Recently in Dreams Category
The following is the record of a dream, or more accurately, a memory.
It could be a fragment from another life, another time, or pure fantasy contrived by a mind without enough practical work to keep it busy. It has been a persistent memory throughout the years, popping into my conscious life like fast moving storm clouds on a spring day in the Pacific Northwest. From childhood through my adult years it has always come into my life without request, when I least expect it.
The memory came back today. It seems to come and go like the wind (excuse the worn out phrase). Usually when it comes it is a slow, hot and lazy day when I feel at peace with myself and no pressing problems to distract me, or it comes on a day when I'm sick or under heavy and profound stress. A day just like today. It was the same as before, but seems to linger a bit longer this time, casting a spell of permanence and realness, when I fully realize that there is none to be found.
The most significant memory of this memory, if that's the proper way of expressing it, is the absolute clarity of the otherworldly silence. A deep and pregnant silence. The best way of describing this silence is like sitting in a big movie theater watching a film that has no sound. The visuals are strong and resonating but the lack of sound makes for a sureal experience.
Each time this memory quietly invades my life I'm left with a deep and powerful longing for childhood; a time of beauty, discovery, goodness, satisfaction, and innocence.
Looking around the periphery of this memory are mighty old growth eucalyptus trees, almost touching the sky, standing as if they stood for a thousand years and will go on standing another thousand years. The ground is hard and dry. Fallen leaves are heavy-laden, giving me a deep and rich carpet to walk upon. As I walk, the gentle crushing of leaves bursts into pungent aroma in the warm summer air.
In the middle of this memory stands an extremely large house, and its stark whiteness clashes greatly with the brown and green surroundings. It is a rich and solid house full of history. There are four massive pillars in front that is reminisent of the old antebellum mansions in the deep south of the United States. As I concentrate and focus on this scene the smell of many mounds of burning sandelwood becomes apparent but never getting in the way of the eucalyptus odor constantly but lightly swirling about.
Actually, now that I think of it, it is merely the memory of this long past olfactory experience that still persists. I get the impression of something straight out of India; the gods, the diversity, the passivity, the slowness, the heaviness. No people populate this memory but their individual and collective memory lingers as if they were still somewhere in the background or had just recently left.
Everytime I smell eucalyptus or see an orchard of oldgrowth eucalyptus trees this memory gently slides back into my conscious life. After about an hour the memory fades. Each time this happens I long to be in that memory forever and entirely forget this world.
