I dreamed a dream in time gone by when hope was high and life worth living – Les Miserables
It was a dream. It was one of those dreams that puts the ever so restive soul to rest, a dream that gives a sense of roots to an ever searching soul, a dream that promises rain to the parched soul and a direction to the lost soul forever in search of its self.
Have you ever picked up a glass marble and held it up against the sun? Have you watched the colours of the marble then drip through your fingers, roll down your hand and scatter like drops of rainbow around your feet? My dream was just like that. Like a green marble dripping the golden sunlight and then bursting into drops of translucent rainbow at my feet.
Last time I remember dreaming such a dream was in my childhood, on a summer evening in a house buslting with people, as I sat in the balcony watching the evening darken into night. The cool summer breeze grazed through my hair, a heady wisp of jasmine lifted from the neatly woven strands precisely coiled into a heap on a platter to allure the sleepy neighbourhood and half of a crescent moon hung in the sky. And I thought the dream would never end, that times would never change, that I would never depart and all would continue to be the way it was.
But dreams are after all to be woken up from, and that happened when I grew up. The adult understood that it was but a dream.
My prevailing dream had the same tranquil air. As if my weary soul had found the oasis it desired, as if my vagrant gypsy mind had found a home, my yearning for calm had found mooring in a placid harbour, as if a friend had reached out to catch my tears and replace them with laughter.
It was the same languorous evening slowly melting into the night, a soothing wind caressed my face as it swirled upwards from the rain soaked grass, a night bird flew past my window soulfully calling out to its mate and everything enticed me to linger a while longer. And every time I wanted to depart it became more real asking me to relent, urging me to stay and imploring me to believe that it would never end.
And then I woke up. It was time for the dream to pass. The rain it brought was to change into a dry, scorching day; the friend it promised was to become a stranger again; the chaos that I had lost for a moment was to return; the soul was again to became the nomad in the desert.