The periodic table of my dreams

I see a man from afar and recognize him;  upon getting closer, I realize my mistake.  I flip through a magazine, and think I know that woman in the photograph.  Again, I am wrong – albeit not completely, for aren’t we all distilled from universal springs?  We are full spectrums, letters in an alphabet, the ethereal form to which we all subscribe.  Recognition is inevitable.  There are people who are so strikingly familiar, so emotionally reminiscent of their elemental doppelgänger that they truly embody the essence of another.  Sometimes in the case of our loved ones, of how we envision them.

In the movie of my mind, my mother is Michelle Pfeiffer, preternaturally beautiful with eyes of both compassion and seduction.  Other times she is a gentle empress, her voice soft and gaze direct, protecting all who dwell within her domain.  My father is that handsome, long-haired stranger who walks into the bar with such coolness that even the men are drawn to look at him.  Sometimes he appears as Jesus too, a bearded, barefoot Jim Morrison-kind of Jesus, eternally young and virile. A woodworker with poetic sensibilities.

He is the man I look for and she is the woman I long to become.

Leave a comment


  1. Jill

     /  27 October 2010

    Amazing! You’re cookin’ with full gas on all burners girl!

  2. mikki

     /  4 December 2010


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