Coil
(a dream)

Jane Edberg © 2005

I am suspended in deep azure blue. This sky rolls over my arms as I move like a Shearwater, through layers of shifting mist and fog. I hear a whisper. A shiver rises up through my body as I turn. I see a very old man. His face folds into the shape of happiness, then forms lines of love and compassion. His mouth curves sweetly and truthfully. His eyes are familiar.

He holds a basket filled with succulent mangoes, persimmons, and black plums among cascades of banksia roses, sweet peas, and blue bells dappled with alyssum. In the center of his basket is a loaf of fresh baked cinnamon bread. Aromas of flowers and warm bread weave through me. Ribbons of silk float up and out from the basket and dance whimsically in the air. I am mesmerized.

The old man extends his bountiful basket in my direction. Without hesitation, I extend my hands to receive his gift. With magnetic force I am pulled into him. We collide and spin into a whirlwind gale, out of control. Spiraling faster and faster, we become absorbed into each other. Face to face, we coil together. Time wobbles and stammers impressionistically as it speeds up. Light scatters across us in blues and golds. We flicker like an old film. I catch fragments of light in my eyes.

With each fragment of light, I can make out the old man's face. I watch as his wrinkled skin fades to smoothness. His squinty eyes start to widen. With each pass of light, I notice him get younger. Younger and younger, down through the years. Then suddenly I know his face. Nanda! Nanda's nineteen-year-old face stares back at me. He smiles. Before I can return a smile he is sixteen and then fifteen, fourteen, twelve, ten and then five years old. Clutching to my waist, my small child hangs on to me as we spin. Time seems unreal as it unwinds. And then I see nothing. I realize I am alone. Standing with my feet planted on the ground. I stare out into an empty landscape.   It is dark and cold all around me. I have lost him. In my arms, an empty basket, all of its contents released into the heavens.

Saddened, I place the basket onto the dark ground and I look out into the distance. I tire from its darkness. I realized, no matter how hard I tried, I could not hold on to him. And we didn't try to let go. It just happened.

In one movement, a magnificent red sun bursts up over the horizon. It appears new. The illuminated earth comes alive. I can see I have not lost everything. Bold and eternal, the sun rises every morning, stretching its wings of light over the day, tireless and undying. That reliable ancient sun paints me with gold. It reminds me that I am alive, and I am well.