This is what I saw in my dream.
I'm carrying a six-year-old child on my back. I believe it is my own child. At some point I'm aware that, curiously, the child is blind and its head is shaved. I ask how long it's been blind, and it says for a long time. The voice is clearly that of a child, but the words are those of an adult. It shows me no deference in its speech.
On either side of us are green fields of new rice. Our path is narrow. Occasionally, a snowy heron flashes in the twilight.
"We're in the fields, aren't we," I hear from behind.
"How can you tell?" I turn my head and ask.
"Don't you hear the herons' cries?" comes the answer.
There follow several cries of a heron.
Though it's my own child, I feel afraid. As long as I carry this burden, I imagine myself in peril. I look ahead, wondering if there isn't some place I can abandon it, and I see a deep, dark forest. I decide that that's the place. In the same moment, I hear a quiet laugh from behind.
"Why do you laugh?"
The child doesn't answer, but instead asks, "Father, am I heavy?"
"You're not heavy," I reply.
"I soon will be," it answers.