Maria Giura PhD Writer

          A few years ago, I had a dream I was in a club
when hearing a baby crying from a distant room, I frantically
clawed my way through the large, rowdy crowd to get to her. I
couldn’t see more than a few inches in front of me and had only
the faint sound of her tears to help lead me to her. When I finally
found her safe in her crib I was so relieved, I picked her up and
held her close to my heart; when I woke, it all still felt so vividly
real. I’ve thought about that dream many times since, am certain
that the baby is symbolic for the spiritual memoir I’ve been writing and revising for years now and that I believe has transformed me
into a metaphorical mother. It is, after all, this “being” relying on me to nurture its existence, that cries out for my love and attention
day and sometimes night, and that doesn’t give me peace until I pick it up and hold it.

          I’m also certain that my dream is about the act of faith that writing requires. Often when I show up to my laptop, inspiration
can feel as distant as the baby’s cry. As E.L. Doctorow explained, “Writing is like driving at night in the fog. You can only see as far
as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way. ” I wouldn’t be able to re-create my life without the Source of it
shedding light on it for me, helping me to remember and piece it back together. I wouldn’t be able to sit at the screen working, waiting
for the next burst of light to show me the way. I certainly wouldn’t be able to last through the number of drafts it’s taken to figure out
my truth, own up to it, and uncover my voice. I know that I’m not doing it alone. If I show up to my desk truly present, I get the help I
need; the story does move forward even if it doesn’t always feel that way, even though it happens more slowly than I'd like. The
sentences and paragraphs, pages and chapters do come together in the end. Writing is trusting. If I’m faithful to my calling, if I
continue to answer my baby’s cry, I will arrive at my destination; I will, in the end, raise her well.