| King II During the day, an aggregate of senses--touch, smell, sight, taste and hearing--combines to form a picture in one's head. At night, these pictures are organized into dreams. Humbly submitted, this is my dream. Nothingness, emptiness, void. Enter the first sense, touch, beginning from the fingertips. I feel the objects in my hand, two straps, in fact. These straps are worn, but gently buffed and polished. They are warm and clean to the touch and old, proof that quality craftsmanship comes in all trades, even tanning. I finger those straps in my right hand, pondering this new beginning. Suddenly, the fingers of my other hand, my left hand, awake and tell me more about my surroundings. They embrace another hand, smaller than mine, but firm and strong. Surprised and pleased by this new discovery, I gently squeeze that hand. The other hand equals my pressure, yet not fiercely. We meet each other halfway, in a sign of faith. All is still dark as I caress that hand, and my fingers stumble upon the ringed finger of my faceless companion. A cold, smooth metal band binds that finger with a small stone intricately set upon that band. With my nail, I feel fine carvings and engravings upon that ring, and my curiosity is aroused, who is this creature of long, smooth fingers, and soft and shapely palm? At that moment, however, I draw my attention to the feel of my newly wakened body. My body is warm from head to heel, except for the tip of my nose. As I breathe for the first time I can remember, cold air fills my lungs. I still see nothing, but I am moving in a vehicle, and a slight wind seeks to invade my fortress of blankets and furs. Continually rebuffed, the wind soon gives way and dies. I feel snow on my skin, and a shiver from the hand, which I clasp. Instinct moves me, and I draw my arm closer to my side, realizing that there is someone in my embrace. I begin to realize my position: I am sitting on a couch of some sort with a person in my left arm. The shiver ceases, and I feel a pressure on my shoulder, she just rested her head. I feel a smile curl my lips. I think again of the old leather straps, a gentle tug and we stop moving. Warmth passes from her hand to mine. Her fingers caress mine as she twists a small metal band around my fourth finger. Her hand pauses and clasps mine again. My arm draws her closer. All is still dark, yet I feel no concern. To filter the cold air, I breathe in through my nose. The smell of frozen air pervades this newly recognized sense, but a fragrance rises. The sweet, clean scent of pine softens the bitter cold. More importantly, however, a soft aroma, barely detectable, reaches me and makes all desire of sight vanish. I reach what I think is perfection, heaven, that fragrance arises from my unseen companion. I squeeze her hand again, and our hands are covered with a blanket. Fully content, I do not move for fear of losing the moment. I almost fear to breathe, lest fate take this away from me. And yet, the joy in that sweet scent was enough for me to risk the hammer of fate, and I breathe again, the hammer does not fall, I do not wake, and heaven continued to exist for another moment. My companion must have been conscience that we had stopped moving and grows restless. Her head rises softly, just a little, but just enough to pull me out of my forgetful paradise. By now, a desire and thirst to see all the joys I fell overwhelms me. In the nick of time, sight returns to me, and I am overwhelmed anew. My friends must forgive me if I indulge in the description of this newfound gift. It is night, pitch black, but my vision, blurred at first, introduces a light unsullied to my thought. As my eyes focus and recognize shapes, I find my right hand holding the polished leather straps. Indeed, I find those straps to have a purpose, as they are in fact reins. My eyes follow the reins. They pass along the backs of two, no four, fine Clydesdale horses. The harnesses, black as jet, contrast sharply to the milky brown complexion of the horses' manes and fur. Of massive yet shapely form, the team stands still in obedience to my will. Not a snort of dissent proceeded from the graceful foursome. Be that as it may, I could feel the anticipation of the horses' will through the very reins. Those two leather lines of communication are enough for us, and I understand their desire for the road ahead. I beg patience from them with a gentle pull on the strips of hide. My attention is drawn to the car in which I ride. It is a polished red sleigh, one that Saint Nicolas himself would not spurn. The sleigh is about eight feet long, and wide enough for my full arm span. A warm couch covering the breadth of the sleigh provides the seat on which I sit. Soft and clean, its pillows almost envelop me. Dull gray steel runners, almost buried in the powdery snow, contrast against the white blanket of Grandfather winter. She raises her head and looks at me. Mercy! There is so much, too much, to describe in so short a space. I am overawed by this angelic spectacle. My hand, still clasped to her hand draws her closer up to my side. Then she smiles, and my sight, still young to this dream, reels and falters at such a vision. How terrible it is to label such an expression, such an epiphany, a mere smile. It is far beyond, it transcends all, and still it is closer, warmer than any sight in