The porcelain vase
I had a dream.
I found the perfect porcelain floor vase for the corner of the dining room next to the piano. It was pale green with light blue, turqoise markings, elegant ovally, sloping body with a gracefully rounded neck, not too long and not too short.
It was perfect. Delicate. Beautiful.
When I awoke, I could imagine it as clearly as I am writing about it now. "Had I seen it at IKEA the other day?" I thought to myself. I jumped out of bed and completed my house chores as quickly as I could so that I could return to the IKEA store and purchase the vase. I decided that perhaps I might place tall grasses and dried twigs inside it. I knew exactly how it would look in the corner of our elegant dining room. Mostly I was amazed I had such a vivid dream of a vase like that. Indeed, I could not remember ever having a dream like that before. People, places, journeys, quarrels, love, so much more – yes. But never of a piece of porcelain, and certainly not with such intimate, vivid detail. I could have painted it right then and there.
When I finally managed to make it to IKEA that day, I raced to the Market place area with all its home organizers, fabrics and textiles, kitchen wares, and lighting fixtures. My heart beat with excitement as I wandered into the home decoration section. My eyes scanned the room longingly for my porcelain vase.
No such vase to be found.
There were many glass vases, some tall, others shorter. Greens, blues, pinks. Nothing porcelain, delicate, Asian looking, like the one I had pictured so vividly in my dream.
I was disappointed.
A few days later, yesterday, in fact, I was walking around a home decoration store in Chestnut Hill with Shimon and Laurel. They had driven down from New York for the weekend. Suddenly I remembered my dream of a few days prior and animatedly described it not leaving out a thing, telling them over and over again how amazed I was that I was still able to recall every detail of my beautiful porcelain vase. My heart was palpitating with excitement again. Laurel, an interior designer, said she knew exactly the type of vase I was describing. She knew what I meant, and I felt she understood.
And then, suddenly, in the midst of our talking, just as my dream was taken seriously by my nephew and his wife, and my excited and amazement feelings were being so validated, I realized that the dream had taken place a day before the surgery to my womb. Eyes shining, I said out loud, "I had the dream just before my surgery!" Shimon nodded understandingly. All three of us said almost with the same voice, at the same moment, "Of course. A vessel." "A beautiful, precious vessel," I almost whispered, "My womb was that vase!"
Laurel beamed. "A healing dream," she said.
A year ago at Mining Nuggets: Pieces life takes out of you