Realm of the Past

From the portal of another world I am hurtled into the shallow waters on the shore of an ocean. From there I climb up the steps leading downward and into that sea, and at the top I see a large, freestanding brick wall before the wall of an old brick building, creating a small passage between the two. To the right of the outer wall is an old acquaintance of mine, a girl by the name of Crystal Cox, who is very bony and is carrying her grandmother, a very old, very decrepit woman on her back. The old woman is wearing layers of clothing, skirts and aprons, and has a rag on her head. Crystal is as young as when I first met her, a little more than a young girl.

I join her to the right of the outer wall. She doesn’t seem to remember me; as if I am no longer a part of that world, of that realm of the past. We walk along and passed the wall, climbing another flight of enrailed steps, the sea splashing against the foundation of the pathway on which we are walking. We round the bend of the path turning left away from the wide open ocean and onto a wide open bridge over a clear water careenage, very reminiscent of a similar overpass called the Chamberlain Bridge in a city called Bridgetown.

We walk pass the people milling around the path. Some are selling goods, while others are on their way to unknown destinations and others still are standing around talking. Crystal is still carrying Gran on her back. I look over the side of the railing, down pass the underside of the bridge into the clear water careenage below. The water is a pale teal or aquamarine. I can see the silver fish that look like miniature dolphins swimming around in the water just beneath the bridge.

There are other people also looking over the side of the bridge. They have rods and lines and are trying to catch the miniature dolphins. I stop and think about whether I should try to catch them too, when suddenly one leaps out of the water and floats before me, just above my head. He is attached to a string like a balloon and I know he is meant for me. I take the string in my hand, and walk over to where Crystal is standing looking out over the bridge into the distant blue sky. Gran is no longer on her back. Looking around I see her at the place where the railing ends, but before the wall of the building before us begins.

Here the path is craggy and unpaved, and is more like a bed of rocks piled high from the clear water careenage up to the underside of the bridge. I go and grab her, guiding her away from the bedrocks and back onto the paved pathway. Crystal then snaps out of her reverie and takes Gran’s hand and we continue along our way pass the building before us. Its outer wall is peopled with small, tiny snack shops and its interior is dark like a bus or train terminal. Standing at the first shop is a group of Wall Street stockbrokers and lawyers, all hidden in the shadows of the shop's overhanging shade except one.

The one standing in the light is the closest to me, and as Crystal, Gran and I pass by, he turns to stare into my eyes. He looks like a God. A heavy, tousled brunette mane, eyes a dark teal or aquamarine, deep and intense. Everything about his face, his bone structure, the line of his jaw and his nose are strong and perfectly sculpted; his lips full, shapely … soft. He looks like a model from GQ or a character from the cover of a romance novel. I stare into his eyes until we pass.

Now I am doing a dance. First it begins as an Irish jig, then it transitions to a hip hop routine, then I break down and start swiveling my hips like the hamster on the Blockbuster commercial. The entire dream goes silent. People on both sides of the bridge and the street, people I’ve passed, people I’m next and nearest to, even people I have yet to see have gone completely still. My mind’s eye does a sweeping, panoramic shot of The Dreaming. All have frozen. All are quiet. Back behind my own eyes, I lean over to Crystal, who once again is carrying Gran on her back and ask, “Do you guys dance in this world?” She looks at me with the strangest of expressions and asks in return, “What’s dance?”

It’s then I look around to see the countless eyes looking at me in shock and consternation, confusion and uncertainty. The Dreaming ends.