You leap awake,
surprised you are in a bed
and your hands are stretched out
ready to grasp…
What is this thing you are seeking
even in your deepest sleep?
This will o’ the wisp
that evades you,
turns the corner seconds before you,
that vanishes into the trees….
As you pad through the woken day is there a feeling tucked into the corner of you,
a shadowed one that the broom keeps slipping over,
a feeling of longing
of listening hard for something,
a stillness under your heartbeat?
Is it a ghostly twin
that your soul searches for
and your fancy gives a name;
a totem of a special flower or fragrance?
If I am reaching,
is it for a door?
The arm of my beloved?
Or is there a window I am rushing towards,
a last goodbye to call,
a last glimpse of sunrise?
Or maybe rocks to shatter across?
Am I dreaming of Atlantis
or of Valhallan Halls?
Of myself in old and new places?
I seem to miss things I cannot see or touch or name,
but they settle into my pillow and whisper
Science would dismiss it as a subconscious twitch,
like seashells hiding in the desert dust.
Perhaps I am like the walls in a cave with paintings masked under newer skins of stone?
If I continue reaching,
and my hands are suddenly caught and clasped,
will they be filled with dreams?
Or is that elusive
I am searching for
something which can never be found?
If we could hold it, cup it in our hands warming and gazing unhurried,
would we evolve, would we move closer to a higher understanding?
Would we find the glittering magic we have been missing
like gilt worn away by greedy thumbs?
Or have we eaten too often on the insane root that Will crooned about…
Are we like dreams of flying which end in a bed sheet clutching crash,
for wings are fragile things and sometimes we rise,
dipping and dancing like kites…
But mostly the wax just melts.
Do you ever reach out in this mid space between awake and wandering too?
With your hands surprised at their emptiness
and the blandness settling over your face like dust as you recognize the walls of daytime and hear the cursed alarm clock.
Do we dream of Atlantis?
Do we dream of Heaven?
Or is our shadow self signaling,
trying to help our corporeal,
our burdened and earthlocked woken self
make its escape…