Ancient’s Dream

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say.

"Awake." The word joined the whisper dance of fluttering leaves and stirred the slumbering thoughts of the lone, leafy giant. He shivered at the song's touch and his trembling roots sought surer purchase within the depths of their earthy bed.

Awakening seed of reflection, growing tendril of life, blossoming realization.

Fruit. Golden ripening in the sun. Breath of air. Whispering green dance. Thought drops to earth; seeds spread within to blossom again.

Birth... Death... Rebirth.

Growing, reaching.

The ancient titan communes with the waking dream child, the quickening of silent isolation. Slumbering memory touched with newness... distance, dark beyond, airless sun without warmth, healing energies lost, beyond birth. Roots of thought travel the old one's sleep journey.

Caress of warmth wakes the waiting giant to the daisy spray dew of morning mist. The stretch of its rigid limbs rouses murmured wind dances of whispered greetings.

Cold night dews croon sleep into the giant’s relaxing skins and the distant dark awakes from its waiting rest. Sound beyond distance, beyond rise and set, calls the sleeper to wakeful consideration, to a sense unknown… purpose.

Night’s rise calls, and sleep carries aged thought to a dream of search, of newness beyond the cold, dark suns.

~*~

light... lights and dancing air. colors, rainbowed growing green held in an aged brown grasp. warm light... a seed. planting, nurture. growing journey to cool, dawn days paths. day, night… changing, unchanging growth awaiting shadow calls to dream and rest.

present. awareness. self and worlds. perceiving. reacting. expression. unconscious, memory, self and nonself, communion.

life. growth.

contact. minimal level of consciousness.

~*~

"The Packer Players! hahhh... I ‘member them." "Hoo Hooo!" "shhhh..." "Sorry Mam muhh!" "sh!" "yes, Miz Henry." "That's a good boy, Johnny.” "DaAAmm schoolmarm. uhhh erp… sorry, Miz Henry." “…drunken fool."

~~~

"Dad?" "Hi?" "Where's the goat again?" "C'mere bud." "Did he go somewhere warm, pa?" "I s'pose he prolly did, Hi." "Can we visit sometimes?" Sometime we prolly will, son." "ok papa..."

~~~

"That always makes me cry." "He just falls asleep like that... right on his pa’s heart..." "Myrr... I'm sorry." "No, I know just how you feel, Noel. Why does he look down for a bit the way Doc Brown does sometimes, right before he answers Hi?" "He's reviewin’ his thoughts; makin’ sure he’s got what he needs. Jess does that right before he goes t’ the barn." "Ahh… Jimmy does that when I give him peas and carrots." “He sure does got one sweet pa.” “Mmm hmm.”

"Zed... please." "I told him." "You always do." "Why does he keep it up?" "You know, dear." "Yeah..." "Don't hit him, dear." "Alright, honey." " you always do." "Whatcha say, dear?" “Please go easy on him.”

~*~

pain?

~*~

The old one climbs to wakeful pain of understanding, awareness of thoughts beyond comprehension, a sense of other. As the dry, cold snap seeps in, the growing child stirs to early waking. The ancient puts thought to rest and eases roots yet untested by passing days.

A soft, white fall covers the waking child with shivered waiting for dawn’s promised warmth. When running water winds down to its shriveling roots, the sapling shakes itself awake to dawning thought.

~*~

regeneration…

~*~

“Pa?” “Pa.” “Stop calling me that.” “Dad… We should put on a play.” “What? Yer crazy. And like I said more’n once, we live here but we don't have to... ahh, never mind… you never listen.” “Sure Dad, but just because Ma needs us here doesn’t mean we can’t have fun. Like we useta.” “Why the hell does she let you call her that? We went ta the same damn school.” “Aww, you love me, too, Pa… Dad.” “A play, Zachie?” “People would pay ta see what the family got a kick outta pretty near every damn week.” “Zach.” “Oh. Darned… They hand out good coin ta flock fer the horse turds they drop on stages around here.” “Horses… go kiss your mother.” “Night.”

“What did your father say, honey?” “He likes it.” “Did he look at his pen?” “Ha haa....” “Get up early, Zachariah.” “How come, Ma?” “Come give mama her kiss.”

“That’s alright, Myla, I don’t mind if you laugh.” “Oh, I’m sorry, Zedeka, I wasn’t laughing at you.” ”Uhh, sorry… uhhh… thanks, Myla.” “I don’t understand…” “It is the way I talk.” “No, honey, I like it… Why doesn’t it bother you if I made fun of you, too, Zedekiah?” “You like the way I talk?” “I do. There’s something strong and comfertin’ about it.” “You are pokin’ fun…“ “Don’t look at your shoes, Zedeka; the way you say it is, charming.” “So you’ll dance with me? I won’t ask again. Promise. Myla?” “That’s why I laughed, dear; I‘ve been waitin’ fer ya ta ask.”

”Dear?” “Hnnh?” “What has you so far away, Zedeka?” “Remember the first time you called me that, My?” “You haven’t called me My in years… When, dear?” “The dance?” “Ahh… the dance…” “That old barn was transformed into a magical new world we have yet to leave.” “We’re still there? What has you in such a generous mood this morning, Zedekiah Packer? Did Missy Baxtrom give you one of her famous smiles? She didn’t kiss you again, did she?” “Oh, Myla… stop. Ha ha. I’m working on a play.” “Oh, Z! You’re writing again!” “Never have I seen a lovelier smile than a smile on the lips of my My… You look sad, dear… Aren’t you excited?” “Of course I am, dear… I was just trying to remember the last time I heard those words… Your pen… Ok, dear. Give mama a kiss.”

~*~

renewal