It is the eyes that fall in love, the heart that follows like an always faithful shadow, and the mind and reason that are bound to darkness and silence.
That is what I learned in my dream last night, or my recollection of it, for dreams may fade in the sharp light of morning.
But dreams have a potent magic, a holiness really, for there I can resurrect the dead and if the mood is right, bend back the arrow of time, render it dimensionless, all the while I remain constant, but certain with any luck, in someone else’s dream, I may be a child, a young man, or any of a thousand other roles I cannot imagine.
He had always imagined covering his body in feathers. He knew it wouldn’t make him able to take flight, but it would, he was certain grant him a certain lightness that gravity and daily life denied him. And he knew that once covered in his dreams he could soar free of the restrictions that his conscious mind imposed on him, restrictions, he knew, that were the only reason he wasn’t even at that moment peering down at the world while moving across the sunlit sky of an autumn afternoon.
It should be more of a surprise, on this day that you turn ninety but the mirror, as you see it, has you looking as you did twenty two years earlier, and twenty before that, unchanging in any meaningful way, yet those around you laugh when you tell them what you believe.
Not a day over sixty-eight you say, and time to go off and write for an hour, then the three mile walk, a shower, some physical therapy for . . . well one of the joints which has osteoarthritis, and a salad, heavy on the greens for lunch.
Nothing much has changed in your mind, and when you awaken from the dream, see your sixty-eight year old face in the mirror, you only wish you could see the younger face that only dreams allow, but time outside of dreams is always, unfortunately, unforgiving.
It is hard, looking back, to recall just how many hours I spent searching with a fair amount of diligence for just the right song to express my love. Most often I would find it, but only after that love had been replaced by another, demanding a new song — you cannot use the same song for two different loves, that crosses well over into tacky. I have to admit I’ve given up totally on that quest, even as the number of available songs has grown exponentially, or so the various streaming services suggest. I have only a single lover now, have for twenty years, and as her hearing has slipped away it is her lips that read mine, and that is all the song we need.
He never wants to leave this place. He never wants to leave wherever he is at that moment. Moving is the hardest thing for him, arriving is easy. She points out that you cannot arrive here without leaving there. He reminds her that something being easy is not the same thing as something being desired. He can and does arrive, but it is easy only by comparison to the greater pain of leaving. She says, I am leaving now, but you can join me. He says I cannot even bear the pain of that thought.