'And I said to my spirit When we become the enfolders of those orbs,
and the pleasure and knowledge of every thing in them, shall we
be fill'd and satisfied then?
And my spirit said No, we but level that lift to pass and continue beyond.'
-- Whitman, Hubble, Orion
dream, 3/4/09
In my dream I heard the sound of a piano playing. I'd gone into the next room and I could still hear the piano, well-tuned, with full resonance of its sound. I didn't see anyone at the keyboard when I was in the other room, as if it was a player-piano reading the music from its paper roll. The song had been on a CD I'd given my mother for her next-to-last birthday, and played for her in the nursing home a few times. It was a song she sometimes sang, before I was born, playing the guitar with her band on the front porch in the mining camp. The song was
'Wildwood Flower' --
'Oh I'll twine with my mingles and raven black hair
With the roses so red and the lilies so fair
And the mirtles so bright with the emerald dew
The pale and the leader and eyes look like blue
I will dance I will sing and my laugh shall be gay
I will charm every heart in each crown I will sway
When I woke from my dreaming my idols were clay
All portion of love had all blown away
Oh he taught me to love him and promised to love
And to cherish me over all others above
How my heart is now wondering no misery can tell
He's left me no warning no words of farewell
Oh he taught me to love him and call me his flower
That was blooming to cheer him through life's dreary hour
How i long to see him and regret the dark hour
He's gone and neglected his pale wildwood flower'
I could feel the music moving through me, growing louder and full of meaning, resonating in my ribcage. Then I woke up.
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