Another Bedtime Story
I met a woman strange one starless, moonless night; from afar I knew not if she were a human or a sprite.
The air was heavily shrouded by a cold and ashen mist that hid and concealed secrets and mysteries in its midst; but I could see her clear as on a sunny day. She waved her hand, and bade me go her way; and my legs took off on their own accord without delay.
As I closer drew to her, I espied her dazzling shawl: it seemed to shine with moons and stars, and did the night sky pall.
“Well, m’dear,” she said to me, “wherefore are you about on such a darksome night; wherefore are you without?
“Your soft warm bed does await you in your little room, and you are one among the countless this night for whom the weaver of dreams sits constant by her ceaseless loom.”
I peered hard through the mist for a glimpse of her hidden face, shadowed by her shawl, but saw naught, save the faintest trace.
“Madam,” said I, “but for the sleep and dreams that elude me, I would not be out; I seek them that from me this night do flee.”
Then methought I saw a flash, the vestige of a furtive smile that did a thrill of anticipation and my curiosity beguile; and any hesitation and misgivings I had banished were meanwhile.
With a quick flick of her hands, she threw her shawl from off her head. I saw light glittering gray eyes and lips that glistened crimson red.
She held out an elegant pale hand – a silent invitation to walk along with her; I took it without hesitation.
We walked a distance without words, then presently she said, “Have you any idea, dearest child, where your slumber’s fled? Or on which bed or in whose head your every dream is spread?”
I thought for a moment, and shook my head - a wordless ‘no’. We continued walking silently, into downtown skid row.
Vagrants now surrounded us, more I saw in every gloomy corner; huddling nigh naked in small groups, each around a tiny burner.
But there were more, I noticed, who remained apart, alone: they were all asleep, curled up in a small spot of their own; each with a thin and tattered blanket around his body thrown.
She halted her step and bade me stop as well, and the mist that had us erstwhile shrouded seemed dispelled.
At each lone vagabond she bade me have a careful look, so I a peek at every slumb’ring face and ragged mantle took.
“Well now, little one, do you any dream or slumber recognize?” (I shook my head – a second ‘no’.) Then she offered this advice: “You must look hard and thoroughly, for dreams come in every guise.”
We made our way out from the wretched dreariness of skid row, and walked quietly on, guided by the street lamps’ shrouded glow.
Next, to the uptown ritzy neighborhood of marvelous mansions, residences built in the most majestic and whimsical of fashions.
The lights were turned on in every manor that we passed, and its inhabitants awake. And every house that I canvassed found I no noise nor sign of life, from the very first to last.
“Look at all these houses,” she whispered, “Do you like what you see? For these are the abodes of dreams, and they’re as fanciful as can be. You may have one too yourself, my child, if you should desire.”
I looked hard at these mansions, but they did not my lust inspire.
Seeing my indifference, she sighed and led me on once more, out of this fantastic neighborhood the darkness to explore. I felt myself grow weary, and did not wish to go on anymore, when, to my amazement, I saw several rugs came soaring past: on each sat a little child who squealed with joy and held on fast.
They took to the air like fireflies, flitting about the dark night sky. Each rug was of a different color and design, and bedazzled the eye.
“What are they?” I asked in wonderment, but she made no reply. Instead she tugged me on and pulled me away as the children flew by; I was sore reluctant to leave, but to the children I waved good-bye.
Silently we walked on, and I grew more weary, and also quite sad; I wished I were back in my room, tucked warmly in bed.
Moments later, she stopped once again, and I realized where we were.
“This is where I live!” I exclaimed, and into my home I invited her.
Then up the stairs and into my room I quietly her led, whereupon I saw the most dazzling of mantles lying upon my bed: it seemed like the moon and stars had been all throughout it spread.
“I see you’ve found your dreams,” she said, and I mutely nodded. “It is rather exquisite,” she continued, “and beautifully brocaded. It does charm me so, and thus I have a proposition–” (Here I inexplicably was overcome by trepidation.)
“I wish to purchase your dreams, and I will give in return the fulfillment of all your dreams and desires: everything you yearn. Now, what say you – do you accept my offer or would you me spurn?”
“What need for dreams have you,” I asked, “if they all granted be? Wherefore do you desire to purchase my dreams from me?”
“I find them delightful,” she answered, “and I’ve none of my own for I am dreamless, and do not dream, and my curse I bemoan.”
“If I should sell mine all to you, then I shall be dreamless too,” said I. “And hence without a dream at all, what would I pursue? What would I in this long and wearisome life have to see me through?”
“You’ll have all your heart’s desires,” said she, “and so much more; then you’ll have no need for such things as your dreams anymore.”
As I considered her outrageous proposal, she admired my mantle; then I noticed her pretty shawl looked less alluring, little by little: it no longer twinkled with the luminosity of moons and stars, but did grow dim and dimmer still: its glow had become most scarce. I began to wonder if this night’s adventures had been a farce.
Who was this lady, who came to me with such an offer - such a nefarious suggestion that did me bewilder?
“Well, my child? Have you my answer?” she asked, “Would you or nay? The night draws near its end, and I must soon be on my way.”
“Lady,” said I at last, “I know not who, or what, you be; but to your proposition, I will not agree. My dreams are mine: to dream, to pursue – they are a part of me.”
