A Buried Mirror

A recurring dream.

 

              I was walking. There was a calm breeze blowing against my back, and I felt the reflectively mild surface of an unknown white building next to me as I dragged my fingertips slowly across its horizontal paneling. I was not familiar with where I was, yet I walked with a relaxed attitude as if I were at home, alone and without the anxious presence of scrutinizing eyes. The breeze was soft and caressing, and nearly felt like a lover’s touch on the back of my head pushing lightly against my skin and hair. The air smelled clean, and as I inhaled, I could feel the pure music flowing throughout my body. There was no strong desire to sing what was swimming in my lungs, but my mind endured no quarrel in releasing the untainted breath I freely drew in. 

            As I walked, my eyes captured the bright green grass that only nature could provide, which was not unkempt, but each blade was genuinely proportioned in length and color. The patches of emerald before me stretched for what seemed like half an acre, and appeared to cut off at the other end as though it were a cliff I stood upon rather than an open plain. I could not see the area hidden past the building next to me, but assumed it looked as surreal as everything that I could see.   

            I was coming closer to the end of the building now, slightly wary of what I might discover on the other side of its structure. The anticipation was lessened by the soothing sound of a hum that was soft and harmonious, with a timbre of a tenor chorus that sang in a mezzo piano dynamic.  The sound of water crashing against a rock face synchronized with the hum, contrasting just faintly louder in volume. Hearing the rolling waves caused me to focus on the cliff I had envisioned at the other side of the flowing grass. Beyond the precipice, I noticed the sky for the first time.

            Blue and purple meshed in a sea of clear cerulean with a tinge of orange hanging from the few clouds that were existent. Off in the distance, the sun was half risen and swarmed around by grey cotton. The clouds covered the sun well enough to give a spring noon’s daylight and an autumn evening’s subtle overcast. Below the sky, there was suddenly a vast ocean I had not clearly seen before but only imagined with the sound of crashing waves against the sea cliff. The water echoed the sky’s portrait to the point where sky and sea were indistinguishable, and the only way I could maintain my equilibrium was by checking that I was standing.

            While silently gasping in awe of this vivid scene, several moments passed before I realized that I had passed the building and could now perceive the unknown setting behind it. Turning slowly in the direction of the unforeseen half of the world, I encompassed the side of the building I had been walking along, then its back side which was only a blank white sheet of paneling. It never occurred to me to think of where I was or why I was there, but rather, there seemed to be some esoteric knowledge deep within my mind that made me certain of my intentions, and I proceeded to witness my surroundings. Behind the building, even farther from me than the cliff, was a sight far more beguiling and beautiful than any other portrait or landscape my eyes ever had the pleasure to look upon. 

An antiquated cemetery sat archaically in perfection: Tombstones rose in majestic feet, dominating the short bit of sky they could reach. A black wrought iron fence surrounded the charted memorial ground, leaving only an arched entrance at the front, which was opened in my direction. Serenading wisps of mist obscured the scene that only intensified the dismal sight. Massive oak trees harbored the sides, casting a dull shade over the land and the backside of the building. Terraced plots on the mounding hills ascended the air, some rising higher than the fence. And right in the center of the leveled masses of land stood a prevailing white obelisk, erect and untouched by any graying influence.

I felt the tug at the muscles of my legs to move forward, but my eyes made me stand just as still and inert as that white obelisk. I absorbed the imperialesque burial grounds, drinking in the height of the terraced hills and rising headstones. The obelisk, I noticed, was no taller than me, however, the narrow hill it reigned from added to its domineering elevation. I wished more than ever to visit the cemetery, to visit its plots and view the names of those whose remains resided there. I wanted the years, the musing ruminations of others’ longevity, to be with me. I longed to allow my fingers the grace of the cold stones and their engraved epitaphs. I so desired the embrace of the fog and the touch of the epic columns standing in the front of the black fence. And I craved with a most unsettling yearning to reside there with my regal friends who beat me to the mark of life’s race. 

