The nuclear holocaust had occurred. Anguished, I was looking out of the window of a white frame farmhouse onto devastation. There was nothing left to see except a flat, ashen landscape. Desperate to kill myself, I decided to slit my wrists in the bath, only to find that the tub was filled with the body of an enorrnous black woman, too heavy for me to lift away, who did not leave me space to lay down upon her.

Agonized, I returned to the window. A car drove very slowly down what might have been a road. It stopped, and a dark man, Ethiopian perhaps, exited and came toward the house. As he approached, I felt relief.

I intended to ask him to kill me or to help me die. Then in the dream a voice ordered, "Make a child." I refused and yelled back, "I can't. I am 46. There are no facilities left to test for birth defects. I've had cancer. I've had two children, the world is destroyed: I cannot, will not, make a child."

The voice remained kind but adamant. "New life," it demanded, "new life."

SOURCE: Women Dreaming-into-Art: Seven Artists who Create from Dreams, by Patricia Ariadne, (2006, Galde Press), p. 39

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