April 14, 2001. This dream came in sections, with dream 'commercials' in between, and also a dream domestic argument over how to spend $28,000.00.
I lay back, replete. Our lovemaking has been complete. It
was more then a joining of two bodies into one, more than a union of
two spirits together. When we made love, we became one with the
universe, a part of everything. There was no us, no them, no
anything. The merging was complete and all-inclusive.
I prop myself up on an elbow and look down at you. My long
brown hair trails across your shining chest. Did you feel it, too?
You smile at me.
"Don't be alarmed," you say, and I laugh the laugh of lovers. What
is there to be alarmed about?
As I look at you, you begin to blur. Sweat in my eyes, or maybe
tears. Perfection will do that to a person.
"It's okay," you say.
As you begin to fade away. The flesh of your arms sinks into, blends
in with the pale bed sheets. Melting. You are melting away from me.
The heat of our passion is causing you to dissolve. As we were one
with the universe, you are becoming one with the bed, the room, the
building, the world.
The bed absorbs you, your flesh, your muscle, your bone. You are
leaving me.
No, I cry, within myself. This cannot be happening. It's too bizarre.
You continue to dissolve before my eyes.
You are gone.
Yet you are there. You do not leave me comfortless. "It's always
been this way for us," your spirit whispers to my soul.
And I remember.
I remember bleak winters from the days before fire, when we fit
ourselves ever closer for warmth, away from the damp rocks that
sheltered us. I remember places green and hot and torrid, but we
could not stay apart. I remember straw on the floor of smelly inns,
and a hammock high in a tree, and a string of gray and grimy motels.
I remember, with a splash of red skirts and headbands, the many
shades of tan and the warmth of the Egyptian sun and sand, and
sitting with you as the people babble past.
Yes, I remember.
It has always been this way for us.
We love, and then you go on.
You go on, and I come after.
But I don't know the way anymore. I don't know how to follow you, to
become a part of the places the way you do. I can no longer follow
you.
I can no longer hear you.
I cannot feel you.
You are gone.
I am alone.
I am alone and wandering, and there are many things in this modern
world, but none of them is you. I cannot find you anywhere. I cannot
feel you anywhere. You are not in the noise or the silence. You
speak neither in the gale nor the breeze. The pollution robs me of
the scent of your lovingness. There is no hint of your caress, in
the pool or in the deluge. You are gone.
You are gone, and I am left to wander this life – these many
lifetimes – alone.
It is too much for me. Without you, I have no will, no desire. I
want only to go where you have gone, to call upon the long
unremembered skills that once allowed me to follow you.
I wander through a cemetery. Here is a place for people who have
gone. Here is a place where people go to become one again with the
earth that made them. It is a good place, a quiet place, and I sit
to rest and wait.
The wind blows. Green leaves turn gold, then brown, and pile at my
feet. I am glad for their warmth. their cover. Grass grows and dies,
and the chaff joins the leaves, mixed in with the leaves, and there
are little rocks, too. Bits of sand, perhaps, or skin peeling off as
I am becoming. Crystal tears are carried by the blizzard wind, and
still I sit. All is harmony here, and, for me, where there is
harmony, where there is unity, there is you.
A child passes by, holding his mothers hand. "That's a big rock,
Mommy," he says. "I want to sit in its lap."
"It's a monument," says Mommy, "and that would be rude."
Time passes.
I lay back, replete. Our lovemaking has been complete. It
was more then a joining of two bodies into one, more than a union of
two spirits together. When we made love, we became one with the
universe, a part of everything. There was no us, no them, no
anything. The merging was complete and all-inclusive.
I prop myself up on an elbow and look down at you. My long
brown hair trails across your shining chest. Did you feel it, too?
You smile at me.
"Don't be alarmed," you say, and I laugh the laugh of lovers. What
is there to be alarmed about?
As I look at you, you begin to blur. Sweat in my eyes, or maybe
tears. Perfection will do that to a person.
"It's okay," you say.
As you begin to fade away. The flesh of your arms sinks into, blends
in with the pale bed sheets. Melting. You are melting away from me.
The heat of our passion is causing you to dissolve. As we were one
with the universe, you are becoming one with the bed, the room, the
building, the world.
The bed absorbs you, your flesh, your muscle, your bone. You are
leaving me.
No, I cry, within myself. This cannot be happening. It's too bizarre.
You continue to dissolve before my eyes.
You are gone.
Yet you are there. You do not leave me comfortless. "It's always
been this way for us," your spirit whispers to my soul.
And I remember.
I remember bleak winters from the days before fire, when we fit
ourselves ever closer for warmth, away from the damp rocks that
sheltered us. I remember places green and hot and torrid, but we
could not stay apart. I remember straw on the floor of smelly inns,
and a hammock high in a tree, and a string of gray and grimy motels.
I remember, with a splash of red skirts and headbands, the many
shades of tan and the warmth of the Egyptian sun and sand, and
sitting with you as the people babble past.
Yes, I remember.
It has always been this way for us.
We love, and then you go on.
You go on, and I come after.
But I don't know the way anymore. I don't know how to follow you, to
become a part of the places the way you do. I can no longer follow
you.
I can no longer hear you.
I cannot feel you.
You are gone.
I am alone.
I am alone and wandering, and there are many things in this modern
world, but none of them is you. I cannot find you anywhere. I cannot
feel you anywhere. You are not in the noise or the silence. You
speak neither in the gale nor the breeze. The pollution robs me of
the scent of your lovingness. There is no hint of your caress, in
the pool or in the deluge. You are gone.
You are gone, and I am left to wander this life – these many
lifetimes – alone.
It is too much for me. Without you, I have no will, no desire. I
want only to go where you have gone, to call upon the long
unremembered skills that once allowed me to follow you.
I wander through a cemetery. Here is a place for people who have
gone. Here is a place where people go to become one again with the
earth that made them. It is a good place, a quiet place, and I sit
to rest and wait.
The wind blows. Green leaves turn gold, then brown, and pile at my
feet. I am glad for their warmth. their cover. Grass grows and dies,
and the chaff joins the leaves, mixed in with the leaves, and there
are little rocks, too. Bits of sand, perhaps, or skin peeling off as
I am becoming. Crystal tears are carried by the blizzard wind, and
still I sit. All is harmony here, and, for me, where there is
harmony, where there is unity, there is you.
A child passes by, holding his mothers hand. "That's a big rock,
Mommy," he says. "I want to sit in its lap."
"It's a monument," says Mommy, "and that would be rude."
Time passes.
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