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Sunshine
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since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354
Listening to every heart

0 posted 2000-10-19 05:31 PM



Where does the mental rambling come from, this constant source of question/answer, wonder/ponder that never bothered her, but worried others…her mind was always going, constantly working, thinking, sometimes in circles, sometimes straight ahead, as if there were these mental blinders that fit within her brain, inasmuch as leather blinders on a horse.  Didn’t bother her much, but to others, well, it could lead to disaster, probably, if she didn’t keep it quiet.  The voices in her head talked, sometimes not her voice, but other voices, and continued to keep her company, even through the night.

It didn’t stop at night, either, but rather, evolved into a dream-state of action, and there were times she woke so tired, from all of the traveling of the dreams the night before.  So much of it remained vivid that she could recall, even years later, the conversations, the sights, sounds, and color!  Especially the color, always most vivid, and sometimes, even smells encompassed the nasal passages, but that was usually only when the dreams were of long ago, and only then, of good times.  She never smelled fear, but she did experience the weightlessness of falling, and would catch herself up, sharply, awakening to a thudding heart, and safe in the realization that it was only a dream.

Like last night.  This vast and elaborate building within a capsule of air, as if it were held in a bubble, with grand architecture, but the narrowest and steepest stairs she could ever remember, and she recalled from the dream that she only went “up” them, and never “down”, but she went up them more than once, as she recalled examining the grain of the granite, and recalled admiring the texture and color.  Massive mahogany formed the archways that led down grandiose halls, and she had the feeling of voices echoing throughout chambers, albeit the atmosphere was light and airy, but all contained in this impossible bubble.

Of course there was that inescapable feeling of having been here, in this very building before.   At the very least, she knowingly belonged in this arena of life and activity.  Massive oil paintings hung from the walls, great imposing figures.  She had the quiet realization that if any one of them were pointed out to her, she could look and indeed, name the people in the illustrations of long ago.  But as in most of her dreams, when she looked to see a “face” there was nothing describable in features. Yes, a body, surely, and she could delineate between tall and short, thin and round, but she could never capture the defined features of a face.  She always knew the essence of the person that was with her, such as now.  He was tall, fair, light hair, but that was all.  He could have been anyone.  But she knew he was more than just “anyone.”

He never touched her, but instead, led her through the hallways.  She recalled she was more intent on not losing sight of him and willingly followed his footsteps.  His voice was kind and soothing.   As if mesmerized, she heard and understood every word.  His was the only voice that did not echo through the vastness of the building and hallways; rather, it was as if he were speaking, or whispering, perhaps, in her ear.

As they made a turn down another hallway, narrower now, and a bit darker, she sensed she was suddenly alone, “he” was gone, as if had never been there, but the voice still lingered inside her mind. She was comforted in the warm feeling that surrounded her and infused her, almost as if she had recently been made love to, but with no recollection of that occurring in the dream.  

Before her was a dark door with a brass knob.  Instantly she understood she had to go through that door.  There were no signs, no indication whatsoever of what was behind the door, only the realization that she needed to open it.  There was no fear associated with whatever lay behind the door.  Only that once she reached for and opened it, she sensed she would, in all aspects, be fulfilled in her life’s journey.  She reached for the door….

And awoke.  The dream haunted her for the remainder of her days.




Karilea
If I whisper, will you listen?...KRJ



© Copyright 2000 Karilea Rilling Jungel - All Rights Reserved
Mark Bohannan
Member Rara Avis
since 2000-06-21
Posts 7269
In the winds of Cherokee song
1 posted 2000-10-19 10:45 PM


Some dreams just take longer to materialize than others.  Also, always leave a calling card as timing is the essence of all opportunities and in time laced patience lies the woven fabric of strength.  Lovely write from you.
Sven
Deputy Moderator 1 TourDeputy Moderator 1 Tour
Member Laureate
since 1999-11-23
Posts 14937
East Lansing, MI USA
2 posted 2000-10-19 11:00 PM


sometimes. . . we're not ready for what's behind that door. . . even though we feel that we are. . . the other plane holds many wonderful things. . . but also, many dangers. . .

superb writing my friend. . .

-------------------------------------------------------

That which gives light must endure burning
--Victor Frankl


Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354
Listening to every heart
3 posted 2000-10-22 10:35 AM


Mark, calling cards...what a lovely, old-fashioned idea, better than business cards...now I must look for some...

Sven...there is danger in getting up in the morning and sneezing wrong...I shall follow my instincts...and face my fears...


Karilea
If I whisper, will you listen?...KRJ



Christopher
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-02
Posts 8296
Purgatorial Incarceration
4 posted 2000-10-23 09:36 PM


deja vu!  

Kari - you have to quit doing this, all my breathing is turning into sighs...

C

Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354
Listening to every heart
5 posted 2000-10-24 08:22 AM


OK Chris...no more prose...

Karilea
If I whisper, will you listen?...KRJ



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