Ancient Dreams

I just remembered this interesting dream I had last night while listening to Bonobo - Recurring.

My brother and mother were there. I was staying with elders on some sort of spiritual journey to learn about something that had happened in the past or another sector of the spectrum that living beings are not a part of. An old box, things uncovered by a small fire, bundled up in my lonesomeness, a small, and old lawn chair. There was a fence there -- wire and we were careful not to get caught as we passed back and forth. It was low to the ground, rusted. Torn off from it's rotting posts. "Decide... decide.... Decide what is of value to you and take it. The rest is to be buried in the morning."

It was dreary, cold. That feeling you get at dusk and after when everything is still and you can't help, but have wet sneakers from the occurring dew.

The fire is dying down. 'Rest. You can make your final decision in the morning.'

The twitter of flame dies to a dwindling char of amber glow; trudging back to wherever I slept that night. A tent? Camper of some sort? Did I even sleep? There was an air of eeriness that night, but I felt at peace with it. At peace, but desperately mournful of deciding what to take, and leaving the rest behind; forgotten.

Dawn comes. 'Gather your things; it's time.'

I enter an area where a structure once was, burned to the ground. It was a tiny cabin like the size of a child's playhouse growing up. The grass was too long, damp. I hate having wet socks. This ragged chest, these artifacts... this is sacred to me. I held it in my hands... bindings falling apart. It was familiar to me. Dry and rough. I can hear the sound it made as I flicked on the coverings. Fingers running along every inch. I held onto it, contemplating for a good 15 minutes. 'Hurry up. It's time to go. We have to do it soon. Decide.' So, I left it. I left it all. I didn't want to ever know.


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