Dream Interpretation?

 

Last night I went to bed with the wind howling and a certain crisp coldness stirring in the air. I realized it was Halloween, but that was not foremost in my mind as I drifted off peacefully tired and quite snug under my favorite down comforter.

Perhaps reading words about our own mortality was preying on me. Maybe it was the harvest moon or just a coincidence, I know not, but at some point, I stirred from an interesting dream and lay quietly trying to commit it to memory in the darkness of the night. I replayed it scene by scene in all its solemn grandeur. While tempted to get up and formally reduce it to writing, sleep beckoned once again, and I surrendered to its heady call.

Thereafter, I continued to dream the dream and when I finally roused this morning, I was a bit surprised to find the sequence intact and still prevalent in my mind.

Almost like an out-of-body experience or an ode to Dickens’ Christmas Carol, a ghost from my past pulled me naked from my slumber and gently wrapped me in heavy velvet robes of the deepest raspberry and indigo trimmed in gold with tassels at the end of the long sleeves. A shawl-like hood edged in silky gold fringe covered my head and all but masked my identity, even from myself. A gold band was wrapped serpentine above my left ankle and the only other items I wore were the seven ever-present Chinese gold bangles on my right arm.

Leaving my bedroom behind, alone I was transported to the edge of an olden village that was not recognizable as anywhere I had ever been or even seen in picture, painting, or postcard. The cobblestones on which my bare feet stood were covered with damp fallen leaves. Because my breath was visible in the night air, I knew it must be cold, but cold I did not feel. Closer inspection, as I peered into a darkness lit only by the moon and distant stars and planets, revealed a head high iron fence standing silent guard over the final resting place of those who have come before. Massive live oak trees adorned with low hanging moss joined the vigil over the monuments of the dead.

I felt rather than observed the presence of faceless others who had no proper form. They hovered all around anxious to catch a glimpse of my eyes and wondered if recognition would greet them. They called to me with their souls, but no sound or motion accompanied their will or need.

From the cobblestone street I tentatively approached the main gate. It stood half again as tall as I did with a large arch standing even higher. Climbing roses with vines thick as my thumb intertwined with the wrought iron and held fast. In my mind I envisioned the scene during a lovely spring day with a riot of multi-colored blooms welcoming the living to the home of the dead.

It was not spring, though, as I stood before the gate. It was autumn and one lone pale-yellow rose remained. Just as I walked through the gate, an unknown wind blew, and the rose snagged the hood of my robe. When I reached up to free it, the stem broke and released it into my hand. As I examined it I saw within a crimson heart that bled and faded as it reached the ends of the petals. A deep breath revealed a delicate, yet musky aroma that was pleasant as it was stirring.

Pulling the flower deep within the folds of my garment, I continued on and stepped lightly between the elaborate and well carved headstones, vaults, and mausoleums which were all properly erected and facing what I assumed was East, but there was little order or explanation for the groupings. A small rather plain tombstone was placed adjacent to an ornate family crypt. The pathways were bendy and wound precariously around each of the inhabitants, as well as the multitude of large trees scattered throughout, while other walks merely abruptly stopped. Thus, this immense graveyard was quite the maze.

Making my way through it, I soon discovered what I thought to be the center of it all housed the relic of an ancient structure, twice as tall as it was wide and surrounded first by a small clearing then by acres of rather dense and overgrown woods. While I had no clear view, I knew what was there. I knew that from the parapet on the central tower stood a vaguely familiar form and I knew he was whispering my name.

With abandon, I ran to him oblivious of the obstacles in my path. I felt limbs, briars, and thorns tear at my robe, me, and my hair. I felt something tear across my cheek, but I did not stop. Breathless, I reached the structure, located the appropriate stairs, and with alacrity made my way up to him. When I reached the balcony on which he stood, he turned, smiled, and opened his arms to me. Grateful for comfort and something recognizable in this alternate world, I threw myself into those open and familiar arms.

While he talked softly to me and repeated words, I had heard him say in the darkness, as well as the light of day, I felt him pulling all manner of leaves and broken twigs from my long hair. It was only after I felt a breeze on my bare body did I realize I had lost the velvet robe which had covered me, yet the gold remained on my right arm and left leg.

“Why are you here?” I asked, suddenly concerned he may have joined the inhabitants of this eternity.

“No,” he replied with a knowing smile, “I am only here for you. My feet are firmly planted in the world of the living.”

“Then, do I belong here?”

“You are here because you have not learned to live for you.”

“I don’t understand.”

Taking my hand, he led me to the edge of the balcony where the stone edges had already given way. He pointed straight down then motioned with an open hand to the full panorama which graced us and said: “Your destiny lies down there, out there or deep in here.” With the last words he placed his hand over my left breast, just above my heart.

I knew this man. I trusted this man. While he has meant many things to me, for many years I have only called him friend.

Looking down, I saw the fallen stones heaped on the ground and partially obscured by the vegetation which threatened to overtake them. “No,” I told him, “my destiny is not there.”

Looking out I could see the trees, the cemetery, and the path that I had taken to get to him. Beyond the gates, in the dim haze of the distance, I thought I recognized images slowly playing in half-measure of life as I knew it.

“Step over to the edge,” he bade me.

Cautiously, I inched over until my toes curled down to grip the rim of the broken stone. Unsteady, I held a hand out to him. Instead of taking it, he stepped fully behind me and wrapped both his arms around me, and I could feel the length of him pressed to me, as well as his breath behind me. Tenderly he kissed me first at the temple, then below my ear and along the nape of my neck. I could feel his lips move against my skin as he told me in his soft and sweet Southern way: “I let you go years ago because you needed the time and freedom to find your way. You are now your own person. Believe in you. Believe in life. Believe in love. Remember, I am a friend in whom you can trust. I have faith in you. What remains is for you to have faith in yourself.”

With that, he abruptly let go of me and stepped away.

Turning, I saw him slowly fade, then disappear. All that remained where he once stood was the pale-yellow rose with crimson heart. Bending down to retrieve it, a thorn pricked me, and blood began to flow. With each drop that fell onto the cold and smooth marble an old hurt was released and part of my heart was somehow restored.

As I pulled each of the petals from this mysterious rose, the breeze became stronger and I opened my hand to allow the wind to take the petals as the first strands of dawn reached across the horizon. Bare, but unafraid, I greeted the warmth of the morning sun.