the Lover

Pastoral // Rupert Bunny // c.1893

In my dream, you were just down the hall,
And I’d turn the wallpapered corner to see you sitting, staring straight ahead.

Like a lovesick little girl I would go to you often, 
say "I miss you"
and gently kiss your head.

sometimes you’d give the slightest smile, 
take a drag and clear the smoke
with a wave of soft hand,
as I frolicked away, fulfilled for a while,
by only the smallest glimmer of hope.

This vivid dream,
It felt like longing for the wind to blow in the dreadful southern summer.
I needed the soft breeze on my skin to keep cool and comfortable.
I waited for the breeze just like I waited...

for you to see me.

Between those quick encounters with you,
I lay in the grass outside,
drenched in sweat.

Wishing for the wind to blow away my pride
and gently carry away my regrets,
then, I could go back again, inside,
without the weight of shame, to pay back my debts.

I waited impatiently.
The wind did not blow.

And so,
I kept going in, down the hall, 
to the chair where you sat, staring straight ahead,
in hopes that some glorious breeze of love
would tickle my skin,
peach fuzz standing up,
until I was calmed and cooled by your touch.

But not once,
did you reach out to me, 
look into my eyes,
or speak words of comfort.

I hesitate, stone cold statuette for a moment.
You still do not look,
as I thaw myself out
breathing in rejection 
and out,
anguished breath - hot, 
the ice melts
and drips from my body and dress.

Each time I left your cold tomb to return to the sun,
I grew hotter and wetter, perspiring until my sundress stuck to every part of me.

Embarrassed each time I returned to you, a sweaty mess begging for reassurance.
Apathetic by the last time you stared straight ahead, 
no longer can I endure this.
"This must be a tomb, you're so cold and still like the dead..."
I speak these words with the solemn cadence of a eulogy:
"I have heard your heart beat and I have seen the color rush to your face when we kissed.
But now you make no sound, 
and there are no colors to count, 
and the feelings, once burning have long flickered out."

Upon my grassy knoll I sit, again, yawning in exhaustion.
With the sun rising to its peak warmth and glory, I am considering surrender, it is no longer wise to run.

I thought it best if I resisted its Power no more. 
I’d stop dreading its rays and let the sweat dance, cold, down the small of my back.

Perhaps I'd perish in the heat, but I know I won't freeze to death, at the very least, for I will haunt your frigid tomb no more.

I stretch my arms up towards the sky and begin to pray:
"Father Sun, giver of the light of day...
I invite you, Father Sun, to kiss my skin and play in my hair, may I be blessed with a glowing complexion and locks of gold.
I welcome your Life Source into my Soul, to heal my Heart and mend my battered bones.
Allow me to break these cycles, prosper, and grow. 
As is the Power of the Sun, I, too, am pure energy."

So, the sun is ablaze on the nape of my neck,
as I look down at the grass through sweat stinging pupils.

I blink and move my head, orienting to my surroundings,
becoming aware that this is my dreamscape,
and I have the Power here, to create.

Now, above me is a tall tree covered in trumpet vines, red flowers and spiraling anchors climbing through the limbs.
I look ahead and as my eyes adjust to the brightness of my new landscape, 
I see a covered porch above the backdoor,
I see, now, where there was once only blinding sun, shade is abundant.

Even so, I panic as I go through the door,
Afraid the surroundings have shifted you out of sight.
I stop at the entrance for the first time in this repetitive cycle,
Seeing a new path to the right.

And without warning, my bare feet carry me down it, 
to see a new figure,
hair dark and eyes fixed directly at me
As if he knew I was coming.

Knowing eyes, shining brightly and kindly, 
as I stop in front of the gaze.

He says, "I miss you" and gently kisses my forehead.
This is no stranger and I understand this turn of events, deep within, beyond verbal reasoning and logic. 
This is it.

I look back in your direction once more,
before taking his hand and guiding him outside, 
to my shady spot beneath vine and tree.

He reaches up, stretching tall, to pluck a trumpet flower and place it behind my ear. 
It fills my eyes with tears and his are staring back, kind and smiling.

And now, my friends are here, whom I’ve not yet met,
but they are beautiful and radiate joy and love and peace
and at first glance, it feels like i've known them all for an eternity.

they dance around us and shout with glee,
asking him to pick a flower for them each. 
He does so gracefully, 
until we are all decorated in red petals and grins,
feeling our Power rise and basking in our beauty,
sunlight reflecting onto glistening skin.
This is what I truly longed for,
This is it.

I glance behind me for the last time, 
looking for the iron door,
that led down the hall, 
to the chair where you sat, staring straight ahead. 
only to find a mirror, ornate with gold frame,
suspended just above the ground and attached to nothing.
no walls, no covered porch, no concrete, no door.
only a beautiful mirror, and within it,
I see that my skin now glows and my hair is almost gold, 
and my dress has dried amidst the twirling and dancing.
I see auras of all colors 
around my newfound friends and lover, 
mine a light green and vivid pink, tinged with gold and indigo blue.

I wake up in awe of the vividness, the layers upon layers of symbolism I’m still sifting through, and the mostly linear progression of the plot line, which is not common in my dreams at all. I am grateful to be able to share the prose that this dream inspired. I have no doubt that dreams will bring to me messages, ideas, and insights to share with all who visit this blog.

This dream reawakened my interest in the work of Carl Jung. The Archetype of the Lover comes to mind in particular.

Thank you for being here, as always. Pay attention to your dreams and listen to the messages within. Your unconscious patterns, revealed, can be a powerful tool of self-mastery.

May the warmth of the Sun kiss you gently and empower you to own your Power and express your Truth.

Much love,

P.S. I do plan on recording this poem, so check back soon for audio ❤

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