Dreams

 “Yes: I am a dreamer. For a dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.”

- Oscar Wilde

Have been talking about dreams lately.  Particularly clairvoyant ones.  I found out what clairaudient is too. One of which I am. Another story for another time.

Last night  I suddenly remembered an event from twenty years ago. 

We were driving to Byron Bay.  Heading there for a beach wedding.  Bernie’s.  A marriage now long past. I feel terrible as I can’t even remember the brides name now.  Many of you know how terrible I am at remembering names. I meet so many people each year.

There were four of us in an old Holden.  It was Marks car, a beautiful old thing at the time and would now be on vintage plates if it’s still going.

We had opted for the drive all night approach. Sharing the driving between four of us seemed a logical way to get there.  Quiet the drive from Blackheath to Byron. It was early morning. We were well past Grafton, but where exactly I can’t remember.

Mark was driving, Scottie and Lisa were asleep in the back.  The sun was up, but the air was still cool from the evening.

I was asleep in the front seat.  I was dreaming in snippets on and off.  I started this flash of flying very very close to the green grass.  Very very fast. It woke me up with a start. 

I looked around.  Green fields as in my dream. The resemblance uncanny.  We were heading towards them. 

Mark was asleep at the wheel. We were just leaving the road.  Just enough time to wake him.  I can’t remember if I grabbed the wheel or he on waking he steered us back to the road again.  In a flash we were safe again. That dream flash saved us from it eventuating. I am so grateful for each dream.

Lots of swearing and relief.  We stopped and regained our composure.  Swapped drivers and continued on.  The story was lost in someone else’s big day.  The memories of it forgotten for twenty years.   

I believe in my dreams.  Some are warnings, and others are possibilities.  Write them down and reflect.  Something watches over me and I am eternally grateful.

On the way to nest.  Macleay River, from the Abstract Workshop.  Photograph and text copyright © Len Metcalf 2019