September 19th, 2017
My dreams have a good way of realigning my heart with my soul, and my mind with the now. Every now and then, when I start feeling like I’m getting lost, or hopeless, I find a connection to the universe through meditation or dreams, coded language in secret alphabets, images pieced together which somehow endows urgent clarity to mend the spirit, inspire direction, motivation, and assurance.
I’ve been feeling uncertain that the last significant decision I’ve made might have been a step in the wrong direction. And while I am still digesting what overcame me in last night’s sleep, something has incited a sense of enlightenment.
So while I devour this Tofu/Spinach/Cheese/Cucumber breakfast sandwich I threw together, I’d love to share with you my strange dream.
On the edge of the Dead Season, I was back home – and when I refer to home, I will always refer to the rural little homestead atop the hill with a lone, giant tree, so tall that even from miles away you could clearly see it dwarfing the house beneath it, and watching over the endless fields of corn surrounding it. I was there building a trackless Train out of wood and requisite materials. It looked like Black Iron, but it was an illusion. And above me, the fiery red’s and warm yellows, burnt orange, leaves fell every now and then into the open train car. I had no roof, Goddammit. But I was working on one. I was working in a desperate haste. Feverishly unrelenting, with a dedication that I held in a spiritual conviction. Why was I building this Train? Where was I going? Was I running?
“Hey!” she said. A girl I knew, standing there in fall attire, suddenly grabbing my attention, “Whatcha building?”
“A train,” hesitant to commit to a conversation, I had a lot of work to do.
The girl disappeared in a flash, but she echoed for an eternity in the heavy gusts of winds that blew across the earth, carrying the music of her voice and words, wrapping me in a comforting pain; Nostalgia filled my lungs. I went blind with the image of memories burnt into my eyes. My world’s view shrunk, and the sun overhead vanished, I built the roof, the train was speeding, but with no direction.
The train had stopped. I stepped out into a time where I could witness my first day stepping onto a school bus. The passengers on the bus pointed at me like I was crazy. Tortured by ghosts of yesterday, coaxing me into the past, comforting me with happy thoughts. But this train only moves forward. How did I get here?
My mother watched me walk onto the Bus with my Batman lunch pail. The bus drives off, moving forward. Yet I am here with my train looking at things that already happened, haunted by old ghosts.
Another girl arrives to take my train, “This was for me wasn’t it?”
“But they said this was all for me.”
“Who is they?”
“You know,” she vanished onto the train.
The train pulled away and left me standing there, in the past. It broke my heart, but I had no time to be sad. I was armed with an inexplicable sense of duty, like an old robot, programmed only to keep going. I found another train, partially built… It was good enough for me. I got on board.