I should be sleeping but I can’t because words keep writing themselves on the insides of my eyelids, so that, when I close my eyes, I still see the words there, looking at me, waiting for me to acknowledge their existence inside my head.
So, now that I’ve gone to the trouble of pulling out my notebook and dragging the reading light out of the chaos that is the top drawer of my nightstand, the words have all run away, into the dark recesses of my mind, where they lay in wait, taunting me: “Betcha can’t find us now!”, “Hey, over here, behind the leftover fragments of information you left in here from yesterday’s test on–brain functions and memory!”
Oh, the irony.
Trapped between two worlds, adolescence and adulthood, frozen in time, he waits. The stone boy watches from inside the shell of armor he wears, handmade and fitted to his body–his soul–a trap of his own design, forged by his own hand.
The world turns, time changes, people come and go, as he observes, silently, from the armor he has so diligently constructed. He knows his design, or so he believes. But any good suit of armor must be flexible, as well as protective. It must be easily donned, and just as easily removed.
But this armor is stiff, rigid, a permanent, impenetrable garment.
I watch this struggle between the boy and the man. The boy refuses to remove the armor, while the man refuses to wear it into battle.
Part of me whispers to the boy–”Take off the armor, the disguise you wear, and show me your true self, the person I know you are, the man behind the mask.”
Another part of me shouts to the man–”If you are going to wear armor, then USE it! Fight for what you want; don’t be afraid; accept the risk of injury that comes with the hope of glory.”
But he stands, his feet firmly planted, and looks at me through the mask as if he neither hears nor sees me. He watches, silently, as I die, little by little, piece by piece, until I finally become an empty shell, a suit of armor standing firmly, completely empty, void of anything that used to be me.
Trapped between two worlds, I find myself looking back with sadness, looking forward into nothingness. And I realize that the fingerprints on the man-child’s armor are not his, but mine. I constructed his suit, just as I constructed my own. What he knows about the battlefields of broken promises and forgotten dreams, he learned from me.
I have been an excellent teacher, delivering a devastating lesson to a willing and capable student.
There is nothing more to say. We both wear our armor well as we stand, firmly planted, toe to toe. And the world spins dizzily around us.
A famous musician died. Before his death he requested an ocean burial, but not from a boat. He wanted his casket carried into the surf to a cleft between two large boulders just past the breakers, where it would be dropped to slip silently under the water and wedge between the boulders. His friends, colleagues and admirers were very saddened by his request because they would not be able to make any sort of final tribute of affection for him. I gathered flowers from the dune lines and brought them back to the water’s edge. We formed a line, and each person carried a single bloom into the water and dropped it over the place where the casket had been lowered into the sea. Eventually the surface of the water was covered with blooms, and there were more and more people who wanted to participate, and no more blossoms to be found.
I volunteered to go into the town and purchase more flowers, not really knowing if I could afford to pay for them or not. It was just something that needed to be done, and I needed to do it. I went to the first florist shop and explained the situation. The florist disappeared into the back of the shop. I heard him talking to someone on the phone. When he came back he was carrying a large basket of blossoms, and he told me to go to two other florists who were waiting for me to collect baskets of flowers from them as well. I gathered the baskets and went back to the beach. While I had been gone, hundreds more had gathered, and built a pier so that it was easier for them to walk above the surf to the place where they dropped their flowers into the water. I watched as each person took a flower from one of my baskets, made the walk to the end of the pier, and dropped the flower into the water.
What I don’t remember is whether or not I was able to make my own offering to him. I think I walked out to the the cleft in the rocks earlier, trudging through very heavy surf to get there. But I’m not sure about that.
