4.15.09
Looking back now I realize it was the kind of dream you always remember somewhere in your consciousness-
Me especially since I’ve only had two of the kind in my life-
The first was not as telling- it was more of a glimpse
The military looking man at the bar was not him-
he was merely a glimpse of who He was..
he was a grandfather but even in that I recognized a part of myself
It was in his eyes…
His demure smile and perhaps the way he held himself…with an air of importance and purpose…
The second dream- the one more recently was a voice-
“mi hija, mi hija” I could hear him yell over the phone when these mysterious women I didn’t know, were kidnapping me to take me to him..
in a fiery rush and tumble I was there standing before this short, overweight balding man whom they claimed was my father, mi padre..
he engulfed me in his bare arms and slowly repeated himself, “mi hija, mi hija”- we spoke desperately- both of us trying to make ourselves understood- “who are you, where have you been, how are you, tell me, tell me everything you can” in the broken language- with the broken heart, and broken promises than bind us. I don’t recall what I saw in him that was part of me—perhaps the eyes again.. eyes that I’ve looked into for years searching for someone else’s..
I walk the streets of my heavily populated latino city and I feel contempt.. any of them could be my family and I wouldn’t know it… that is the worst part.. I feel like a fool not knowing my seed bearing parents. I am the lost fruit in the world of seeds that will never match my empty memory.. my blood flows somewhere else I know- but after so long the not knowing starts breaking down the home of my temple.. which should inherently be familiar
but is not-
It so wickedly is not…
