Lioness

As I walked the edge of the dream world last night, that misty place between waking and sleeping, where the subconscious and the universe can speak to the mind that remembers, a lioness came to me.  I was dreaming of a field expedition for anthropologists, somewhere in a jungle.  We stayed in well-furnished tents, but had to stay inside during the evening because that is when the big cats were out hunting.  I saw a pride of lions slinking and dashing about our camp, their colors blurred around the edges.  They looked more like pieces of art than actual animals, except for my lioness.  She came closer to the tent, and through a huge rush of terror, I stepped outside to meet her.  I told myself that I had to let go of my fear.  She looked at me, and I gradually became aware of the feeling that she would not hurt me.  She became my wild friend.  She was not my pet, and I still feared the other lions.  She was just there to be with me.  Feelings of strength, wisdom, wild courage, and independence radiated from her.

I can't remember the rest of the dream, though I hope more comes back to me.  I don't know what my lioness offers me yet, and I'm still trying to dissect the meaning.  The most heartening thing is that I was able to surmount my fear in a dream, which easily could have become a nightmare.

I have a dream

Alison walked solemnly to the table covered with the snowy white cloth.  Her sixteenth birthday had been celebrated exactly 8 days ago with the usual cake and ice cream, and her friends from church and school had showered her with little gifts.  Amidst the piles of sparkly shower gel and earrings and colorful notebooks was a brand-new lavender leather-bound set of scriptures with her name engraved on the cover in silver script.  She looked back at them now, sitting on the pew with her father and baby brother.  Her father smiled widely at her, pride beaming from his face.  She quietly smoothed her best church skirt, then lifted her hand hesitantly to the pristine fabric in front of her.  Her hand caressed it gently, the deep blue-black of her skin contrasting sharply as she followed the contours of the water trays underneath.
Alison’s ordination to priestess had left her humbled and awed at the feeling of power she had felt during the blessing.  Her mother and father had both laid their gentle hands on her head, though her mother was voice.  
It was her mother that she now went to join sitting behind the sacrament table. Organ music had started playing, and the murmur of people crowding into the chapel filled the room, along with the warmth brought by the extra body heat.  Alison could smell the bouquet of lilies sitting by the pulpit, its fragrance almost as heady as the sensations coursing through her.  She felt nervous, exhilarated, terrified that she’d get something wrong and have to do it again, anxious to begin, and fully happy to be worthy to perform such an important rite.
She took her place carefully beside her mother, and pulled out the card with the blessing typed on it to study.  She really didn’t want to have to redo it because of a silly mistake.  The bishop started the meeting and Alison tried to listen to the announcements and sustainings, but couldn’t focus.  Her head whirled with thoughts on power and priestesshood and the sacrifice of Christ as he knelt in agony in the garden of Gethsemane.
As the strains of the sacrament hymn filled the chapel, Alison and her mother quietly lifted up the white tablecloth and began to tear the chewy bread into bite-size pieces and fill the exposed bread trays.  The song finished, though the organist played an extra verse so they would have time to finish.  Finally, it was time.  Alison knelt carefully, and her mother slid out the microphone for her, and she prayed:
O God and Goddess, the Eternal Father and Mother, we ask ye in the name of your Son, Jesus Christ, to bless and sanctify this bread to the souls of all those who partake of it; that they may eat in remembrance of the body of your Son, and witness unto ye, O Goddess and God, the Eternal Mother and Father, that they are willing to take upon them the name of your Son, and always remember him, and keep his commandments which he hath given them, that they may always have his Spirit to be with them. Amen.
There were tears in her eyes as she finished, but she stood up composedly and helped her mother hand the trays to the young men and women standing reverently in front of the table.  She sat down, feeling drained physically, but spiritually on fire as she watched the sacred emblems being passed to the families waiting in the pews.  The deacons and deaconesses and teachers lined up at the back of the chapel, and her mother stood up, offering an arm to support Alison to stand as well.  The sacrament passers filed back down the aisles and handed their trays back.  The water was uncovered and Alison’s mother knelt and prayed:
O Goddess and God, the Eternal Mother and Father, we ask ye, in the name of your Son, Jesus Christ, to bless and sanctify this water to the souls of all those who drink of it, that they may do it in remembrance of the blood of your Son, which was shed for them; that they may witness unto ye, O God and Goddess, the Eternal Father and Mother, that they do always remember him, that they may have his Spirit to be with them. Amen.
The solemn young women and men stood to receive the trays of water, and Alison—not bothering to fight back the quiet tears that streamed down her face—passed them with a trembling hand.  She sat with her mother, and her mother embraced her.

That's it. I'm having my cake and EATING IT TOO.

I am just starting classes for a degree in anthropology.  I adore anthropology.  It took me twelve years to realize what it was that I wanted to study in college.  So here I am, mother of Sprout, wife of Tree, proclaiming my freedom from the vision of the domestic goddess I thought I'd become.  I want to be an anthropologist.  I want to pursue graduate degrees.  I want "Dr." to be a part of my name (though really, that's just a pride thing, I really don't know that I want to spend THAT much time on my own education...)

I don't want ten children.  I have a hard enough time with one dear child.  He's a handful, but not as insane as some children I've seen.  I want him to have a happy, contented, loving mommy--not a screaming banshee who stays repressed and creatively shut down and resents her children and then feels guilty.  I'm thinking two will be enough because I don't believe in creating a child and then not giving him any siblings.  It's just mean.

I want to travel to distant places, using my education to help people--mostly women and mothers who need better nutrition or freedom from oppression so their children can grow healthy and strong.  Starving and malnourished/obese children make me angry.  That should not happen.  WE KNOW BETTER. (but that's a post for another day)

I want to bring my family with me--all two of my children and Tree.  Tree is going into green energy.  The things we could do together!! We could save little villages, or improve a slum.  Our children would learn by BEING places, not just reading about them.  They would learn charity and selflessness and hard work.  They would have freedom to pursue any academics or education they desired instead of having it shoved down their throats behind a desk, surrounded only by children their own age who don't know anything.

In between traveling, I would return home to our little house on a homestead owned by friends and we would do hard work on our little farm and contribute to our own community.  My love of cooking and canning and even hanging laundry outside to dry would be satisfied.  My children could milk their own goats or cow, and collect eggs from the chickens after weeding the organic garden.

And then I'd go inside to write.  I want to write fiction fantasy from a feminist's perspective.  I want to be published as a scientist--for what, I don't know yet, but I'm sure I'll figure something out in the next few years!

This is my ideal life.  The exciting thing is that it's all possible!  It's even probable!  We have been so blessed in having what we need financially, even during times of want and strain.  And we are blessed in our freedom of mind and spirit and heart, despite the somewhat restrictive culture we live in.

It is such a relief to acknowledge that the dreams I've spouted for years (and secretly worried about) are entirely cultural in origin.  My search for acceptance and love has always pointed in the same direction: a whole bunch of children, clean house, organized finances, organized and full pantry, home-sewn clothes, farm animals, and a garden that actually produces.  In other words, I wanted to be my sister-in-law.

The fact of the matter: trying to become something I'm not, even if I do a fabulous job at it, will never earn me the love and acceptance that I crave.  I cannot control the emotions of people in my family or of my peers.  I can only be the best me that is possible.  I can only follow the driving passions that are in my very soul, untouched by the crust of my past and the expectations of the ones who raised me.