'A mamma

'A mamma. Fifty-two is the mother, and in the Neapolitan Smorfia this number weighs more than any list can say: the mother is the origin, the protection, the voice you hear even when she’s no longer there. In Naples, “Mamma mia” is what comes out in fear, in amazement, in joy — all three. In dreams, fifty-two arrives when the origin of something is at stake. Not only your actual mother: also the place you come from, the person who shaped you, the habit you learned at home and carried with you through life. And it arrives when you’re looking for protection, or giving it. The images that lead here are more complex than they seem. The mother. The bear, who steps in to defend her own — which is what a mother does between you and the world. The doctor, because she was the first one to take care of you. The hornets’ nest, because every family has one. And the sculptor, because a mother gives shape even without meaning to: children do what they’ve seen done. If fifty-two came up in your dream, it was talking about where you come from. The Smorfia doesn’t say whether to go back or to move away: it points out that your dream held an origin, and origins rarely keep quiet.