I met her at a time in my life when meeting people was something you did as you might grasp at rose thorns to pull yourself from a raging river. And she herself was going through motions like a cracked china doll, insulating herself with a bubble of reserve, unable to leave the surfaces of herself open to any impacts at all. As we did not strongly chafe when we met, we fell across each other’s path for a time.

I was growing white hairs, and had left much undone that I would henceforth lack the energy of youth to accomplish. And she… A friend of hers had done what in retrospect was a deplorable thing, and this led to her spouse doing a reprehensible thing, and now she was cast adrift in the world and having to start anew at the standard tasks of life with the all of the need, but without the eagerness.

I might not ever have told her anything of my dream, for it seemed so private a thing as to cause me shame to reveal it to a relative stranger. But there was a look she gave me, as we approached a conversational topic that newly-met friends do not often discuss, and this encouraged me. And so I told her the story of the dream I’d had a week before, the story I was holding inside me, cherishing like a small shining jewel near my heart.

[hr]

All I usually recall of my dreams are sensations and moods, so I do not want you to assume too much about the scene of my story. Some may want to imagine a place of air and light, perhaps with shining clouds and golden tracery. But these are things of our own experience, and they are not universal. As beings born under a star’s light, we cherish warmth and blue skies, and fear the cold and dark. I do not know if colors or dimensions had any meaning in the scene of my dream. There may have been other senses I could not conceive a way to perceive, something my brain was not built to interpret. I could only take what was given me and assume it was right.

There were things I will call children, and there was at least one thing I will call mother, but you should not think of [i]children[/i] in terms of years or [i]mother[/i] in terms of gender or genetics. Only one of the children enters this tale, approaching a mother with respect and deference, and whether this happened in a room with physical walls and windows, or in an energy cloud in which beings of thought intersect with each other through traces like mathematical formulas scribed in light, may be left to your preference.

[i]Mother,[/i] said the child, [i]there are certain times when you are absent from us. To many of us, this is not noticeable or worthy of remark, but as I study under your guidance, I notice it more and more and it has come to occupy my thoughts. May I ask where you go?[/i]

[i]My child, I acknowledge your advancing perception and you are correct to ask. But before I answer you, you must know that learning the answer to this question may lead to states of mind that may set you at different tangents than your current fellows. Some of these tangents will bring discomfort, greater than that you have yet experienced in your explorations. With this in mind, do you still wish me to answer you?[/i]

The child considered. Those that went at tangents to the rest of the children were those that often went on to become things like mothers. [i]Yes, I do.[/i]

[i]My child, we have spoken before of spaces that work thus–[/i] Here there appeared a construction of a shining light with small spheres that surrounded it. [i]–and some of these are the places to which I go. This particular one I show you here is one where I spend much of my away-time.[/i]

[i]May I go there as well?[/i]

The mother paused. [i]You may. Yet it involves a hard and painful task, one that I would not assign lightly to anyone.[/i]

The child recognized the potential offer. [i]You may send me; I have felt pain and I am not afraid.[/i]

[i]Do not say such things, before you go. You do not know all the conditions, and hence it is rash to speak for your future self so confidently.[/i]

[i]Then please tell me–what shall I encounter there?[/i]

[i]Were I to explain it to you now, you would not understand me,[/i] said the mother. [i]Only experience will do, and the experience will necessarily cause you pain. I cannot fully brief you beforehand, for you cannot bring your present knowledge there; the scope of that place does not well contain it. Yet, you may carry your memories back from it, if you wish.[/i]

The child considered. [i]If I cannot bring my learning with me, how can I accomplish the task you set for me?[/i]

[i]You will rediscover your light as you stay there and grow; and this is your task. Eventually the nature of that place shall bring an end your presence there, and you shall return here. But do not… do not return before you truly, [/i]truly[i] must; this is all I ask of you. Hearing all this, do you wish to proceed?[/i]

[i]I cannot imagine failing you by any act of my own will, mother.[/i]

[i]You need not imagine that. If you are certain, let us go. Here, this is the way; follow me.[/i]

So the child and mother both went, and it seemed not long at all before the child returned, alone, and it seemed much diminished. It said nothing, but awaited the return of the mother, and she was gone at least five times as long as the child had been. In the meantime, the pretty little spheres continued to spin around the shining light, but the child took no notice as it waited and indeed could not bear to look at them.

Eventually she flared back into presence, and joy surged in the child as it perceived her return, but it could not look long upon her, for she knew. 

