Philadelphia, March 2014
Shhh, quiet now. Listen. Let me tell you a story. This is a story of nighttime, of dreamtime. When the veil between what is real and what is magical thins into almost nothing. In these twilight hours our minds can finally find respite from the raging tumult of waking. Like the sea that falls quiet when the moon loosens her grasp, the waters of our mind fall still behind closed eyes. The endless churning finally stops, and the water exhales all the dirt and sand, and it sinks down to the bottom. There is no end to what we can see in these silent waters.
Look, child. Entire worlds inhabit these depths.
Our minds are like these waters. As night and sleep deepen, all our worries and cares slowly sink down into bottomless nothing. And then, when all is quiet and still, something deep and fathomless within us begins to stir. Our souls slowly blink awake, restless and hungry after a long day of disuse. They reach out ghostly fingers and search the night, catching at wisps of dreamsong that float down from the heavens in gossamer veils. Dreams feed the soul, you know. If you listen closely in the night you can hear souls humming.
Let me tell you a story. The truth is that the world began as a place of dreams. Dreams lived here long before man and beast. Before time imagining, dreams blanketed the earth. Teasing and translucent, they cartwheeled lazily on breaths of air, sluiced delicate ripples through dark ocean water, and tickled the blades of grass in endless meadows.
It is the dreamweaver who threads the fabric of our dreams. She gleefully hops from star to star, gazing down at her children below and weaving for them dreams of magic and possibility. Her fingers are deft and sure, for she is the one true master of this dance that began before the dawns of time. For who can know which came first - the dreamer or the dreaming?
I can feel her breath on my face. “Go gently now,” she whispers. “Close your eyes.” Soft, cool fingers brush hair off my forehead. The dreamweaver weaves me a delicate blanket of dreams that I curl up in. “Sleep now, love,” she says. “This night holds nothing for you to fear,” she promises.
Advisor, Writer, Asker of Questions