One eye open

Insistent the old man woke me, night upon night he shook me from dreams leaving dark taste in my mouth. He was death yet alive, power roared within him, fear closed my ears to him and my eyes could not see him. Yet last night his voice reached me, stirred me from fear, his face, not death but potent life. Like kindly father he offered rough hand, hand in hand with ancient Ash, I walked into the night. All earthly sound retreated as we walked, the stars lighting a path beneath feet. His words echoed through my being, lyrical cadence calling me to path, a song of memory to light my way. He spoke to my blood least I forget and in final speech he uttered; ‘Not alone my girl’ as he leveled his eye upon mine and laid kiss on my brow. A single sound approached, beneath his words, through my thoughts, he smiled when he saw I heard it; pounding like drum, yet too quiet for human ear, pulse of thunder compressed within form. My eyes widened as recognition arrived, words tumbling forth from mind, ‘his beating heart’, my wise father did smile returning me to dream, awoken.

A dreaming

Last night a reoccurring dream from the past returned to me.

I arrive in a room as if transported by thought. I am joining others of like mind we are seated cross legged in a circle to create a shared intent. We imagine, give a shape to our collective idea, layering texture and colour, sense and feeling, then we bring it to life with voice. Once content with our work we each return to the time and place we have stepped away from to attend our task.

I had drifted to sleep longing for silence and space. A familiar longing, one I have always had (absolute post). I was picturing floating alone deep in the ocean gazing up at the stars and local planets, glimpsing distant galaxies. This turned to a deeper longing for the vacuum of space where I could be so very distant to any other life, where if I chose I could converse with angels or allow my luminosity to ignite and burn as bright as any star before squeezing myself back into the vessel of my flesh and returning to my world refreshed and alive.

Words by errant satiety image by Mark Gee