From her, there was a feeling, not of anger, but of deep sorrow and regret. [i]My child… Oh, my child. You did not long abide there.[/i]

The child burned with shame. [i]I didn’t know–oh, mother, it was so hard. It hurt so much at times. I…[/i] The child paused, still fitting the past self to the present… [i]I was bewildered and afraid and without hope and I had not even the memory of you to comfort me. I grew confused and enraged at my own failure, and could think of nothing but fleeing the pain, even if it meant oblivion, even if it meant… never seeing you again. And I… I… cast aside my hopes, and I broke that vessel that was my self in that place. I released its inner fluid, and its pumps stilled and its warmth leaked away. And those things that seemed of such horrid consequence now seem so tiny and remote… Mother, I felt then that I must do it, but I know now that this is not true… and now I stand in shame before you, unable even to look you in the face.[/i]

[i]My child, look at me. I do request it of you.[/i]

It met her gentle, sad countenance. [i]Mother–I am so sorry, I failed–[/i]

[i]I am sorry too. The task is often quite difficult, as I did warn you. It is pain I suffer myself when I go there. Though it hurts, it must be done, for imagine what that place would be like, if there was no hope in it at all–[/i]

[i]Mother! No! Don’t even say that![/i]

[i]Yes. You saw how whelming that world was, how little reason there seemed at times to hope. You see how brave those native to that place are, to even strive to reach the light. They may succeed someday, but in the meantime… they can use our help, my child. Every little bit, every ray of additional light, it all helps. And so I go myself, over and over, and send those of mine who are strong enough as well. But when that light falters… When a spark ceases to shine… that hurts too, my child. It aids the darkness in that place when you abandon your task.[/i]

[i]You mean I… Oh. Oh, Mother… I am not worthy of any tangents at all; I am a failure![/i]

[i]You did fail this task, but you are not a failure. Do not speak of yourself that way. You are not lessened in my regard; do not lessen yourself in your own.[/i]

[i]I told you this task was not for all. If you stop now, you may take different tangents to become a mother, and forget that place, for you must not speak of it to your fellows, that they might not take unwittingly a burden such as this into their minds. Or if you think you can grow strong enough to persevere, you may try again. But I ask you [/i]not[i] to try again… unless you [/i]truly[i] think you can bear it this time. I often shall be there with you, and others as well, and when we lose a ray of light, it hurts. It makes it harder for the others to shine. It hurts all the worse when the light itself [/i]chooses[i] not to shine anymore. Can you promise me that this time you will really persevere, really try?[/i]

The child hesitated. [i]I… I suffered so much pain there, but it does not seem right, that I should forget it. Will it be like that again?[/i]

[i]It will, and it may be very much worse, my child. Yet we cannot drag that place into the light by our force, just as you do not become counted as an adult unless you learn how to feed and feel and learn for yourself. It must grow into the light by its own power. We can only help to guide it, and help by showing what is possible, by our hopes joined with theirs. Will you take the long way, and shine with us for as long as you can?[/i]

The child thought long, as the spheres spun and swung around, then made its choice–

This was when I awoke, in a cold bed with the colorless light before dawn outlining the objects in my room, and for long moments I did not know what or where I was. I felt like a needle of thought stabbed into alien fabrics, something that [i]was[/i] but had nowhere properly to [i]be.[/i] I fought to fit myself among the gloom-shrouded shapes that lurked about me as incomprehensible artifacts, and I came slowly back to myself, though like a needle I still held the thread of that dream, and upon a sketchpad near my bed, I drew it out.

[hr]

So this was the story I shared with my new acquaintance. She was smart, and she knew how to take the meaning of it. But as I recounted it to her, that look she had about her, the one that first led me to recount the story, felt stronger, and I wondered. If that dream could possibly be a shadow of reality, could it be the case that she was the mother-being from my dream… setting aside her own memories to come here, and share our woes to add to our hope, to help us work towards the light, however they define [i]light[/i] wherever she comes from?

And could she have come now to such a state, if she was? Could something that great fall so far; could so fiery a brand crumble to embers in the ash?

I had no way to measure what resistance there was in the inner circuits of her pain, no way to gauge from external influences whether a thing that would make one person bend would bring her to bow. So we simply talked together of the dream, and of other things. I made her promise to meet me next week, and call if the cares and weights of the world pressed much harder, and she made me promise the same to her.

And now, along with the jewel of my dream, I hold also near my heart that look she gave me, which so embodied that feeling of gentle reproach, of sorrow sans anger, of the patience and persistence of the light.