Sunday, September 7

Corridors, Again

The tired days eventually melts away into the deep night. And a new world of dreams emerge like before, ever so often. Sometimes I loose track of time, waking up days before or days in the future. Not knowing the present, all the markers, papers, broadcasts in my travels never echo time or the date. I watch the skies and stars for my direction, my signals.

In one occasion, about a year ago I walked into a long, winding mountain road. A wormhole across the dense jungle all around me, as far as the mind can see. Intermittently waking up, to the rush of the monsoon to close the windows, and in the dream to wind up the car windows. Something soft and warm in the heart about yellow headlights of the car and the shards of raindrops it encounters. All along the route are death stones, more markers of events. A few times I stopped to look at the most vivid ones, the colorful Tibetan prayer flags and sometimes hanging coffins.

The destination emerged out of nowhere at one side of the road, to the right after a corner - I remember now. A narrow pathway carved out of soil and rocks. I drove straight to the majestic building at the end of it. The nearer I was to it, what seemed like the fountain of daylight pouring on the tall gigantic building slowly emerged as hundreds or maybe even thousands of lanterns on every corner of the building.

In another blink - waking up of the thunder, the car disappeared and I was walking along the corridors of the many halls of the building. There are people there, and like all the dreams, I can only see the faces of one or two. Then she came, she was familiar. The one whom i imagined in my many stories, that long dark braided hair. Where did she come from, suddenly the smile and the warmth and assurance. We walked along the halls, still silent and me desperately wanting to ask questions. At one moment she opened a door, where I figured must be at the far end of the building. We walked in into a small cozy reading room. Tables and green retro chairs, something from the 60's. And books on shelves with glass sliders. After what seems like an hour, me still there staring at her and the liberating feel of the room she opened the door again and...asked me to go. I walked out into a hall with shelves as high as twenty or thirty stories, so tall I could not even see the top, the ends. And I turned back to see her smile and close the door. And I started to explore. Walking among countless people, in strange symmetry with the lines of the corridors, with books and reading lamps repeating everywhere I look. All eyes closed.


[#] If you're new to the stories of Strange Days, what I'm writing are recollection of my dreams, lucid dreams as some might see it as. There were many, probably hundreds, but I just recently started to note them probably starting two years back. As you can see it sometimes stops just as I see things, sometimes I can continue the lucids, sometimes I loose it forever. Not remembering the details.

3 comments:

mystic rose said...

Very intriguing. And your short passage is quite well written.

Mythily said...

Nice dream...

Mansi Trivedi said...

woah nicely described :)
i like the colors

when

it rains around the world sleep welcomes the dream, and  enigmatic souls awaken along the eternal shores of destiny