The Calf
I had another weird dream. In the dream, I was nursing a calf’s concussion. The beast, which was in a strait jacket, must be in great deal of pain since its eyes almost popped out of the sockets holding them every time it wailed while tweaking its head left and right, up and down. I was aware that a while ago, the calf had banged its head against a rock resulting in profuse bleeding of its forehead. I suppose I was the veterinarian since I had this white overcoat on me. I also had with me a box-type bag filled with some compact medical implements and vials containing dark-colored liquids. Every time I swabbed the beast’s open wound with a cotton lump wet with a black liquid, I would feel a numbing pain originating from my right hand’s thumb and forefinger holding the cotton. In no time, the pain would radiate or, should I say, diffuse with no resistance to all parts of my body, my ears being the most badly afflicted. The affliction was so bad that I could have probably heard the worst frightening silence one could ever hear; ironically, my ears were the only parts of my body that could feel the rising temperature of the surroundings. The rest of my body was numb.
I contemplated giving up.
All of my attempts to clean and later dress the wound were futile until, without any sense of logic, a mysterious woman appeared from nowhere. Well, things that don’t make sense make life and the world more interesting. This woman who was clad (or wrapped) in raw cotton jumped into the nearby stagnant body of water. Yes, all of a sudden, there was this inland lakelet. I didn’t see it before. Then the woman, like a saintly apparition, rose from the water, now dripping wet. She walked toward the beast in pain and, upon reaching where the agitated beast was lying, she knelt facing it then bathed it with the water dripping from her drenched body. All of a sudden, the calf rose to its toes (or hoofs), removed its strait jacket in a way a human being removes his or her shirt, and started reciting an intoxicating poetry in foreign language. Maybe the poetry was composed using the cow’s language, which by any reference was indeed a foreign language. The poetry was not a simple artless assembly of moos though. I didn’t notice the cotton lady’s exit. It was interesting that before I re-entered the real world, I noticed a scar on the calf’s forehead, the shape of the Greek letter gamma (upper case) or inverted L, between the just springing horns. The scar was so prominent that it looked like it had no plan whatsoever of fading with time.
I didn’t understand a word in the calf’s poetry. I wish what the calf’s poem would look something like the following (which I am just making up):
It is over.
It is history.
You’re done with it.
It’s part of you now.
But, like a stain,
or a scar,
it’s a lurking shadow
that’ll haunt you,
‘til you make peace with it.
I contemplated giving up.
All of my attempts to clean and later dress the wound were futile until, without any sense of logic, a mysterious woman appeared from nowhere. Well, things that don’t make sense make life and the world more interesting. This woman who was clad (or wrapped) in raw cotton jumped into the nearby stagnant body of water. Yes, all of a sudden, there was this inland lakelet. I didn’t see it before. Then the woman, like a saintly apparition, rose from the water, now dripping wet. She walked toward the beast in pain and, upon reaching where the agitated beast was lying, she knelt facing it then bathed it with the water dripping from her drenched body. All of a sudden, the calf rose to its toes (or hoofs), removed its strait jacket in a way a human being removes his or her shirt, and started reciting an intoxicating poetry in foreign language. Maybe the poetry was composed using the cow’s language, which by any reference was indeed a foreign language. The poetry was not a simple artless assembly of moos though. I didn’t notice the cotton lady’s exit. It was interesting that before I re-entered the real world, I noticed a scar on the calf’s forehead, the shape of the Greek letter gamma (upper case) or inverted L, between the just springing horns. The scar was so prominent that it looked like it had no plan whatsoever of fading with time.
I didn’t understand a word in the calf’s poetry. I wish what the calf’s poem would look something like the following (which I am just making up):
It is over.
It is history.
You’re done with it.
It’s part of you now.
But, like a stain,
or a scar,
it’s a lurking shadow
that’ll haunt you,
‘til you make peace with it.
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