I’d somehow taken possession of a female dog, still a puppy yet pregnant. She looked a lot like a large, short-haired Dachsund, brownish tan in color. I held her in my arms as I walked across a road, feeling an urgency to get the pup to safety. I was acutely aware of her fragility, but some of my movements as I held her were too abrupt. She didn’t protest in any way, but I think I hurt one of her front paws somehow. I felt little bones crack in my hand, even though I tried to be gentle, rushed as I was.
I wake up.
My husband Ray had an infected, impacted wisdom tooth extracted by an oral surgeon yesterday. What’s scary is that I almost lost him. He had a bad reaction to the nitrous oxide, which he became unresponsive to shortly after first inhaling it. The attending nurses brought him back from the edge and the doctor used general anesthesia for the procedure instead. Life is fragile, be it my husband’s, a dog’s, anyone’s.
When I got home from work and hugged Ray, he reminded me to be careful not bump the left side of his face. Like the dog in my dream, he was fragile. He has told me on more than one occasion that, if he has to reincarnate, he would like to return in a next life as someone’s lap dog. And like a pet dog, he is a very domestic presence. He tends well to the home, including cooking delicious meals and desserts, and is very warm and affectionate. Ray is my anchor and true opener of my heart, a life companion. Of course, he is far more one than any dog can be.
There is another layer of meaning to this dream. I am embarking on attending more seriously to my inner muse, my creative writing. Like the pregnant puppy dog, this venture is gravid with possibilities of ideas and subsequent projects. However, it’s also new and fragile, easily subject to neglect and subsequent withering away before truly getting up and going. Like crossing the road with the tender dog, I need to gently hold my love of writing, including carving out more regular time for doing it, and this while keeping mindful of where I am going. At this time, my intention is to see where this creating leads, have that be enough of a “road” to take. It’s important I focus back on the efforts at hand, away from the rushing of my thoughts and fear. Parallel to my anxiously gripping the dog’s paw and harming it, rushing off into distraction can hurt motivation and focus with making art. Ultimately, I need to trust myself that I can strike an ongoing balance between writing far more often and adequately attending to the other pieces that make up this life, such as work and marriage. There is plenty of room for all of it.