Sisters Sharing Stories

I had a beautiful, powerful dream this morning before waking. It was my birthday, and for the celebration we had rented a house by the sea. I was holding a large frog, as I sat in a circle of women, talking. My mother was there, and also my daughter. Many of the women were older, and old friends of my mother’s, others were younger, and many were not known to me in waking life, but instead represented women of different cultures, different ethnicities, from around the world. There seemed to be twelve or thirteen of us, seated in a circle. At one point I said it is time for me to release this frog, and I went out, finding a sort of canal with fresh water that seemed suitable, as I heard other frogs singing there. I plunged in with the frog, I was fully dressed, holding the frog, my handbag, and everything. I did not know how deep it was, or if it was safe, but I did not hesitate. In the water I let the frog swim free, and it swam to my daughter who was also in the water. She caught hold of it, but I told her no, it is time to let it go. Back in the house, we sat in the circle, taking turns telling our stories. It did not seem like we were wet or cold, just sitting, sharing stories like sisters. Many of the women had very sad stories of abuse, mistreatment, struggles, political unrest in their homes. I remember one women, perhaps African, in colorful dress told what it was like to be not secondary, but tertiary, like being the third wife of her husband. She felt that she and her children were not really loved and supported by this man, did not really fit in. She was very sad. I told her a story of a friend (in the dream it was Alyssa, but I am not aware of the story having any other basis in “real” life) the girl in the story had been adopted and made to work in the kitchen and never felt love or belonging. I don’t remember all the details clearly, but it seemed she had run away, become homeless, gone through trials and at last been married to a man who did not love her. However, she found her comfort and sense of home in the kitchen, in cooking and serving foods. After I told this story (interestingly not my own story) we went into the kitchen where many foods were laid out for us. Many varieties of cheeses, sausages and other delectibles. I remember wondering if the sausage was vegetarian. Out of a large window we could see the sea. When our plates were full, we went back to the circle, but some of the women (I think there may have been one or two men as well) needed to leave. I suggested that we take a break, to eat, rest, or talk among ourselves before returning to the formal circle, because I felt it was important for each guest to have a chance to speak and be heard with compassion and respect. At this point I awoke, very moved and inspired. For my next birthday I will be 45 and I would like to organize something like this. It could be a retreat by the sea, or it could be just a circle of sisters sharing stories, perhaps at In Other Words. A place for women to speak, and be heard, with compassion and respect. I want to share this vision with others. Anyone who has ever felt unwanted, did not fit in, or never felt their story was important, it is.