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(…..second dream….still at the beach)
I am a little boy, maybe nine or ten years old, with a younger brother. Our parents are divorced and we are staying with our mother. She has become quite smitten with an elegant man she noticed among the mourners at the beach funeral for the musician. I don’t believe she really knew anything about the dead man, but she had been taken by the spectacle of it all. Anyway, this man was very good-looking, and is of some notoriety in the music world. He shows the two of us kids how to dig for clams, catch, clean and filet fish. It seems that we are having fun for the first time in quite a while, and because we’re catching and cleaning fish, we are stinky kids, and so is the nice man helping us. Our mother is not happy about this, and would prefer that he take her to a proper restaurant to have these delicasies properly prepared for her. The nice man agrees to take all of us out for the evening, to dinner and a concert. I have wondered over to a boat dock where the day’s fresh catch is being unloaded, asking questions and probably being a pest. But the old fishermen are being nice to me, giving me tips on catching and pricing seafood for the kinds of restaurants my mother is expecting to be taken to. She has to come and find me, and since I’ve been hanging out with the “old men of the sea”, we are now going to be late for our evening with Mr. Wonderful. He tells her to stop scolding me for trying to learn the business, and she responds with some rather unkind words about the fishing industry and the smelly people who work in it. The man gives her the name of the restaurant and the private suite number where he wants us to meet him for dinner, and he leaves. She takes us to our motel room and cleans us up, puts on her best evening gown, and we head to the appointed meeting place. A butler is waiting outside the door. He asks her name, she replies, and he says “I’m sorry, Mr. ____ allows no one into his private dining area until two hours before the concert.” She tells him that she is aware of that because he invited her and she is late because she had to clean up her stinky kids. The butler shows her a sign next to the door, like a conference room sign, with a woman’s name written on it. “Is that your name? Mr.____ is expecting a very nice woman and her two wonderful little boys for dinner tonight.” She answers, “That’s not my name, but I AM THE WOMAN he invited and these two bratty boys he encouraged to hang out with those nasty fishermen this afternoon are the reason we’re late!” The butler looks at me and my little brother, then back at her. “Yes, they do look like the same boys he described to me, but you, lady___ you treated them horribly this afternoon. If that is your normal behavior with your boys, then my employer wants nothing to do with you. I’m sorry, but he has invited someone else for the evening, and you need to go now before she arrives.”
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An editorial comment: Although I don’t really know what these dreams mean, I do know that the woman in the second dream, the mean mother, is me. Or at least she’s the me that I feel I’m being at this point in my life. I think, if I worked at it for a while, I could put this all together and pull out what it’s trying to tell me. I’m just too tired and discouraged to try it right now.
In the ancient days, when the world was new and fresh, and the animals could converse with their masters, a horse was born. His name was Marius. He appeared to all, his dam and sire, his aunts and uncles and cousins, and the horses of all the neighboring pastures, a plain and simple beast. His dam coaxed him onto his wobbly new legs, and he stood, straight and proud as horses do. He took a step forward, slowly at first, but quickly he found that he could run and play. Marius was a very happy horse indeed.
One day as Marius and his friends gathered in the pasture for an afternoon of leaping and chasing, he decided that he could jump higher than any of his friends, even though he’d never really tried. He just knew. He pulled himself up, took three quick strides, and leaped into the air. And he was right! He could jump higher than any other horse he knew. He thought about this, and as he thought, it didn’t occur to him to look down to prepare for his landing, for he was enjoying the feel of the air flowing through his mane and tail. After a time, he realized that he had not begun his descent back down to the ground, but was instead, flying. He was amazed by his ability and reveled in it. As he looked around, he wondered where the other flying horses were, for surely he was not the only one. But he saw no other horses with him, and he became frightened. His fear caught up and surpassed his joy at being able to fly, he panicked, and fell to the ground.
While he was not injured by the fall, he was indeed very frightened, and even though he had never experienced such joy as he had when he flew, Marius did not try again. When he and his playmates gathered now, he would trot with them, but he would not do anything else. His playmates began to canter in the pastures, and to jump over small trees that had fallen during the stormy days. He would watch them in silence from the back of the pasture, his joy now gone.
As the days passed he grew taller, his legs became stronger, but still he would not jump. When enough time had passed, the horse master decided it was time for all of the new horses to begin their training so that they could contribute to the well-being of the herd. The master called all the young horses together and began to teach them to respond to voice commands. If the master said, “Horses, walk!”, all of the horses would fall into line and walk together. Then the master taught them to trot, and when he commanded, they would all trot.
