It is a dream. I am dreaming and in it I close my eyes I can imagine a life that I want. It is so different than the one that I have, I am somewhere else. Not just physically but in every sense of the way I am somewhere else.
I do not even look the same, I don’t feel the same, I am in a different place physically and emotionally.I can see it.It is a dream but I can almost feel it.
I can see me; or at least she looks like me but she is outside, and she is smiling, and the sun is shining. She is not skinny, but she’s not fat either actually she is not worrying about what she is wearing at all, she is comfortable in her skin. Her clothes are made of organic cotton and they are loose and her shirt is hanging just right off one shoulder as she leans her hear back and laughs.
She is sitting on the ground with a child in her lap, their is dirt and bugs, their is a garden. She is smiling and she is comfortable and the sun is out and the little child is holding a worm.
She’s not thinking about whether or not the house is a mess because the house is clean – it’s open, it’s organized. It is a big farmhouse and their are hard wood floors, and a fireplace and a big book shelf along the wall full of kids books and cookbooks. Their is a counter with a basket of fresh fruit and vegetables on it and braided rug on the floor with a wooden basket of Legos. Their is a cat curled up on the window sill. The windows are open, the front door is open. Everyone is barefoot.
She has a cup of coffee and a book and a kid with a worm and she is sitting on the ground barefoot with dirt on her feet. She is happy. Their are other kids around; playing and laughing and kicking a ball and a dog is chasing them around in the grass and everyone is laughing and smiling. Lots and lots of smiles.
Their is a picnic table with a glass pitcher of lemonade and little glass juice cups on the table and a bowl of strawberries and some cut up peanut butter and honey sandwiches and the kids know they can eat it whenever they want.
Their is a closet in the hallway near the bathroom and it is full of towels and linens. Large towels and hand towels and face cloths and sheets upon sheets and extra blankets and pillows and extra pillowcases. They are all super soft and losing their fluff because they have been washed so many times but when you open the closet you can smell the faint familiar smell of bleach.
She is not worried, she is not stressed; she is content. She does not let the outside stress of the world affect her private sanctuary, her home; her family. She has created a safe haven, a place of love and laughter and music, a place to stick your feet into a mud puddle just to feel the smushy smush between your toes.
The garden, the animals, the children and nature is all part of the circle of her world. She knows something that I do not yet know and that I am striving to find, it is something about balance, it is something about self-love and mindfulness, it is something about love.
But she is me, she is not dead and gone, buried underneath the weight of a thousand errands, and chores, dead from the demands of society, shattered from the impressions of media and cultural ideals she is still there, hanging on somewhere, waiting and asking for her time.
I know she still exists; I can see her inside of me when I close my eyes in my dream.