Stacy--Part Six

Splog # 19

Six

   In her dream, Stacy could feel her rock chair, which had become a butterfly's wings, rising higher and higher. She never raised her head but just let all aspects of the earth drift away beneath her until there was nothing in her field of vision except sky and the occasional cloud.

   She wondered if she was following her white butterfly, who had soared straight up into the sky. Or had it come back for her and was it now carrying her somewhere? But, if she was riding a butterfly, why was there no flapping up and down on either side of her? Why just a slow, smooth ascent? In any case, she knew that none of these questions mattered. It was such a perfect feeling, curled up on her rock or egg or butterfly and soaring up and up and up.

   The blue in the sky was getting lighter and lighter and finally she was surrounded by white. But the white wasn't expansive like the sky. It was actually all around her, like a mist or a fog. She could hardly distinguish the white of the rock that her head was resting on. And then she realized that she must have climbed right into a cloud.

   She lay and waited for the white mist to fade into the blue of the sky again, but it seemed to be taking a long time. Finally, in the comfortable laziness that she felt, she let her eyes close and surrendered to her dream.

   But she didn't fall asleep. With her eyes closed, she became aware of what her other senses were experiencing. There was a light swishing sound and, as she didn't feel any wind, she figured it must be the noise of her movement through the air. She wasn't surprised that there were no tastes in her mouth and didn't expect any odors here in the sky. But then a very faint smell drifted to her. Like rain on a dry summer afternoon. And then she thought she could feel the slightest touch of moisture on her skin. Of course! Clouds were made of moisture so that would account for the smell and the sensation.

   She let her mind relax and go where it would. The swishing noise that she had noticed intruded on her consciousness again. But it seemed uneven. Not like something moving at a continuous rate of travel (as she felt she was) but like something moving in spurts - like her butterfly. But a butterfly is completely silent. And then there emerged a pattern to the sound. Like movements being made and then stopped and then the same movements made again to produce the same sounds. There were three distinct beats. Then a brief pause. And then the same three beats. Over and over. Beat - beat - beat - pause. Like music or singing or - or - like someone saying something. That must be what it was. Someone was whispering something and then taking a breath and repeating it. Over and over. But the whisper was barely a rustle of wind. There didn't seem to be any chance of her making out the words.

   Still lying with her eyes closed, Stacy started to whisper, "Da dum - da da da - da dum." and then breathe. "Da dum - da da da - da dum." The rhythm was strong and the beats were quite insistent. Second syllable of the first and third phrase. And middle syllable of the second. "Da DUM - da DA da - da DUM. Breathe.  Da DUM - da DA da - da DUM."

   As Stacy lay in her white dream, with its rhythmic rustling soundtrack, she suddenly noticed that she was no longer moving. With this realization, the whispering started to fade, and she figured she was now awake. Slowly, she sat up and opened her eyes.

   At what she saw, she slowly closed them again and wondered how to separate dream from reality. First she employed her hands to confirm that she was sitting on the same hard, yet oddly comfortable, surface on which she had curled up prior to her dream. There was the same feeling of cool warmth or warm coolness to the surface. So that part wasn't a dream. Then she put one hand on each of her upper arms and gave a little squeeze. Everything felt normal. Except what she saw.

   Taking a deep breath and then letting it out slowly, she once again opened her eyes. She really was seeing what she was seeing. Or not seeing what she wasn't seeing. Everything was white. Everything. In front of her, behind her, above and below. It was as though she was still in the cloud she had dreamt that she passed through.

   But there was something else. As she stared at the blank whiteness, her eyes began to find slight dimnesses.  In the mist of fog that surrounded her, there were occasional vague smudges. That was the only way she could find to describe them. As if the fog had touches of gray here and there, like something that was far away and would become visible when it got closer. But the smudges didn't resolve into anything more definite. They just stayed constant.

   And then she heard it again - the whispering. Da DUM - da DA da - da DUM. Pause. Da DUM - da DA da - da DUM. It was pulsating in the mist.

   So she sat. Mist - smudges - whispering.