Hologram Thoughts

The group, ten or more of us, walked in silence under the beech trees. The sun was low in the sky and the shadows where coming at strange angles, making it look like there was something moving just out of my eyesight. I was in the middle, watching those in front while trying to keep the few behind me up with us, they kept trying to stop; they were too tired now.

I knew we had to keep going, I knew we could not stay the night in the woods. No shelter, no where to put your back and know you were safe from at least on direction.

“I have to stop here, this is where I stop,” she said leaning against a sapling.

“Just a little further, out of the woods and we find somewhere to sleep. I promise.” I lied.

My clothes where wool and cotton, they hung from my frame loosely and chafed my skin from the sweat and heat. The boots on my feet were tight, but only because my feet had swollen after days on the trail. Sweat poured down my face, off my nose. My hair, long and auburn, was tied in a tail and blew easy in the breeze.

I stopped and told the group to listen. Dogs barking in the distance. Hounds, closing in and coming fast – nothing left to do now but run.

***

We run into a train station. The walls are white washed and dusty, doors are mostly red paint and shut, but a few seem to sway with unseen hands opening them to see who we are.

One of the women bolts for a doorway, screaming that she has to find him. Her son has died on the trail and she cannot seem to remember that he is dead and buried. I race to the doorway that she went in, but she is not there, I can see down the hall a long way, further than she could have covered even at a run, but it is empty now, she is gone.

I turn, I hear a pounding footfall, I begin to pass out and just as I close my eyes I see her son, standing in an open loading dock.

“Evil,” I scream.

***

“Evil,” I screamed as my wife woke me this morning in the darkness.

For the last two nights I have had interesting dreams.

Two nights ago:

I was on the rocky beach of a fast moving, dark water river. The water was that lush, deep green that you see in the old rivers, the ones that run for a thousand miles before they collide with the ocean. In the middle of the river the current is moving fast while the shore is more docile. People are wading out in to the water to wash their clothes, their pots and pans. The river is too cold to swim in unless you are bathing, and there are a few old men doing that too.The beach is hard to walk over with so many rocks. They are various colors of earth tones. Reds, browns, tans and grays are everywhere. The beach itself is small though, less than one hundred yards up and down the river and you are in deep jungle again.

On the shore, twenty or thirty feet up from the water I am making a raft with a little old monk in saffron robes. I don’t know his name, in the dream or in real life either. I will call him Lama-la because I know that is what I would call him if we were to meet one day.

The raft is strange looking. Long and narrow, it is made of ten or more bamboo poles lashed together to form a mast of sorts with a sail secured every so many feet with smaller bamboo pieces. This is hard to explain. Picture the left side with 20 bamboo poles tied together and then blue fabric secured to some of them. That blue fabric is only about 2 feet wide but it goes the length of the poles. On the outside of the fabric we have secured one more bamboo pole. In the dream this made complete sense, but as soon as I woke I wondered how this would hold us on the water.

We work on the raft for hours, cutting and securing the bamboo over and over again until Lama-la says it is good. Once Lama-la says we are finished we walk towards a small outdoor restaurant where people are sitting on the ground or on fallen trees eating the food they have. The fire smells wonderful to me and for the first time I notice how good the river smells, how the bamboo and the mountains smell. My nose is filled with the smell of grasses, earth, burning wood and water all at once; it is a cacophony and I love it. For one instant, there on the way to the front of the line I am alone in the universe; I am everything and everyone and everywhere.

Lama-la pushes me and I look up from my reverie, my vision. I point to the soup, which the little old woman sloshes into a tin cup. She passes me the soup and a slab of flat bread. The bread has blackened burn marks on it. It smells so wonderful.

After we eat Lama-la announces that we are ready.

Back at the raft we kneel, say our prayers and then we lift it together. He is carrying a strange wooden anchor that too my eyes looks like a wooden yoke, the kind you would see on oxen as they tilled the land or pulled a wagon. I start to ask him what it is, where it came from, but he just smiles and walks past me in to the water with his load.

As we set off on the river there is a thunderous applause from the beach. Our friends are excited to see us off. I wave and smile, but then the current swiftly takes us out of sight from the beach.