my existence. Her joy exudes no condescension nor frivolity. No, instead joy, peace, and love, genuine love, reveals her face. Her lips are the picture of perfection, demurred and innocent. They are clearly more practiced in her art of laughter than in the meaner practices of anger and despair. Her teeth are as rows of shinning pearls. My friends, I beg your pardon that my minstrelsy falls short to describe her angelic smile. Curse me, beat me, but there are not words enough in this fallen tongue to communicate the warmth, the heaven I am in. Let your imaginations attempt to see this picture. Free them and let them fly, for with just a shadow in your mind of this sight, contentment will outlast your long lives. Tears, mixed of joy and sorrow, well up in my eyes as I describe her eyes. Shinning blue, bright as burnished mail, they pierce me as they look into me. I see her soul through those bright windows, and light is all I see. I fall deeper and deeper into her eyes, as I notice her eyelashes. They are warm and sweet as brown sugar and as lovely as her eyes. The radiance and heat is cooled and softened for human sight as a kind gift to mortals. Her pure, milk white eyeballs reflect light from within and without. By now a tear trails down my cheek, so in wonder am I. She leans to me, and kisses the tear on my cheek. Ah friends, never will I forget that kiss. In that kind act, a lock of her tresses falls from the hood that she warms and into her face. Dark and bright, wavy and straight, her beautiful soft brunette tresses contrast wonderfully to her clear white ivory skin. I take my right hand off the reins, and curl that lock of her glory around her covered ear. The horses begin to move in step at a slow pace, but I do not notice it, for a golden tear falls onto her cheek. I become enraptured anew. My rough thumb wipes away that glorious tear, and for a second I feel the softness of her skin. Her rosy cheeks and pink nose warm her clear, soft skin. The colors of this world have never been in such harmony as in that woman’s face. She wears a loose brown fur hood and coat wrapped around her ivory neck. My hand reaches for the blanket which fell to our knees when she looked at me. I take it up and cover her again. Her hand releases mine, and a pain of departure shoots through me, but I am well rewarded for the sacrifice. She places one hand on my knee, and curls arm right arm around my back and under my arm. She looks straight ahead of us and blows a stack of steam from her rounded lips as if in spite of the cold. Never in history has the bite of winter been so utterly defeated and ignored as when we two drove in that sleigh that night. I am afraid that my friends have not received their satisfaction as to the location and setting of that night. For this oversight, I do bend my knee and sue for mercy, but I often loose myself in this grand dream. No ordinary road do we travel upon. Ancient oak and evergreen trees, worthy of respect and praise, line this snow-blanketed boulevard. Tall and grand, they have guarded this passage for hundreds of years, since the beginning of this age. On both sides, they range the length of this road. Of dark brown bark, the oaks lack their usual life bearing green leaves, and bear instead their winter burden of snow. The pines release their effervescent aroma, covered in snow. They grow almost into a fence along both sides, being so close to each other. Above us, however, the stars sparkle and shine as never before, and we are not surrounded in darkness. No, no black defeats my eyes, except for the void of starlit space. We sit surrounded by light of unseen origin. It casts no shadows, and leaves nothing unlit. No dimness exists, because all is illuminated. I am perplexed, but I deeply know the cause of this light. She is my light in The Darkness; she is my comfort on this road which we travel. She warms and caresses me. I pick up the reins again, and readjust the blanket again. She nestles her head on my shoulder, I kiss forehead, and my fourth sense wakens. O my friends! This joyous thought has not ended, for she does not sit idle. Instead she begins to sing. With her angelic, sweet voice, she sings the epic of our life together. As we pass further and further down this road, she sings of disasters, trials, and terrors. Our hands find each other as she sings. She sings of life, of perseverance through flame and heat, through cold and death. She sings of taking the next step, of fighting through the pain. She sings of loyalty, honor, faith, the great struggle, and of the power of love. She sings of the strength of two, the knitting of our hearts. We ride further down the smooth road, the horses steady our path, and the reins are firmly in my grasp. I close my eyes as she continues, time has no effect and no jurisdiction on this road and on us. How long I sat there with her voice, her arms, and her aroma surrounding and comforting me, I know not. She continues to sing. She sings of the final struggle, and the ultimate victory. She sings of survival and victory, of stewardship and reward. And finally, I open my eyes, and see the light in front of us. As she ends her song, I release the reins, and lift her chin. I kiss her one final time, and we are enveloped in light. My friends, this is my dream. I pray it delights you and your memory in times to come. |
