An Ode to Dreams, and Dreamers
it wasn’t a dream, but it came down from the place where dreams come from,
that (primordial)(chaotic) place
somewhere between our bodies, between our feet on the earth,
and the stars, the celestial bodies,
the darkness and light dancing in time to music that comes from the heavens.
Time, we dress it in labels and segments,
we count days hour seconds,
we call it fast or slow or precious or painful.
we weight it down with our beliefs and biases
and are amazed when, even for a moment, we transcend time, travel with time, who has no shape no absolute.
I am one of the dreamers of the world, dreaming of different type of rain, the rough and the gentle, the hard and soft, the early morning dew and middle of the night thunders, a collection of memories, of moments,
a well of stories mixing up in each other,
a mix of tenses, pastfuturepresent.
the mind wanders and the muscles tense.
can you hold the contradictions in softness?
i’m stumbling, wading into wild waters
my head is too heavy to form so i float in the formless.
a drifting, nonlinear land
it couldn’t be any other way.
it’s a ripening
a recognizing older than pain.
does a dream want to come true?
what is there to hold on to in the end?
I live like the tide, ebbing and flowing and moments fading merging together. When I first moved, everything had such saliency
I was here once. I sat on steps sunken toward the sea
by the waters of babylon, I buried my ghosts
lay them down to rest, and me too. Together we slept,
we dreamt; the dreams they wept, my questions they kept.