I dreamed that a blue man told me that I didn’t deserve to even discuss the division of my family’s inheritance because I wasn’t a mother. I told him, “I hate you. I HATE you!” He didn’t look hurt, but he looked a little surprised.
The blue man was someone I love like a brother, but he was younger, handsome, and presented in shades of blue with abstract features. He was a little Cubist. Like a Picasso in his blue period. Like an El Greco portrait.
He wasn’t the only abstract thing in the dream–I yearned for two abstract paintings my mother had left.
In what way do I love, yearn for, but also hate an abstraction? Who is this part of me who says that I can’t be part of the human family because I have not (yet) given birth to a creative child?