I'm in a darkened room with a woman labouring in front of me but only her abdomen and below are in the room with me. The top half of her body has disappeared up through a chute and she has emerged discontinuously and partially rotated out into some kind of tent through the opening of which she is reaching out with her arms to an attractive Thai woman I have recently met who is standing outside.
It's as if this mother is made of stretch elastic, suggesting I have to stretch and rotate to birth my relationship to this new woman.
From this discontinuous delivery room (if you can call it that, it's more like this inside and that outside have been joined up by the 'chute'), this labouring mother, who perhaps resembles my own long dead mother, suddenly gives birth with what seems like explosive force.
The baby drops to the ground all curled up, like a bowling ball being dropped down onto a bowling alley, that kind of thud. But I know the baby will be okay. I don't look at it further. I just bend down to the belly of this supremely elastic mother and I rub her belly gently to make sure that this mother herself is well, and I know she will be.
Dream edited for easier reading - JT, 2005
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