I dreamt of a place, not long ago, and the dream, unusual for me, showed even the most mundane things in vivid, sharp detail. Clothing, clouds, leaves on the ground, birds against the sky, dust motes floating.
But not at first. At first I was in the dark, walking blindly on a long journey through a wood. I only knew that something big was ahead. It was my show. I was expected.
I’m a modern man, raised on science and skepticism. But the longer I’ve lived, ancient spirits lurch.
I’ve had to make allowances.
All through the night unlit by moon or stars, I sensed movement all around, a rustling of hurrying things. As though the trees of the forest were on the move, striding and jostling without words, just the sounds… creak and flex of branches, and the whisper of air through leaves.
When I arrived at the designated place, they were already silently in place, and the air breathed with expectation.
I was just eager to find out what all the excitement was about. What would make the forest walk?
I’ve told the story before, so will be brief.
It was some years from now. I was at a certain age. The gathering was of people in my childhood home town, most long gone, but now just as I remembered them. They expected me, and gave a warm welcome.
You may wish to make something psychological of the imagery. Be my guest. I would be tempted, too. I don’t mind.
But in this case, something is different and I can’t shake the feeling. I choose to believe that this was simply a moment of grace. I was given a glimpse into the future, given to know in advance how long I have. And it seemed quite a generous figure.
The joke could be on me, of course, and Jung and Freud could have a field day with the plentiful neuroses they could find in the symbols.
Perhaps. Perhaps not.
However, I’ve always worked better under deadline. No truer term could there be, but it is soothing, somehow. That’s part of who I am.
It may just be as simple as that.
Now, if you’ll excuse me… I must get back to the work.