Monday, December 10, 2007
I've always had vivid dreams, but sometimes, a dream will strike me with such force that it feels real - real enough that I wake up wondering if I was actually asleep or not. Such is the case this morning.
I found myself in a huge field of lavender. It was vast, as big as the ocean. The sun was high and warm, and the scent of the lavender coming from the vivid blossoms was utterly intoxicating. I could see my friend Bill standing not far away so I walked over to him. He was holding a white cardboard sign that read, "Without sight, the Gypsy can't..." I uttered a short laugh and said, "Cute, but what the hell...?" He said nothing in return, just stood there, serious look on his face. I tried again, "Bill... what gives?" No answer. I reached out to touch his shoulder and he turned into a hummingbird (not at all the animal familiar I'd have picked for him!). He flitted away across the field, and apparently, having nothing better to do, I followed.
It wasn't long before I saw a man sitting at an easel. It was my Dad. I strolled over to him. I saw that although we were surrounded by this tremendous, swaying sea of lavender, he was sketching what appeared to be the Grand Canyon.
"Dad," I asked, "What are you doing?"
Without turning, Dad said, "Layin' it down, Punkin. That's all."
"But Dad, we're in the middle of a huge field of lavender, and you're drawing a canyon."
Again, without turning, Dad replied, "It's all in the journey."
Just as I opened my mouth to persist, Bill (still in hummingbird form) buzzed by my head. As I turned to look, Dad said, "Go on then, Punkin. It's your field today."
So, I wandered off, following the already distant hummingbird.
I walked a long, long time. Just as I was beginning to think my feet couldn't take much more, I came to a big rock. It was smooth and warm from the sun. I sat down on it to rest for a bit. As I was sitting there, enjoying the beauty of my surroundings, a man came walking toward me. I could hear him humming from a good distance. As he got closer, I could see that it was Bob Dylan. I smiled in greeting, and said, "Wow, hi Bob! What are you doing here?" Bob said nothing, merely unshouldered his guitar, strummed and sang, "She was ridin' a big warm rock, and it was takin' her nowhere... she was happy with the sunlight on her hair."
I chuckled and said, "Nice, but I'm just sitting here to rest for a bit."
Bob continued to sing, "She didn't notice the cliff for all the flowers... She was just wanderin' through the hours... She was a gypsy, but she couldn't see... it would take more knowin' for her to be free..."
I said something like, "Wow, Bob. What...?"
But The Troubadour was already wandering off, hummin' and strummin'. As I began to puzzle what he'd meant, Bill the hummingbird buzzed by again. So, I scrambled off the rock to follow.
Again, I walked for a very long time, the color and scent of the whispering lavender on the breeze filling all my senses. I came to a gigantic Weeping Willow, standing by itself in the middle of the field. As I stood there, staring up at it, I heard the buzz of the humming bird wings again. I glanced around just enough to notice that it was regular ol' Bill again, standing next to me with an enigmatic smile on his face. I turned my attention back to the tree, and felt Bill put his hand on my shoulder. "How nice," I thought, and moved my head to smile at him. Just as I did, in a sort of double-vision, juxtaposition whammy, I saw that beyond the now suddenly gauzy scrim of the lavender and the tree was a deep, endless canyon... and I was standing on the edge of a cliff. Again, I began to turn toward Bill, this time in wide-eyed, voiceless questioning, but as I did, I heard his voice in my ear, "Fly!" just as he pushed me from the ledge.
And I did. I flew. I flew in great swooping circles. I flew high, and then dropped down low, almost to the canyon floor, then back up again. The feeling of it was enormous. It was glorious. I was crying and laughing at the same time.
Then I woke, still feeling the tingling rush of wind on my skin, huge grin on my face. The cat was sitting on the edge of the bed staring at me. I don't know what it meant, I haven't chewed it all up yet to squeeze the juice out of it. I'll tell you this, I'm keeping my eyes open... Without sight, the Gypsy can't... fly. And, oh, I want to fly.
Posted by Barb Black at 5:45:00 AM