Sunday, October 18, 2015

The Pursuit

Dreaming a peaceful slumber, and seeing the most entertaining fantasy my dura-matter can conjure, and then trying to remember it after waking, as I sit on the toilet to a strange hotel room, it seems several worlds, solar systems, universes away, and makes me wonder just how something so strange could possibly be true, if only in my imagination.

I am in a globular room, with no points or corners of definition, nor shadows or sources of light, seemingly weightless and effortlessly hanging in the void of white space, with no zenith nor azimuth, no clothing, nor nudity, for I am simply consciousness, traveling while remaining still. Is this my id? Is this my ego? Am I in Nirvana of an inner space, and have I found the peace for which I've desired? Slowly, the white space dims and fades into spots and shades of gray, seemingly evaporating like mist and clouds around me.  I begin to descend, not 'fall' towards the earth below, somehow seeing both up and down, left and right, behind and forward, in every direction, and there is both great depth perception, yet only one point of view, and that is from my awareness in the area for which I'm arriving unto.

As my being slowly descends towards the rock formations, the high mountain plateaus and jagged canyons, my being travels faster, faster, faster towards an unknown point in the horizon, passing over rocks, dirt, scrub brush and passing over roads, freeways, intersecting points of vacant pavement, quickly passed only to meet more house-less streets.  The names, passing too quickly to recognize, and everything is passing faster and faster in a crescendo of images of a land in which I've never been.

All at once, I stop, with the same all encompassing vision, in a field of wheat, on the rise of a small hill, able to see every mountain range which surrounds me. A lonely field crow swoops down next to me, and looks into me, and seems to rest inside of me. As the crow takes flight, so do I, following the flight of this lonely bird, swooping, diving, climbing high and riding the air currents, just inches behind it's tail feathers, as I'm it's companion for the moment...  And as if I tire of him, at once, I break away to search for my own kind...

My bubble of being speeds up again...  As fast as sound, as fast as light, faster, faster, however not being afraid of any impact into any of the land below.  Once more,I climb high, higher into the cloudless sky to observe the ground below.  Somehow, I can see a lonely tree, with the most beautiful red leaves, with rolling branches creating a canopy draping towards the ground.

Being the only color in this entire dream, this red tree interests me.  I quickly move my being bubble down and circle such a magnificent tree...  Oak? No. Maple? Not quite?  I don't recognize this tree... I know EVERY tree and DON'T RECOGNIZE THIS TREE!  There are no trees like this tree... and this tree seems sad, angry almost, at odds with the Earth in which it's planted. It clearly doesn't belong rooted in such foul, rocky and barren soil, and from it's roots which tangle from the ground, it seems like the tree has tried several times to walk, like a mythical Chtulu, away from it's dirt.  Vines from itself choke out it's own limbs, running like veins from top to bottom, and returning to the branches.

The crow from before swoops into the tree as a wind catches it's leaves, which are all firmly affixed, where it finds it's perch to peck away at a familiar hole in the crotch of a limb. After a few moments of a hard "peck peck peck" the crow cries out in agony from not finding it's intended treat. "Peck peck peck", "Caw Caw Caw", "Peck Peck Peck", "Caw Caw CAW!!!"

I awaken...  I wake up quickly and clearly to the smell of my rented sheets, on my rented bed, in it's rented room.  The smell of ten thousand travelers before me makes my room stink of hope and fear, much like smelling a wonderful restaurants dumpster.

I wonder what Freud would have to say about such a weird dream?

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