As we approach our first bend in the river I realize the mistake in the design. The raft is too long as well as too narrow. The turn will do something nasty to this little vessel, Lama-la will be headed one direction with me in the tail another. Before I can raise the alarm it is all too late. The river takes Lama-la hard to the starboard, this sends me careening to the port and I can see the beach coming closer by the second. Just as I come to the beach I am lifted in to the air and I sail over a small green bamboo stand to land back in the water gently.

I look to Lama-la but I only see the back of his stubble-covered head. Had he known, did he realize and lift me somehow? Maybe I should trust him?

The rest of the days journey is full of fast current and warm sun. Then, just before nightfall, we move through a cavern where the walls are smooth and the passage is easy. The water is calm and somehow warm here as I let me left hand dangle in the liquid. As we come out the other side I could see a beach on the far side of the river.

There is a group of people there and they are waiting for us. Cheers erupt and they wave us to them. As our tiny raft comes to a halt along the sandy beach they are patting our backs and hugging us both. Many people some up and offer hand shakes, kisses to our cheeks, more hugs and smiles.

I am not sure, but I think we were home.

Last night:

I was checking in to an opulent hotel suite. The staff was preparing the room all around me and I was busy taking it all in. The room was massive. It had deep, richly stained woods on the walls and a thick lush red carpet. The concierge was very concerned that the room was to my liking and the only thing I could do was smile and tell him that it would have to do. Even there, in my dream I knew that I did not belong here.Later in my dream I am standing at the front desk in the foyer of the hotel and I am asking which room I am checked into. I can not remember and they can not tell me. They woman behind the counter knows I belong there, but like me, she can not recall which room I should be in.

I woke there this morning. Strange.

No, this is not turning in to another dream journal, I just want to make sure I remember the cool ones. If you don’t like these, I am sure I will be back to my esoteric musings soon.

I am in the most amazing buffet ever. Perfectly grilled steaks, lobster tail, beautiful sushi of every flavor abound. Every fruit and vegetable I have ever seen and then some I haven’t too. My plate is overflowing with pasta, meats and sushi, I am in heaven.The giant room, filled with people at tables and in the lines for more food, is alive with sounds; laughter, conservations and the clinking of silverware on china. There are glowing candlelit sconces on the walls and on every table there is a candle centerpiece. The floor is covered with a rich burgundy carpet that is accented with golden crowns laid out in a tile-like pattern.

I sit my plate down on a table not far from the buffet. There was only one place setting open at the table, and I knew it was mine. I can smell hot, fresh breads coming out of the ovens and I walk quickly to the line waiting for the breads, rolls and muffins. I see the roll I want and my mouth waters. It is very large, round, cooked to a golden brown and someone has just laid a round of sweet butter on its steaming crown.

And then it is gone. A woman in the line has grabbed it with tongs and off it goes. My world crashes down around me. Lost is the thrill of the buffet, gone are the thoughts of the food I was about to gobble up and the happiness I felt just seeing the foods. Like a fire pit with out flame or a flower that is shriveled on the vine, I am empty.

I woke up there, it was about 3AM this morning. I sat up in bed, looked at the time and smiled that it was still dark outside. The bedroom was filled with a soft orange glow from the salt lamp. I fell back asleep then.

I am a tall, older black man in a jungle. I carry in my arms a small boy, he is listless and his eyes are barely open. I continue to talk to him, asking him questions, his name, where he is from, where he was going. He doesn’t answer me, just lays there in my arms, whispering something I can’t make out.

I know that the only thing I can do is to get him into cold water. I need to lower his body temperature and soon. I make my way over the underbrush to a swiftly flowing river. The water is crystal clear, I can see the bottom of the river. It is green and lush on the riverbed. The water is ice cold.

It flows from a mountain top down here, to the floor of the valley where the jungle covered and hid it from the sun.

I lay the boy down on the smooth river rocks and dig out a shallow trench. I want to make a bath tub in the ground and let some of the water flow over him, I know this will heal him. After the tub has been dug out I pull him in to the opening in the ground and then I dig out a small ditch to get the water in to the tub with him.

I look up then, through the green leaves into the sunlight and pray that he will recover.

I don’t know what they mean, or if they mean anything at all; but there they are. If they mean anything to you, let me know.

Light and Love,

Matt