“Seriously,” said Sandra, “if you feed it, it will grow.”
“What shall I feed it?” Said I. I didn’t quite believe her yet.
“You’re the only one who can answer that,” she smiled and a tiny dimple stroked her cheek briefly.
“But I don’t know the answer!” I felt hot and the words left me quickly. She smiled again. I shook my head, then stared at her.
Silence.
Then, “what?” She laughed.
“If I don’t know the answer how can I feed it?” My stare intensified. If I could, I would pull the answer from her.
“You do know!” She tossed her head and lay down; the grass was warm but the earth was still damp. I stayed upright. I closed my eyes and wondered where I might know.
I saw my heart.
A door glimmered in and out of view, like a mirage.
It had a crystal door handle and I touched it with my finger just to see how it felt; warm, but before I could take hold the door creaked open.
A pinky glow invited me in and so I got down on my knees and crawled to the centre of the room.
Womb.
Heart womb room.
Pink.
Warm.
Safe.
I lay on the soft, pink cloud and looked up at the myriad sparkly, twinkly eyes looking at me.
Gazing at me.
Loving me.
How could this be?
So much love in me for me.
These eyes could see.
And they knew.
Everything.
And I could ask them.
Anything.
“What shall I feed it?” I asked them and I heard tinkly giggles.
I knew the answer immediately.
It’s different every day, every moment.
It’s nurture.
Feed it nurture and it will grow.
I opened my eyes. I lay down on the grass in the sunshine, feeling the warmth caress my cheek. Sandra giggled, “I knew you’d know.”