a dream deferred...

What happens to a  

dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun.....
......Or does it

explode?

Pablo Neruda’s Sonnet LXXXl:

“And now you’re mine. Rest with your dream in my dream.
Love and pain and work should all sleep, now.
The night turns on its invisible wheels,
and you are pure beside me as a sleeping amber.

No one else, Love, will sleep in my dreams. You will go,
we will go together, over the waters of time.
 

No one else will travel through the shadows with me,
only you, evergreen, ever sun, ever moon.

Your hands have already opened their delicate fists
and let their soft drifting signs drop away;
your eyes closed like two gray wings, and I move

after, following the folding water you carry, that carries
me away. The night, the world, the wind spin out their destiny.
Without you, I am your dream, only that, and that is all.”

the secret spot...

"Within 

your heart, 

keep one still, 

secret spot 

where 

dreams 

may go."

lie in blackness...

Channels 

are blocked in the mind, 

from the day.  

Lie down 

in blackness of night,

forgotten remnants 

rush to the mind, 

or 

creeping slowly 

appear 

in the

dreams.

the divided world...

And all my days are trances,
And all my nightly dreams
Are where thy grey eye glances,
And where thy footstep gleams--
In what ethereal dances,
By what eternal streams.

dark dreams from poe...

Deep into that darkness peering, 

long I stood there, 

wondering, 

fearing, 

doubting, 

dreaming dreams 

no mortal 

ever dared 

to dream 

before.

poppy field dream...

Once in the dream of a night I stood
Lone in the light of a magical wood,
Soul-deep in visions that poppy-like sprang;
And spirits of Truth were the birds that sang,
And spirits of Love were the stars that glowed,
And spirits of Peace were the streams that flowed
In that magical wood in the land of sleep.

we dream to be together...

“I think 
we 
dream 

so we 
do
not
have 

to be 
apart
so long.
If we’re
in 
each
other’s
dreams, 

we 
can 
play 

together
all
night.”

tread softly on my dreams...

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,

The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly 

because 

you 

tread on my dreams.

the dream warrior - my own lucid dream experience

in 1995 i went to the twin eagles pow wow in shreveport - it was the first one i had attended and my friend and i decided to go on opening day, taking along my twin granddaughters [aged 7] -

two nights before the pow wow, i had a very very vividly intense lucid dream - in my dream, which i realized to be a dream as i dreamed, i found myself in a completely pure white room - a single room with the white so bright as to be unimaginable - a pure unadulterated radiant white - in this room were several older women who were seated - no words were spoken but i knew that they were telling me that they were there to help me somehow - i can still see the cluster of them today, sitting with their long black hair the only real color in the room - they told me there was someone i needed to meet - and they were sending him to me - and through an opening in the room walked a very tall muscular man in native american regalia - he also verbalized nothing as he walked toward me - he was wearing a large plumed headband and dressed in solid white - i remember observing me from behind as i stood in the room - as he got closer to me, i awoke - and i remember watching him come closer toward me - as he got directly in front of me, i awoke -

the dream was one of those that leaves you overwhelmed with its intensity - wondering of its meaning - and feeling as if it were an actual "real" experience rather than a "dream" - i told my friend about it later that day and we laughed about it even, about the tall dark indian warrior coming to me in my dreams -

the day of the pow wow i gathered up my little granddaughters, picked up my friend and we drove to the pow wow at the shreveport fair grounds, and the huge arena in which it was being held - the crowd was enormous but we were able to get seats right on the second row from the front - perfect seats - the grand parade began with the marching out of different tribal representatives in full regalia - there were several sets of drummers chanting beating - the air was electrified - i heard nothing but the drums and the chants and the rhythm of it all - of the drums the voices the feet pounding the dirt floor - and a feeling of i don't know what came over me - a feeling of "coming home" - of having "been away" for a very very long time - a feeling of pure love - a feeling at the same time of absolute and total grief - i mean, pure unadulterated absolute "grief" - and i began to sob - i don't mean that i shed a few tears - i mean that i sobbed as if there had been a death - the sobs racked my body - they overtook my soul - my being - i was aware of people around me turning to look at me - some of them even smiled knowingly - when finally i could control the sobbing, or it stopped of its own accord, actually, i knew that something inexplicable had just happened to me but knew not what - and then, a single dancer - a kiowa - was announced - and out onto the dirt floor walked the native man who had come to me in my dream - the man in the white regalia with the beautiful headpiece - and as he danced, he danced toward me, looking at me as his feet struck the sand with each beat - i was transfixed in that moment and could do nothing but absorb the totality of those moments in time -

after several more dancers had performed, someone took my hand for me to come with them to the arena floor to join the dance/the drum - i don't remember the person - and we left out seats, my granddaughters, my friend and i, and went out onto the dirt floor where we joined hands with dancers and others and danced around the arena in unison, as one entity, to the beat the rhythm of the drums and the cries of the chants - a moment of pure beauty and love -

after the pow wow was over, we tried to find this man - this dream warrior - but unsuccessfully - he was not to be found -

but i could not lose the reality of the dream or of the elder women or of this man - and several days later i contacted someone whom i knew to be associated with the shreveport twin eagles group [but whom i'd never met] - we met for lunch the next day and i told him my dream story and the story of my reaction at the pow wow - the sobbing and the associated feelings - the grief and coming home and of peace and love - and he listened to me, his eyes never leaving my face, his long silver hair below his shoulders, with his hands out on the table toward mine - and he told me that the man in my dreams was dennis zotigh, a kiowa from oklahoma and that he, himself, had personally chosen dennis to dance at this pow wow - that dennis is a known "messenger" and that i had been chosen to receive the message this time - there was something for me to learn - a journey to be had - and then he asked me to join the twin eagles group, which i did -

i stayed a member for several years - and did contact dennis but did not receive a response - much to my dismay - however, it could be that he simply never received my email message as he tours constantly - whatever the reason, though, i have not communicated directly with him but he remains a part of my life in many ways -

and so - this is my story of the women elders and the native man who came to me in my dream -

the dream devil in music...

the story behind the composer, giuseppe tartini's 1692–1770, "devil trill" starts with a dream where the devil is said to have appeared to tartini and asked him to be his servant - after their lessons, tartini handed the devil his violin to test his skill—the devil immediately began to play with such virtuosity that tartini felt his breath taken away - when the tartini awoke he immediately jotted down the sonata, desperately trying to recapture what he had heard in the dream - despite the sonata being successful with his audiences, tartini lamented that the piece was still far from what he had heard in his dream - what he had written was, in his own words: "so inferior to what i had heard, that if i could have subsisted on other means, i would have broken my violin and abandoned music forever."

the noise of consciousness...

It is on the whole

probably that 

we continually dream, 

but that 

consciousness 

makes such a noise 

that we 

do not hear it.