“Again my yellow bowl! Why you always take my bowl, and you are always eating cereal,” says Omar in a voice that’s higher and shriller with both anger and exasperation.
“I like your bowl. Cereal is my comfort food.”
Omar is not interested in knowing how I deal with my emotional and spiritual lows. And he is possessive about his cereal bowl. “Can’t you eat in another bowl? Take the green one.”
“Eating in your bowl makes me feel like Goldilocks,” I tell him.
My penchant for occasionally living out my life in fairy tales never fails to evoke Omar’s admiration. And now I have his attention.
“And I am the baby bear,” he laughs with a flash of recognition in eyes.
“Yes. But we are friends. Godlilocks ran away in the end instead of making friends with the baby bear. They could have had so much fun together,” I voice my primordial issues with Goldilocks.
Omar thinks for a while and nods his head in agreement. “But why did she run away? Why didn’t she ask the bear to be her friend?”
“Maybe she thought people would consider it odd if she were seen romping about with a bear. Or maybe she was just afraid that the bear would say no to her friendship,” I try to think of the probable apprehensions that might have bothered Goldilocks.
“But it’s not odd. We play with teddy bears, don’t we? And why was she afraid… the bear could have said yes.”
“He could have said no,” I try to think like Goldilocks.
“So? She could have asked again,” Omar shrugs. My reasons don’t resonate with his ideas about people, bears, and friendship.
Omar isn’t yet tainted with the compulsions of conformity and tricks of the ego. I hope he always remains free.