freedom

I have a tattoo of a birdcage on my calf.  Last night, I dreamed that the ink on the birdcage was fading away; it was becoming nearly inappreciable in spots.  I was disappointed and returned to the tattoo shop in order for her to redo her work.

“No” the artist said. “Its supposed to do that.”

I wish in life we could have what limits us fade away to nothing with minimal effort, the natural decomposition of walls and bars and ceilings.  Sometimes its more complicated than that. Sometimes we have to sweat and bleed and sob and pray before the flood gates fall, the doors spring open, and then suddenly, we are flying free.  Other times, it happens spontaneously and unexpectedly, and as we float along we suddenly pass through a channel into a different land than something we ever envisioned or dreamed of.

Regardless of how we get there, freedom is an exhilarating feeling.  The rustle of the wind through flight feathers, the fresh air blasting up the nose and into the lungs, soaring into a land of new beginnings.

 

dreams while camping

Last night, I dreamed my mother was dying.  She lied unconscious in her bed, with ragged breathing.  I told her family and friends that this was it, in the matter of a few hours, or a few days at most, she would be gone.

And then she woke up.

She strolled into her kitchen looking as good as she ever did in life.  Radiant.  Beautiful.  My first words to her were not “I love you!” or “I’m so happy to see you!”  They were “you were dying!”

She just laughed at me, shaking her head as though she couldn’t believe I could be so silly to think she could be dying.

She hugged her friends and family.  Everyone rejoiced.

And then she turned yellow, thin.  She took to her bed.  Once again, she was dying.

I woke up from this dream at sunrise in the forest.  A grey light had seeped into the tent. It was so quiet, I could hear my own breathing.

And my mother is still dead.  There is no happy ending to the dream, but maybe there is a message.  My predictions, my ambitions, my rages mean nothing. There is only what is. I cannot create, or alter, but I can accept. but I can accept. In a way, I am helpless but I am also empowered.  To enjoy the beauty of life, of the now.  Of my breath warming the sides of the tent, collecting into sparkling drops of condensation.  Of the grey light, snaking its way through the pines.