Friday, January 11, 2013

doors of perception

Each dream begins just as the others, as a small child I am laying in my cot in the tiny room just off the kitchen, the window is open, the curtains are blowing. It is cold, it is autumn or maybe the earliest days of spring, but there are no buds on the ground, no snow on the ground, just an icing of frost along the tips of the grass. I stand in front of the open window, watching the clouds light up as they race across the face of the moon, then the clouds disappear again into the night sky.

The big dipper hangs just over the barn, and stars seem to be pouring from the ladle of the dipper in a steady stream and landing on the roof of the barn. When they land the roof lights up with a little flashbulb of light, then the stars tumble to the ground. They pile up all together on the ground by the barn, but they are not bright like stars or on fire like candles. They glow just a little bit, like a lightbulb in a flashlight with tired old batteries, and the pile of stars grows as big as a haystack and glows and glows.