Friday, 8 February 2013

Are dreams the truth?



I dream most nights, now I have started dreaming of my old relatives who have been gone for years, another as recently as a year ago.


I look down, see a rushing steam along the cliffs edge, and wonder if I drive over the edge will I be dead before I hit water. As I round the corner, I see a small village that looks deserted at first glance. I near, and make out a face I recognize and wonder if I am seeing a mirage of my cousin.

 
His hair was long and unkempt. He wore a robe, the belt tied tightly around his waist. My first thought was he looked lost. As I stopped the car, he bent down to the window and thanked me for coming.


He took my hand as I got out and led me to an open building that looked like an old barn with no doors. There were pieces of furniture spread around, a bed at the side, a chair with glasses on a table with loads of newspaper spread over the floor. The place looked so cold. Someone was living here. My cousin realized I had asked him who, he told me it was my uncle who had died two days earlier, and they had buried him under his favorite tree outback.


 He wanted me to meet his friends who lived two lanes over and he just started to walk and tell me how they had come to live in this old broken down deserted village a few years ago. None of the buildings had doors but had fires burning in the middle of the dirt floors.


 We came upon three people sitting at a table ready to eat a meal, a man who I thought at first was a women started to unwrap a bag of food. I was introduced and offered some by another long haired man whose eyes were so dark they looked black. I knew at once this was the only food they would see for sometime and they had been willing to share with me. My cousin talked in a low voice and explained that I had come to pay my respects to his Dad and he thought I must have felt my uncles passing through his spirit.


We wandered through the village and he told me stories of my uncle being so happy here. They caught fish and game and traded with others for what they needed to survive, taking small jobs in the town ten miles away for their liquor that they both needed to keep warm inside, I was told.


 Are dreams a starting or ending point?  Or a fragmentation of your mind? 


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