Then the day came when the master said, “Horses, canter!” Marius thought back to that day long ago, when he flew, and realized that those three steps he had taken before he leaped into the air had, in fact, been a canter. As all the other horses took their places in line, Marius stayed back. One by one, each horse cantered as the master commanded, until Marius was the only horse left in the back of the pasture. The master looked kindly at Marius and spoke to him with a very calm, loving voice, saying “Marius, it’s your turn to canter. I know you can do this. I know that you’re scared, but I will not let you fall. Please, Marius, canter to me.” Marius pushed aside his fear as he began to trot toward the master. When he saw the master smile, Marius broke into a swift canter and came to the master’s side. “Good job, Marius!”, said the master, and he gave Marius a tasty treat from the garden.
The training continued, with the master issuing commands and the horses responding, until all of the horses could walk, trot, canter, and even gallop. Marius was once again a happy horse.
Early one morning, before daybreak, the master called the horses into the pasture for training. “Today,” he said, “we are going to learn to jump properly. I have placed a very small fence in the center of the pasture. I know you can not see the fence because it is dark, but you don’t need to see the fence. Here, instead, is what you must do: listen to my voice. I will tell you when to trot, when to canter, and when to jump. When you hear me say, ‘Jump!’, then you will jump. Do not anticipate my command, but wait for it. And when I command, do not hesitate, but jump. I know you are afraid of what you can not see, but if you trust me, I will not let you trip over the fence.” The horses were gathered at the back of the pasture, discussing the master’s new commands. “I’m afraid,” said one horse. “It’s too dark!”, said another. “But the master has trained us well,” said a third. “He will not let us get hurt, for he is a good master indeed. I will go first.”
The first brave horse began to walk across the dark pasture. “Trot!”, said the master. The horse began to trot. “Canter!”, said the master, and once again the horse obeyed. “JUMP!” shouted the master. The horse jumped over the fence and landed solidly on the other side. When he realized what he had accomplished, he kicked his heels high into the air and shouted back to the other horses, “Do what the master says, and come over to this side of the fence. It is very exciting!” Each horse, in turn, listened to the master’s commands, and leaped over the fence. Until Marius was the only horse left in the back pasture.
“It’s your turn, Marius,” said the master. “Listen to my voice and you will be safe.” Marius thought to himself about the time he flew. He remembered the freedom, the joy, the excitement of flying through the air. But he also remembered falling, and he allowed fear to grip him once again. “No!” he shouted. “I will not jump a fence that I can not see.” The master asked Marius, “Do you not trust me? Have I allowed anything bad to happen to you since we began your training?” “No,” Marius replied, “but you let me fall to the ground the day I flew.”
“I did not allow you to fall to the ground,” said the master. “I was not even aware that you were flying, for you did that on your own, using only the strength you have inside. You had no training, only your natural, raw abilities. And you were superb, until you doubted yourself. That is why you fell. Now you have training and experience to go with your natural abilities. You should be able to jump the highest fence I put before you, because you can fly!”
Marius listened to the master, and he thought about the words and their meaning. He wanted desperately to jump, to come to the master waiting for him on the other side of the fence. He knew the master had a treat waiting for him. But he also knew that, if he jumped this fence, then the master would ask him to jump another, higher fence. And eventually the master would ask him to fly. He had to make a decision: jump the fence, in the dark, or forever remain in the back pasture, watching the other horses go on without him.
He heard the master say. “Marius, trot!” He slowly began to trot toward the master’s voice. “Marius, canter!” He hesitated, then began to canter. Finally the command came. “Marius, JUMP!” As he began to raise up on his back legs to jump, he hesitated. Then he jerked his head to the side and pulled away from the fence, galloping to the back of the pasture. “I can not do this,” Marius said to the master. “Yes, you can,” the master replied. “You are more than capable of jumping this fence. You must decide for yourself. I have trained you well. You have natural abilities that the other horses lack. You are the most capable horse in this pasture. But if you refuse to jump, I can not help you any more. The others are waiting for me to continue with their training. They are excited because they jumped their first fence. I can only wait for you a short time. Then I must move on with the others.”
“You must decide,” said the master. “The other horses and I will be on the other side of the fence continuing our work, and when we have finished, we will all go into the barn and rest. You can join us, or you can remain in the back pasture. I can tell you that there are many wonderful things waiting for you on this side of the fence, but until you jump you will never know what they are.”
“Choose wisely.” said the master.
And he waited.
(Editor’s note: I have heard this song performed live exactly one time, by this singer, in 1989, the week I found out that I was pregnant with our first child.)
