Monday Morning Musings:
“We are like the dreamer who dreams and then lives inside the dream.”
. . .Who is the dreamer?”
—Twin Peaks, Season 3, Episode 14, From Gordon Cole’s dream
In my dream, I was me, but different
and you were someone else, but you,
together, we were other beings, ourselves, but not–
or were we?
If we lived in that dream world
would we long for a more stable world
where we were people,
bound by time,
not creatures of space,
carried on the slipstream of light waves
We drink wine
talk about the past
think about the future,
the musicians sing
Rocket Man and Major Tom floating in his tin can
his dreams, our dreams
blowing spindrift from space
landing, covering our minds
We celebrate a friend’s retirement
(from teaching, not the world)
his mother says to me she’s happy he’s retiring now
he can still enjoy it
they can travel
live a dream.
we talk with friends we haven’t seen in a while
past, present, and future–
tenses merging together–
remember when I saw you last,
here, but then
(this was the future)
marriages, births, and death–
dreams born and died
or perhaps still floating
drifting from the stars
in tin cans
on waves
We go to a movie
two strangers meet–
a woman who feels she must care for her mother
a man who feels stuck waiting for his father to recover or die
they discuss architecture
and the film lingers on the jewels of Columbus, Indiana
framing the characters in doorways and through windows
it is a movie in which marginalia assumes importance,
just as those asides are often important in lives,
the chance encounters,
the remarks remembered,
the dreams dreamed,
and set aside
we discuss the movie over coffee,
walk through the streets
and down to the river,
where people walk, living dreams,
where people once arrived,
full of hope
or full of fear,
tired masses,
spices and slaves,
a new land.
We watch movies,
and when we become involved,
we are the dreamers
experiencing their world
true of books, too,
once I dreamt
(a vivid dream)
I was the character in the book I was reading
I rode a horse
in northern England, centuries ago,
I spoke like I lived there,
it was so real
I was sure I had been there,
perhaps I was.
I had a dream I was me, but different
and you were someone else, but you,
a woman and a man
walk over a bridge
it happens over and over again
different timelines
variations on the theme of life
until they meet,
destiny,
they share a bottle of wine
the bottle and label are green
like her eyes
(like my eyes)
other beings, ourselves, but not–
or were they?
perhaps, we are inside the dream
we are the dreamers
we are the dream
© Merril D. Smith, 2017
We saw the movie, Columbus. Trailer here. The more I think about it, the more I like it. Definitely not an action movie. It’s a quiet poem of a movie.
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