My body began to move as it could no longer suffer the hesitation my eyes had learned to appreciate. I all but ran for the entrance, forgetting and ignoring every other sight that was available to be witnessed. The anticipation grew exponentially with each passing step, and my heart raced with expectancy. The hum I had been hearing was growing now, both in volume and in pitch. As I came closer to the entrance in my hasty gait, the choir wailed in my ears, drowning out the sea’s roaring cries. The wailing escalated and grew to a deafening howl as my feet married the grass just in front of the cemetery’s entryway; my eyes were wide with awe. Reaching out to merely graze the rusting fence, deafening shrieks and screams of varying tones leapt at my ear drums, scraping and mutilating my ability to hear. Just as my fingertips were about to brush the cold blackened metal, a shadow flickered in the corner of my eye, and while in my heightened sense, caused me to startle and back away awkwardly from the iron railing. The choir died entirely, and I was left in silence and in trepidation.  I wrenched my face in the direction of the shadow and watched it take the form of a little girl.

She sat on a bench made of stone, pulling dandelion weeds from the grass and twirling the stems around her small fingers. Her russet-red hair was meticulously combed and reached well past her tiny shoulders, the ends somewhat curving away from her body. A small set of freckles dotted her face, clustering in concentrations around her nose and dispersing to wider sections of her face. She wore a white shirt with denim overalls that appeared a little big for her fragile figure, but complimented her substantial amount of hair. 

When her head moved up away from her task, she matched her face with mine, smiling subtly and greeting me with vibrant jade eyes. As soon as she noticed me, she jumped from the bench and ran toward me with her arms out. Instinctively, I knelt down with open arms and picked her up as her delicate frame met the strength of my body. I knew who this child was and held her in a personal way that only a father would. 

“What were you doing?” I asked in a gentle tone of voice.

“I was waiting for daddy,” came her reply with a tender child’s expression. 

She leaned against me in a comforting way that revealed our relationship to me. Her head was now sitting against the niche of my neck, her cheek warm against my shoulder, and I could feel her smiling as she fell into sleep. Her hair smelled of flowers and sunlight, and it rested against her back, flowing slightly in the stroking breeze.

With her in my arms, I turned to face the cemetery I had completely forgotten in all my excitement. The mist was absent now, and the looming shade given by the trees was replaced with a brighter essence of light. The black fence was now missing, as was the grandiloquent entrance. Hundreds of bright flowers were visible from where I stood, and flocks of monarch butterflies could be seen dressing each stone, their radiant wings replicating the sun’s light. Walking onto the grounds, I could see that green vines covered most of the tombstones, leaving only a few names and years decipherable. The entire cemetery now appeared much less ominous and much more welcoming while I strolled through the many plots. I wondered what caused the sudden change in my perception as I caressed a tress of red hair behind my daughter’s ear. 

Fleeting moments passed, and I had seen every tombstone put up to mark the graves. I stood in front of the white obelisk and pondered in pensive thought who I was and why I was there. I recalled in lucid memory the sights I had seen: the brilliant green grass that stretched for yards, the splendor of the sea and sky meeting at an indiscernible line of symmetry, and the hauntingly quaint graveyard that was lost to reminiscence. A depressing feeling of fragmentary understanding seized me and I held my daughter closer to me to feel her warmth. I softly kissed her hair, to arouse her from her slumber. And as she stretched, I began to walk away from the obelisk and toward the white building, which I was assuming was home for us. 

While I was walking, my daughter stopped me and pointed around my arm toward the ground. 

“I was going to take the mirror with me,” she said in a quiet, naïve expectation. 

Her words confused me and I paused briefly, wondering if I should ask her what she meant. Instead, I turned to see where she pointed, hoping there would be some revelation as to what her childlike meanings were. When I faced the direction of her pointing finger, I raised an eyebrow in confusion, but she merely kept pointing toward the ground. Looking again, I saw a grey rectangle barely protruding from the soil and knelt closer to the block to make out what it said. With no years visible on the marking, and in full capital letters, the hidden grave read:
            “MIRROR.”

Reviews

[BULLET FOR MY VALENTINE]

An interesting dream if that is what it was, perhaps you go to bed with a pad and pen to write these wonderful descriptive memories, i am impressed your vivid detail, i guess one's imagination can run riot whilst transgressing in a state of sleeping consciousness.

I do tend to have repetitive dreams but usually they leave me confused without a positive connection to my contemporary life, i have been lost in cities wondering whilst i should be at work wondering about what chores i need to perform with my endless shopping lists then there is the feeling of being lost in the wilderness having missed my last bus stop and entered the darkness and wilderness,do you ever have that feeling of impending doom, what ever we choose our lifeplan has been mapped out and there is nothing we can do to change it?

[Phoinix]

......wow.....

[Natasha]

Hm.