Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • I often ask my grandsons what they have dreamt about the night before. Mostly they say they do not remember a thing. But this morning the older one - 11 now - told me a fascinating story he had just dreamt," Kiki, I was dead and reincarnated as a dove. I jumped around as a dove and my Dad was there and I screamed at him PAPI, THIS IS ME; SARET! but just the sound of a dove came out of my throat. I got desperate and wrote on a sheet of paper: PAPI, I AM NOT A DOVE, I AM SARET. I wrote tjhat with my beak, but I tried and tried but could not write SARET, it always came out as SAROT. So I do not know if my Dad understood the message and I heard a man say. PEOPLE GET AWAY FROM THAT DOVE: IT BITES PEOPLE! Then I wanted to fly, but I had forgotten how to fly, I spread and spread my wings and finally I managed to fly away and that felt sooo goood!"

    I have been reading the Chinese Nobel Laureate Mo Yan´s book LIFE AND DEATH ARE WEARING ME OUT, where a rich farmer is tortured and killed during the Chinese Cultural Revolution, but reincarnates as a donkey. He also wants to scream many times that he is not a donkey, but a man, but just the sounds of a donkey leave his throat.

    I just read in English and nobody in my family does and I had not talked with anyone about the book.

    How could my grandson´s dream be so similar?

    Coincidence? Telepathy? Or is this kind of a fantasy a Jungian Archetype????

    This happened this morning while we stayed at a resort at the Chiapas Coast. On the way back we nearly crushed into a white station wagon, but did not but a few minutes later watched a truck transporting cows lose its balance and turn over in front of us on the road. It was the first time in my life that I witnessed an accident. Nobody was killed.

    A couple of hours later I lost my purse, but a kind guard returned it to me. It held not just the money to invite my whole family to eat, but my driver´s license - yes a blind lady can get one down here in Mexico and it is the best identification!!! - and my daughter - in - law received an emergency call and I was informed that the gay young man I had fallen in love with a few weeks ago, who spends his free time with the elderly in their local asylum, had lied to me when he fell crying into my arms last Monday, because his mother had fallen and was in a Coma in Villahermosa. I lent him money. His mother has not fallen, but he owes money to the drug mafias in town and they are looking for him and he had to flee and it was all a scam. I had been planning talks about the situation of gays with him....

    Then, when I came home, my husband had returned from New York, still drunk. In a few days it will be six weeks of an alcohol - crisis.

    Is life mysterious?

    Is there a message in all this?

    If there is, I guess, it is this: LIFE IS ALWAYS ON THE EDGE!

    I have a nice and very ALEGRE lunch with G. and with M. We laugh, we chat, we drink wine, we enjoy each other´s company.

    Finally M. tells G.," 17 years ago my son took a boat out into the Sea of Cortéz and never returned. The boat was found , but his body never. I do not know if he is still alive. I need to know. None of the many psychics I have visisted has been able to connect with my son´s soul. I still do not know and I need to know now!"

    G. looks with her piercing and shiny blue - blue eyes at M. and with the friendliest smile ever answers," It will be my pleasure to talk to you, but not here in the restaurant now..."

    M. agrees and notes G.´s telephone number down. She will call her later and will see her one of these days which she will still spend in town before returning home.

    After the meal we are planning to watch a movie together.
    Suddenly M. gets up and seems to be in a tremendous hurry. "Kiki," she announces," I have to get to my daughter - in - law and bring her here. We will be back in an hour to watch the movie!"

    We hug and she disappears. She does not return. She neither calls me nor writes me, she has not called G.

    Later G., who I know is a psychic even though she hardly ever announces it, tells me that she has perceived the son around M. He says M.´s son is dead. He committed suicide."

    I guess, M. perceived that G. finally could tell her the truth, maybe she knows the truth all by herself since a very long time. She could not stand the truth and had to escape.

    She is not ready to know.

    I completely understand.

    Today I taught the second and last part of my exploration DOES NEW LIFE EMERGE FROM A BROKEN HEART as part of a Master´s Degree Course in How to Accompany the Dying.

    The woman, whose 24 - year - old son disappeared 17 years ago rowing a boat out into the Sea of Cortez, drew this picture, when I asked the participants to draw and paint the spiritual journey their lives seem to have been up to today. Before we had painted the history of our broken hearts. The last question was: Are my Life - Crisis connected to my spiritual journet and if that seems to be the case: how are both connected? Is it possible that spiritual growth is a result of broken hearts?

    When I look at the male figure on this image - the woman obviously depicted her lost son - I was reminded of another lost son: the gay young man, who got into trouble with the Mafia here, who asked me for money and I gave it to him. My daughter - in - law is sure that he tricked me, just took advantage of my good heart. She is sure the whole story of his mother in a coma is just a made - up story.

    Maybe she is right. Maybe I am too innocent. Maybe I was taken advantage of. But then: I had offered him 2000 Pesos and he turned these down and said, just 1000 would be enough. And after he got the money and had his bus ticket to leave town and save his neck he still returned to look for me, hug and thank me.

    I want to believe that he is not completely lost, at least not yet....

    Art by KIKI
    • Share

    Connected stories:


Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.