unusual for the season, it rained all night long. you know this because of the drizzle you heard falling in your sleep. you have lived long enough on this planet to know the sound the rain makes as it falls on tinned-roofs and leafage. not one sound, myriad of sounds. how shallow your sleep has been, misty now, gains a little depth thanks to the rising waters.. dreams heavy with the fragrance of soaked rice fields.
unclear whose deams they could be, provisionally you can claim them as yours. yes, they are yours and they are here to stay. how long no one knows but they may well survive you. it could well be that what you call you is what has survived from ancient dreams.
" even asleep we partake in the becoming of the world. " czeslaw milosz
not sure who or where I was then, a shattered mirror, a translucent dream made of droplets of rain or….after or, nothing else comes to mind, three punctuation marks, a gaping blank, naught. when the urge to fill the void with thought or memory passess, what emerges from the empty space feels free and awake
this is what you wanted to say in your sleep, but couldn’t for your mouth was filled with earth. you are at peace and resting for you know the time will come when silence will invite you to speak. and if that time doesn't come that not coming will be accepted as an expression of great peace. clouds begin to scatter. the sky clears up. sun rays glisten on wet foliage. the old heliconias are flowering, their leaves undulate in the grass.
did i forget to mention the wind? wherever she decides to blow, i shall follow her, obedient and light-hearted. i trust her to know the way back home for she's the mother of all directions.
not alone, never alone, all things whispering in your ears. the path where no one goes astray is the path leading nowhere. nowhere is the destination of all journies, all rivers, it's the endless beginning where all are at home. to freely come and go in this vast abode, pulsating with the heartbeat of ocean hymes unsong.
" elle est retrouvée
quoi ? - l'éternité
c'est la mer allée
avec le soleil
it has been found again
what ? - eternity
it is the sea fled away
with the sun "
arthur rimbaud
gathered in the great dream we are called to utter the unutterable again and again. failing again and again. trying again and again.
to awaken perhaps is realizing that we are all part of the same dream, the dream of the universe. a dream without a dreamer. just a dreaming, a whirling in rounds of sleep.
we can call sleep our delusion of sepration. what feels as real to us is this seperation, that within the great dream we are a separate part. it is from this delusion of sepaeration that shrugging off sleep, again and again we endevor to awaken.
Comments