Touch of Grey will, well, touch upon the rainbow that is life. Good music, good times, and good friends combine to make all the splendid colors. Touch of Grey will celebrate this beautiful rainbow.

Sunday, May 8, 2011

A Question of Balance (Motherless Child)

This is a repeat of a blog that I posted about 2-1/2 years ago on the VicAd. It's all I can think to say on Mother's Day.

I don't know what's worse: when I dream about her, or when I don't. Sometimes in my dreams I see her as she once was: young, beautiful, alive, vibrant, and smiling....always smiling. Sometimes I see her in her later years, still beautiful, but tired, weary....The dreams can be so vivid, I can feel, smell, even taste as if in a waking state. But when I wake up, she is not there.

The dreams without her seem to be more frequent these days. I fear that I won't remember, won't be able to feel her again. I worry that the only time I will see her face is in photographs. When she appears in my dreams, I always hug her. It feels so real. If I stop dreaming about her, will I ever have contact with her again on any plane?

Driving alone in the windy darkness last night, I listened to Pink Floyd's "Comfortably Numb" and it made me wonder: Is she anywhere? Does she feel anything? Can she see, hear, think? Is there an existence beyond this life where my mother is....AWARE? I try to balance things in my head. Being the scientist I am, I am forever searching for that balanced equation. It gives order to the universe and reason to our beings. I can't seem to make this life and anything after it balance in my head. Faith and logic escape me now.

As I watched the leaves swirling, whirling in the wild winds last night and felt the air growing ever colder, I wondered if she is cold where she is. I think that maybe I would like to believe she is basking in the sunlight, young again, glowing in the warmth. I hope she is. The last dream I had of my mother before she died is the way I want to remember her. She had risen out of the water in a beautiful one-piece bathing suit, her tall black bouffant hair inexplicably untouched by the water, straight white teeth shining in the sunlight. She was, in essence, reborn. Does this mean she would be reborn after her passing? I yearn to believe I will see her again. I feel her slipping away, ever so slowly, as if it were all a dream. If I could achieve a balance of having her in my dreams and having her in my life I would have less questions. Perhaps not all equations are meant to be balanced.

If only I could know for sure. If I ever see her again, in my dreams or otherwise, I would just like to ask her:

Tell me - did the wind sweep you off your feet?

Did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day

And head back to the Milky Way?

And tell me - did Venus blow your mind?

Was it everything you wanted to find?

And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there?

And tell me - did you sail across the sun?

Did you make it to the Milky Way to see the lights all faded

And that Heaven is overrated?

Tell me - did you fall for a shooting star?

One without a permanent scar?

And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there?

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