Find Bears

When the curtains are closed the bedroom is suffused with green light, reminiscent of the ocean.  Or a just-cleaned aquarium, humming in a corner of the house.  Yesterday, Fionnghuala struggled to sleep and I rubbed her tiny back and crooned made-up hymns in a low cracked voice.  Here come the dream fish, here come the sleep fish.  She slipped under for forty minutes maybe, not enough, and surfaced cranky.  So we walked the dogs, ears cocked for thunder.

So the summer passes.  Rain mostly, the few sunny days putting me in the mind of Ray Bradbury’s “All Summer In A Day.”  Also yesterday, while walking the horse up Broom Street, we saw four bears – a momma and three cubs – tumbling across the road.  The horse went rigid, her breath a bellows, but my heart lifted at the sight of them, went wild as a kite.  After, while the horse browsed leggy clover, the bears gone into cool shadowy forest, I said to Sophia, did you see them?  Did you see them?  As if I were Thomas had he been there in the Upper Room.  What was it Voltaire said?  If God did not exist we would have to invent him.  Or find bears.

My own dreams these days involve rescue, hero’s trading masks with one another, everyone asking, What is the real danger?  What is the real work?  James Hillman paraphrased:  Don’t interpret your dreams – let your dreams interpret you.  I wake up wordy, a poor but sincere vessel, mustering songs beneath albumen skies.

{ 0 comments… add one }

Leave a Comment