30 June 2011

I see the crystal visions

When I dream...

I was lost in trees. I was lost. The trees were huge, towering far above my head. I was lost. The trees resolved themselves into legs, huge stumps of legs, the legs of giants. One of the giants slowly picked me up by the pink dress I was wearing.

I was lost.

When I dream...

I am flying. Flight, however, doesn't come free. I am flying because I am in danger. I run, and take to the sky, but the motion is clumsy. I haven't the grace of birds, but the heaviness of a human. I am swimming through thick air, kicking my legs hard to gain altitude. What threatens is below, in the valley, waiting for me to falter, to fall. I struggle to stay up high near the mountains where I am safe. To the west, the sun is setting, and time passes too quickly. There is no pleasure in flying; it is flight.

The threat waits below, waits for me to fail.

When I dream...

The field is beautiful, and the bright light of a summer's sun falls gently on the impossibly green grass, dotted all about with tiny flowers. As the bullet hits me, I know it is over (but you can't die in dreams, my waking self informs as my dream self recognizes the lack of validity in that thought), and the ground rises up. I feel the cool damp of the grass on the left side of my face, smell the summer vegetal scent, and marvel at the sharp relief of each blade of grass, each minuscule daisy. Slowly, the world slides out of focus, and I am calm.

Fade to black.

When I dream...

I dream of you, but infrequently. You are laughing at me, or perhaps more precisely, something I have done amuses you. I wait for you, here and there, wait patiently. I know eventually you will show; it is in the contract. Conversely, I see you waiting for me, here and there, impatient. You don't know if I will arrive; the nature of the rules that govern me are different, and you accept this, albeit unwillingly. But you wait, same as me, and I see you, grim set to your mouth, try to fight your desire to fidget, which makes me smile. At another time, we climb a hill together in the dusk, and stand side by side, our bodies relaxed into one another, as we watch the sun drop toward the horizon.

We stand together.

Go listen to some good music: "Dreams" from the album Rumours by Fleetwood Mac. When I was younger, I tended to dream most vividly in the summer, when the thunderstorms raged, and my brain finally let go of the intensity of school. Fleetwood Mac was always a summertime band for me, and like so many others, those songs evoke a very particular time and place, whether an attic bedroom in a sweltering DC August, or an outdoor concert on a broiling Arizona afternoon.

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