One of the most intrinsic memories of being a little girl is our world of dolls. What was so fascinating about dolls is how they served as miniature versions of us. We valued them for all of the humane lessons they taught us. There were so many different things to experience, as it concerned taking care of another life form. Of course, dolls are not alive. Yet, in the minds of little girls, they were alive to us. We felt their magic. We knew they were real, and we refused to permit anyone to convince us, otherwise. In our minds, our dolls were living beings, and we took care of them, as if they were.

Walking through the toy store, there are so many wonders of childhood fantasy for us to experience. Our eyes lit up with the magical curiousity of children. We yearned to experience such magic, all over, again. It was beautiful and that necessary high, which invigorated us, through the course of childhoods domain. The magic was alive, and we were part of it.

Once we accepted that magic, there was an even greater magic to be felt. For starters, one could experience the awakening of the dolls, themselves. For, they spoke to us in ways, that we could not ever imagine. How did they speak to us? And why? Was there a secret language between girls and our dolls? Of course. In fact, dolls were (and still are) the preparation stages in teaching young girls the artistry of being mothers. Through dolls, we understood what it meant to care for children; caring for little girls. We naturally gravitated to caring for other people. It was a wonder in its own right.

Now, that we move into the space of imagination, how did it feel to move through a sacred journey with our dolls? Afterall, they were so precious and sacred. They carried us through our girlhood. They protected, cared for us, and made us feel special about our girlhood. There was no other reason, but to feel a great sense of satisfaction with our girlhood. Afterall, we were doing something rather productive with it. We were practicing the foundation of our feminine nurture. And, oh what a delight it had, become!

So, moving through the toy stores, we came in search of our dolls. A silent language of intimacy. Agreed? Those dolls had a way of getting us to see them. Secretly, they whispered to us. “Shake Me, I Rattle (Squeeze Me, I Cry)!” Inside, they were detailing to us those emotions. Secretly, they made it very clear, that we were part of such a story. Their story. Their was an intimacy of love, throughout one such manner. For, we saw ourselves in the dolls. When they cried, we cried. When they laughed, we laughed. Yes. There was a vivacious nature, surrounding them. They reminded us that we had a right to our emotions. And, for that, we supported their right to be, alive! “Shake Me, I Rattle (Squeeze Me, I Cry).” Yes. Even in their doll state, they still spoke their minds to us. For those of us, who listened, we were eager, to hear. When they sang, we listened-without any fear!

Marion Worth