed the glass from the bedside. I walked into the en suite bathroom, poured myself a glass of water and drank it. It seemed to have no effect on my thirst, so I filled another glass and drank that, too. Still no effect. I looked carefully at the tap as I filled another one, and verified that there was water going from the tap to the glass, and the glass into me. I peered carefully at the water through the transparent glass. There seemed to be little spores floating in it. Concerned I looked around, and saw my mother had placed a large vase of orchids near the sink, some plant detritus must be falling into the glass.
I drank the water. Still thirsty. I drank more. Still thirsty…I woke with the realization that I would never be able to slake a real thirst with dream water. That if I stayed in the dream, continuing to drink in a way that lacked context, or meaning—intention, kavanah, I would eventually die. That abortion is what results from sex without kavanah. Death, whether literal or soul death, results from action without meaning. (Or, in the case of murder, from flawed intention) Both mother and child die of thirst.
There’s more, Freud would have a field day. My father (not naked), in bed but on my mother’s side. The orchids (vaginas), the spores (sperm that flow into and through me but do not germinate), and water—always life source, wellspring…and Miriam’s well which kept us all alive in the desert.
I am conflicted. I am pro-choice, but the strength of Graham’s convictions confuse me and make me uncomfortable. This tension between strong personalities is being played out in my dreams. I am not really sure what Shekhinah is trying to tell me here.
I also don’t want to have this debate in this forum, but I did want to share the dream.