A Dream

I have many times fled to sleep. My dreams are not vague; my dreams are full of color, tone, texture and sensation. Yet to date I have not yet achieved the ability of being truly aware and in control in my dreams. If that day should come I fear I will rather sleep then face the world.

I will describe one of them:

Exploring a forest and I am following a stream. The forest has a feeling of being ancient. Before me the ground raises slowly a mountain before me in the distance. I approach a cliff, which sticks out from the mountain, like a gray and brown massive wall. And in it a narrow crack, 20 feet wide and some 60 feet deep, (narrow in comparison the this wall), filled with a clear pool of water which feeds the stream I follow. Yet one can see beyond this break in the wall of cliff and open area beyond, the sun is bright the day pleasantly warm. I am drawn to see what lies beyond this cleft before me the water clear and inviting. I shed my cloths and savor the caress of the breeze and warmth of the sun on my skin, a moment's freedom from the conventions of cloths. I dive into the pool, the shock of the cold water in a way inviting, (I'm surprised it did not wake me to wakefulness). I swim to the other side of the pool, beneath its surface, through clear sun filled water (would death be like this, a moment of shock and cold, and then a timeless moment of peace and beauty?) I climb out of the water.

The coolness of the water falls away pleasantly from my skin warmed again by the sun. The ground cover on this side is like a thick green carpet soft beneath my feet. This valley, if I can call it that, is only about six hundred feet across, the feeling is like some walled garden, as flowers are here in profusion. They're sweet scent filling the air of this sheltered place. Its walls shear rising seventy five or more feet yet clothed in moss and ferns on the far side a small fall of water to a pool sending out a fine mist that catches the light creating a small rainbow of color. To my right I see another opening a short cave with the dark green of the forest beyond. Such is this place, green and filled with the scent of growing things. I approach the fall of water and its basin. I step beneath its curtain, the pressure and the silk caress of water. I drink from the falling water its taste clean and sharp. The thrumming of the water in my head and chest the only sound. Finely I move from the water to the sunlight, in the distance I hear thunder not from the water but that of a summer storm. Looking up I see to the west a thunderhead and looking south through the cleft, I see dark clouds and the deep darkness of the woods, yet I am on the edge of this storm. The sunlight still shines down on this spot making the forest beyond this place darker by comparison. This is a sheltered place; I see the wind move through the trees beyond, yet here only a gentle warm breath. I lay on the grass with the warmth of the sun upon me. It is like being held in a fragrant soft green hand, I lay back looking up and I watch the clouds and let my mind wander as they evoke images and shapes, the play of light and dark on the edge of this place. I sleep, and do I dream within my dream? I see timid and curious wild life peer from the beds of flowers, a rabbit bolder then the others comes out of cover, a weary eye on my sleeping form, as he crops the long grass. Some deer appear at the eastern opening to the forest, two doe's a young buck and a regal stag. They hesitate and then enter this sheltered place, the doe's go to the basin and drink.

The stag watches protectively from the entrance, the young buck with him. Finally the young buck move to the basin also and bowing his antlered head and drinks. I feel in my dream that they accept my presence, and know I will not harm them in this of all places. Beyond the forest is dark with the summer storm, yet here there is sunlight, warm rich and green filtered. The young buck moves back toward the stag and halts to lie upon the grass in a patch of sun. A strange thing then occurs, the young buck changes losing his coarser lines, he seems to dwindle a little, and his proud antlers grow shorter, like watching tree branches grow in reverse. In time only a young doe remains of what was the young buck, she stirs and moves haltingly. The older stag approaches this now timid female, his nostrils testing her scent, he then turns and moves slowly towards the forest. Facing the forest he halts at its edge then trumpets, a sound full of strength and strangely of sadness. A call of challenge? A call to follow? Or a call of defiance of the forest beyond yet also of acceptance. The doe's move to him and he leads them into the forest.

The shadows lengthen the storm beyond moves slowly on. Thunder marking its slow retreat. I stir and stretch for the joy of just stretching. Dusk is in the air of this still warm summer evening. The moon I know will rise late and fill this place with silver light, fireflies begin to wink among the greenery. I sit on the grass and watch this place in wonder and delight. As slowly they fill the air with their star like dance. The sound of falling water ever changing and new like a song as old as life itself, and the deep counterpoint of thunder and flickering light in the darkening sky, far in the distance like a strange and yet familiar music of the soul. My throat grows tight and my eyes grow hot with the threat of tears, yet tears of joy for the beauty of this place and moment. My heart beats to the music of this place and the life here.

The stars in the darkening sky begin to shine adding their light and music to this place. I rise and dance in slow and graceful movements, beneath the stars and among the stars that wink around me. My gift to that which is this place for it is right to do so, and add my harmony of movement to this place. If but for once knowing I am and will always be a part of this place. Silver light slowly pours into this place, the falling water now a sheet of liquid silver, and the rainbow shades of silver light. The stars above grow brighter and blaze in velvet black, in uncountable numbers and watch my dance. Yet still in the distance flickers of momentary light on the horizon is all that is left of the storm. My limbs lithe and lit with silver light, my hair long and silver white. I dance with the moon and starlight, and the life which surrounds me, I am like a flickering flame (And like a flame ephemeral and beautiful.), night blossoms fill the air with their sweet aroma, and the air caresses my skin. For now there is only starlight, and moonlight, air, water, and earth.

I dance and wait - for whom? For what? The master of the hunt? The horn crowned lord or some other? Beyond this place I have left all that once I held important and I feel no loss. I am no longer who I was, and yet I am still me and so much more. And for a moment I am one with the world and eternal.

I look today at what I've written

I'm sure it will raise many questions, and you will have a field day interpreting the images and metaphors.

What is the Forest, what does it represent?
Why was I there?
What was I seeking?
What is the stream?
Why do I follow it?
What does the mountain represent or the cliff or the pool or the cleft in the cliff?
What is the waterfall?
Does not water represent the subconscious in imagery?
The thunderstorm, the moon, the dancing light of the fireflies?