most times, my dreams are lost to waking unless i tell myself before sleeping to remember them. i really should do that every time, that telling.
i was standing in a meadow, looking out over the grasses and wildflowers, thinking about which direction i want to turn, where i want to go, and why. facing north at the moment, the crazy opaque sigil that hung on the horizon was something that didn’t seem odd. even as i knew i’d never noticed it before and even as i knew it was not a common element in this place, it did not seem ‘out of place’. it simply seemed as if i had only just decided to notice it.
i have not yet looked up the symbol. when it matters, i will. for now, i note it. oh, an aside, most times i shift into and out of narrative ‘retelling’ mode. usually it is obvious. i do not choose to more firmly underscore the difference. those who need to be able to tell that difference will. anyway…
i watched the sigil as it hung there and shifted color and transparency and listened to the things it was whispering. it spoke of wild shifts, changes that would be odd and impulse swings of direction or interest. i realized to be mad in my movement wasn’t a thing i felt needful. i also realized that sigil represented the parts of me that are too often all too willing to be impulsive and thoughtless. as that occurred, the entire aspect of the sigil changed. it shifted from mutable flickerings to a solid and somewhat metallic thing… ‘locking into place’ as it were. as if, somehow, the act of that realization was to ‘set’ it in place.
i nodded and chuckled and slowly reoriented myself eastward.
here, a copse of trees in the distance, before which a small stream wound its way on a north-south vector. between me and the closest bank, an expanse of meadow. glancing upward, to the line of tree tops, the expected symbol, hanging and undulating. this one, upon something like a tile or backdrop, and less wavering in presence.
there was no whispering. instead, a vivid series of images, like flash cards. memory mostly, some unknowns. these were paths taken, lessons learned, and possibilities unexplored. at this point, it occurred to me that i wasn’t in a meadow. i was in The Meadow. the insight arrived like a surprise, but quickly faded into humor. of course i’m in the meadow. where else would i be? as this was acknowledged, the symbol immediately ended its ‘transmission’ and became merely a placard, hanging there over the tree tops.
smiling to myself, i swung south.
before me there was a firepit. a large circle of dirt, surrounded by carefully placed stones. the stones themselves were a marvel of mindful effort — identical and pristine — river rocks, they were. black and slightly oval-shaped. their matte colors were contrast to the tan dirt. placed tightly, they formed a ring of safety between the firepit and the meadow itself. within the circle, a swath of space and then, in the middle, tall logs, raised and set against one another to fashion a yet to be ignited bonfire. hovering above the apex of logs, the expected symbol. this one, rendered in amber, i chuckled for the feeling of ‘the expected’ as i saw it. it glowed softly, and tendrils of essence drifted in lazy exploration… drifting out and around in something of a cloud. no communication, for there was nothing new to convey.
i smiled and bowed briefly and it seemed the amber shape echoed the chuckle back to me as i turned westward.
here, to the west, at first i saw nothing. emptiness. but then, blinking, the world in this direction snapped into shape, quickly manifesting out of void and vibrating slightly as it appeared. the remainder of the meadow, the dirt road that leads into unknown territory, the wooden fence posts with their strung barbwire between, and off in the distance, the horizon.
i looked for the symbol, but there was nothing in the air except a small rain cloud. it actually took me a moment to realize that was the symbol. i laughed for my own foolishness. the cloud itself hung fat with moisture and pulsing thick, dark, angry presence. small arcs of electricity escaped now and then, usually fading before reaching the ground, but not always. little curls of smoke rising intermittently from successful contacts. the feeling as i observed was that, whatever rests here, it would be unwise to attempt its discovery at this time. the air thickened around the cloud as this thought rose… almost like a physical warning against proximity. i laughed aloud — no need — i have learned to listen.
as if in response, that thickness of presence lessened and the veil hiding the rest of the world behind the cloud once more was visible, if not at distance. grinning, i nodded. no interest in exploration there just yet.
settling into the grassed where i stood, these four directions and their symbols around me, i lay down, looking up into the sky. the ground beneath me gave way slightly, cushioning and rising to embrace me. bed of grasses and flowers, i relaxed and set my thoughts to the scene before me. the flash of thought that the ground was communicating its own message arrived and resolved instantly. it was so well known that i didn’t even need to think about it.
i smiled.
the choice to focus upon the sky and the stars was at once proper and frustrating. for no sooner had i made it and began the progression out of myself and upward, into their sphere, i woke.