Wednesday, January 23, 2013

Dream Interpreter

There's this dream I have sometimes. The woods out behind the first house I ever lived in. I'm wandering through them, but not aimlessly. I know these woods; I'm making my way purposely through them, back to the house, the pond, the driveway. 

There I am now, learning to ride my bike. Dad is behind me. But that's a different memory.

I already know the truth about this dream: I don't know those woods very well. I stayed closer to the house in those early days. I'd come back to explore them in later years, a town-dweller back for a visit.

Maybe I dream about them because they are completely left to the imagination; there's no reality there. I don't know them at all.


I miss that place, the country, land that my family called their own. Now,  someone else's name is on the deed - the old barn, the hay loft, the fields of pine trees.

Another dream I'm remembering now. I'm circling the garden; it's big. There are vegetables here, but I can't tell who tends them. There's no sign of Papa; I feel alone out here. Desolate. Haunted, even. But someone is keeping, tending this garden, I can see this.

Now, I'm in it, right there among the tomato vines. I know this place better than the woods but still, not enough. In the later years, I simply passed by, never to go inside. What kept me away? What did I miss?

Everything, I'm afraid.

Monday, January 21, 2013

When what should be, is not

He only sees in cracks, broken glass and fear
But he smiles at what should be.
Pulls out picture books of mountains, flowing rivers,
escapes for his troubled mind;
loves a thing until it breaks.
Shakes his head at what it should be.

Craves adventure - somewhere deep down, wants risk.
Yet risk is the one thing always avoided:
Fear of what could be.
60 years ago, this path was set for him,
set him to constant pleasing, relentless effort
and repeated rejection.
Things aren't what they should be.

He gave it all for this one thing,
this one thing, giving illusion of life to many things.
And here we are to see it all rise up,
this idol of fulfillment, ultimate satisfaction.

There's no one to reject him here on this mountain,
no one to steal and destroy.
But what matters has long been gone,
stolen before realized.
Things are not as they should be;
have mercy, Lord, when he finally arrives.