On the summer solstice, the sun will rise here at 5:07 a.m., but it will begin to be light much earlier than that. The birds were singing today at 4 a.m.
Last night I had a memorable two-part dream. In the first part, I was with a crowd of people. We were on a bluff above a steep sandy beach, sitting in chairs arranged side-by-side. We were watching huge ocean waves that appeared to be winter surf. The waves looked like this:
In the second part of the dream, I found myself sailing alone through the air in a brightly colored sailboat without sails. By subtle body movements, I was able to guide the sailboat high above the deep blue-green sea, not far from shore. The view and experience were exhilarating. A strong wind came up, making it difficult to keep from being blown out to sea, but I found that if I guided the sailboat in counter-clockwise circles, I could make my way back to the land. As I approached the land, my circles transitioned to clockwise, and then I flew in a direction that would have to have been south, if I were coming in from the Pacific Ocean. I was not able to keep the sailboat as high in the sky, and then I skimmed along above fertile farmland, sturdy houses, curious people and brown cows grazing. The landscape looked something like that of this scratched photo of me on the San Mateo County coast in the winter of 1971:
Then I woke up and went out on my porch to listen to the birds singing in the pre-dawn light at 4 a.m. The photos of the moon were taken just after 6 a.m.
We are, as a species, addicted to story. Even when the body goes to sleep, the mind stays up all night, telling itself stories.
(Jonathan Gottschall)
(from beth's blog 27 May 2018)
2 comments:
I love knowing that you get up so early. For me, it's a struggle and I cherish my slow rising - I often think of you then.
Such a poetic dream. They say dreams involving water are change dreams. This one augers well, it seems.
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