I had a dream last night that I was on this sunny, suburban street. On the corner of the street, this terribly angry little boy comes up and starts screaming at me –lung busting, gut-wrenching screaming. This maybe four or five year-old is yelling and punching, flailing his arms and kicking. Like something possessed.
In my dream, I move behind him to restrain him. I sit down in the street with my arms wrapped around his own angry little arms and legs, holding him tight. He continues to scream, and flail with enormous, angry energy. But I hold him and rock him, and say “Calm down, calm down. It’s ok, honey.” This goes on for a little bit, he fights me and yells at me, until he eventually stops resisting and relaxes against me. He lets me hold him.
He sinks into me. We continue to sit together, rock together.
When I let him go, I am starting to cry.
This was actually just one piece of a larger, convoluted dream, but it stuck with me.
I am both that little boy and the one holding him. I ache to soothe hurts. If only earnestness could take all the pieces of all the wounded souls, and mend them. My heart hurts.
But like that little boy in my dream, I both need, and don’t want, someone to wrap their arms around me and hold me until I am ok. I am resisting the invitation to relax and be held.
Singing these two beautiful songs about being held today: