I Dream of Water

Here, it’s dry, windy, hilly.  The brown earth is dry under the feet.  The wind blows dry air through the brown grass on the hills, through the hair, under the clothes, under the skin.

Even when it’s foggy, it’s dry.  The wind blows the fog away. 

Even when it rains, it’s dry.  The water gathers above the dry earth without sinking in, it flows off the dry brown hills, past the brown grass, into the dry riverbeds, into the dry bay, into the dry ocean.

Sometimes you fall asleep next to me.  Sometimes there is a sound of dry rain hitting dry roofs, running off them.  We watched the downpour through a big window.  It was dry inside.  The rain gathered, puddled above the ground and was gone the next day.

In my dream, the earth is flat and saturated with water.  In my dream, silvery green luscious grass grows by a vast, calm, silvery lake.

In my dream, I lie next to the teacher who has never hurt me.  I recognize how rare and special that is, recognize him as a manifestation of Ahimsa.  In my dream, this teacher is wearing white.

In my dream, I stand knee deep in the wet luscious grass, on the soaked earth, by the lake, by a quiet wise silvery white horse.  The horse gives me a silver symbol.

You are not in my dream, but all the water soaks me through with the sadness that I turn away from when I am awake.

Here, I brush off the droplets of sadness.  When it hurts, I say, it’s OK, nothing to be upset about.  Here, I rationalize, I practice non-attachment, big picture, whatever.  Or so I think.

In my dream, the dry hard shell of all that falls off and I abide in the sadness that overflows me.  Then wake up.

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