The smell of summer fields
Warm and sweet below a vivid sky
Fraught with stars in company of
A gibbous moon.
The breeze is soft and round,
wraps around everything like a slow river
And makes whispered noises in the trees.
The shine from the moon
Cast over everything
Cutting blue-black shadows against
Platinum tones that covet all
The colors of the day.
Skin seems to glow
Like backlit alabaster,
All the shading of the light
Gloriously subtle, startlingly soft.
An owl hoots, the crickets hush
Smaller noises surface for a moment.
The wet static of a stream recessed in its own little valley
Beyond the tree line.
A distant thought of thunder
Far to the south, and but a hollow
Breath in the air from here.
I just look at you there
Thin shadows of leaves on your arm
And turn my head again so that I am
Looking into the sky.
We have made or own little hollow here,
The tall stalks of grass forming
Fluid walls on all sides
That throw dancing images
Of themselves across us in the night.
You smile at me – and how
Beautiful you look there
July air warm like bath water on your skin.
Were it cooler, we might be covered
Head to foot in goosebumps,
Were we also so uncovered as now.
But this night we swim in the
Wind together, with nobody but the moon
To see us there
Naked in the field
Empty of worries
Full of each other.
The moisture in the air
Carries your sweet scent to me
And I drink you in.
How I love every inch of you.
Dream, January 12, 2004
There are many different views on what our dreams can tell us about ourselves. Some think every detail so full of symbolism that every unconscious image is a high-resolution photograph of every want, worry, etc in your minds. Others think that dreams are dreams and nothing more – no symbolism, no hidden meanings, nothing about ourselves. I suppose I maintain an opinion somewhere in the middle. Dreams can tell us things, but I don’t think they should be read into too deeply.
I remember one particular episode of the television show Northern Exposure in which Chris the radio guy made some comment to the effect of, “dreams are like post cards from the subconscious mind.” I’ll find the exact quote a little later if I can, assuming that the AT&T servers feel like ever letting me connect to the internet tonight. Blah. Anyway, I like that analogy. I maintain that a large part of our active thought, if not the vast majority of it, takes place in the subconscious mind, out of sight and generally inaccessible. I think most people would be amazed by the amount of stuff that goes on in their minds completely without their awareness of it.
Alright, here we go, this is the one I was looking for –
“Dreams are postcards from the subconscious, inner self to outer self, right brain trying to cross that moat to the left. All too often they come back unread: “return to sender, address unknown.” That’s a shame, too, because there’s a whole different world out there–or in here depending on your point of view. Indeed, for all we know this very moment could be nothing more than vapors of our own imagination. As Bertrand Russell mused, “I do not believe that I am now dreaming, but I cannot prove that I am not.” Point being, there’s more to these nocturnal journeys than has previously been considered or accepted.”
God I love that show. It’s finally coming out on DVD in the US, though! Yes!
*ahem*
Moving on. Dreams are the shit. At least for me they are. I dream in technicolor and every night is a triple-feature. I pity those who don’t dream. Or claim they don’t dream. I get the feeling that they just don’t remember. But that’s a whole other subject for debate.
End post one for the night…incomplete as it is.
