The Dream
My back,
arched.
I look
up.
How the f*@k
do I water
this fig?
Growing down,
from the
ceiling–
no less.
Awkward,
and yet–
requiring
my care.
The Meaning
ceiling
The higher self, the divine — dropped into the everyday.
fig tree
A symbol of knowledge, shame, fertility, protection. Here it hangs awkwardly from above, still demanding care.
growing
Not rooted in the ground, but descending from the top down. Inconvenient, unconventional — and I’m still trying to nurture it.
What Lingers…
What if grounding doesn’t always rise from below, but descends from somewhere less expected—and more true?
What if all knowledge isn’t learned, but nurtured into being?
Marginalia
My fig tree, dried to a crisp. Still alive but very sick. In waking life, I bring it inside to keep my eye on it. Perhaps it has more to teach me than I’ve yet allowed myself to learn?
This isn’t the first time I’ve tried to care for herbs in dreamland, despite an inhospitable environment. In The Wind Wasn’t Even That Bad I try planting Rhubarb in a campsite. In The Attic, the Shite, and the Kettle, I’m trying to gain access into the space above. The experience is painful.