I thought she might be annoyed, but she did only sigh, and said, “Very well then, you foolish child, I bid you good-bye. Some other folks await me, who would their wildest dreams me sell; dreams they'd eagerly exchange to get out of their hovel or their hell. I lack no takers, and I’ll always wear a beautiful shawl of dreams, while your mantle will in time grow ragged, or fray at the seams.”
Here, she full had faded away, and my room began to fill with sunbeams.
*
Slowly I blink, and find myself in bed, warm beneath my eiderdown; my head lies upon my pillow, and I am dressed in my sleeping gown.
Drowsily I sit up and yawn, and I take a look around my room. Methinks I had been visited, but I cannot recall by what or whom.
Then my hand falls upon a scrap of cloth that most brilliantly gleams; and when I turn it over, I find a message, but I know not what it means: I may come to you again, it reads; and is signed,
The Procuress of Dreams.
19th - 21st Oct 2005
The air was heavily shrouded by a cold and ashen mist that hid and concealed secrets and mysteries in its midst; but I could see her clear as on a sunny day. She waved her hand, and bade me go her way; and my legs took off on their own accord without delay.
As I closer drew to her, I espied her dazzling shawl: it seemed to shine with moons and stars, and did the night sky pall.
“Well, m’dear,” she said to me, “wherefore are you about on such a darksome night; wherefore are you without?
“Your soft warm bed does await you in your little room, and you are one among the countless this night for whom the weaver of dreams sits constant by her ceaseless loom.”
I peered hard through the mist for a glimpse of her hidden face, shadowed by her shawl, but saw naught, save the faintest trace.
“Madam,” said I, “but for the sleep and dreams that elude me, I would not be out; I seek them that from me this night do flee.”
Then methought I saw a flash, the vestige of a furtive smile that did a thrill of anticipation and my curiosity beguile; and any hesitation and misgivings I had banished were meanwhile.
With a quick flick of her hands, she threw her shawl from off her head. I saw light glittering gray eyes and lips that glistened crimson red.
She held out an elegant pale hand – a silent invitation to walk along with her; I took it without hesitation.
We walked a distance without words, then presently she said, “Have you any idea, dearest child, where your slumber’s fled? Or on which bed or in whose head your every dream is spread?”
I thought for a moment, and shook my head - a wordless ‘no’. We continued walking silently, into downtown skid row.
Vagrants now surrounded us, more I saw in every gloomy corner; huddling nigh naked in small groups, each around a tiny burner.
But there were more, I noticed, who remained apart, alone: they were all asleep, curled up in a small spot of their own; each with a thin and tattered blanket around his body thrown.
She halted her step and bade me stop as well, and the mist that had us erstwhile shrouded seemed dispelled.
At each lone vagabond she bade me have a careful look, so I a peek at every slumb’ring face and ragged mantle took.
“Well now, little one, do you any dream or slumber recognize?” (I shook my head – a second ‘no’.) Then she offered this advice: “You must look hard and thoroughly, for dreams come in every guise.”
We made our way out from the wretched dreariness of skid row, and walked quietly on, guided by the street lamps’ shrouded glow.
Next, to the uptown ritzy neighborhood of marvelous mansions, residences built in the most majestic and whimsical of fashions.
The lights were turned on in every manor that we passed, and its inhabitants awake. And every house that I canvassed found I no noise nor sign of life, from the very first to last.
“Look at all these houses,” she whispered, “Do you like what you see? For these are the abodes of dreams, and they’re as fanciful as can be. You may have one too yourself, my child, if you should desire.”
I looked hard at these mansions, but they did not my lust inspire.
Seeing my indifference, she sighed and led me on once more, out of this fantastic neighborhood the darkness to explore. I felt myself grow weary, and did not wish to go on anymore, when, to my amazement, I saw several rugs came soaring past: on each sat a little child who squealed with joy and held on fast.
They took to the air like fireflies, flitting about the dark night sky. Each rug was of a different color and design, and bedazzled the eye.
“What are they?” I asked in wonderment, but she made no reply. Instead she tugged me on and pulled me away as the children flew by; I was sore reluctant to leave, but to the children I waved good-bye.
Silently we walked on, and I grew more weary, and also quite sad; I wished I were back in my room, tucked warmly in bed.
Moments later, she stopped once again, and I realized where we were.
“This is where I live!” I exclaimed, and into my home I invited her.
Then up the stairs and into my room I quietly her led, whereupon I saw the most dazzling of mantles lying upon my bed: it seemed like the moon and stars had been all throughout it spread.
“I see you’ve found your dreams,” she said, and I mutely nodded. “It is rather exquisite,” she continued, “and beautifully brocaded. It does charm me so, and thus I have a proposition–” (Here I inexplicably was overcome by trepidation.)
“I wish to purchase your dreams, and I will give in return the fulfillment of all your dreams and desires: everything you yearn. Now, what say you – do you accept my offer or would you me spurn?”
“What need for dreams have you,” I asked, “if they all granted be? Wherefore do you desire to purchase my dreams from me?”
“I find them delightful,” she answered, “and I’ve none of my own for I am dreamless, and do not dream, and my curse I bemoan.”
“If I should sell mine all to you, then I shall be dreamless too,” said I. “And hence without a dream at all, what would I pursue? What would I in this long and wearisome life have to see me through?”
“You’ll have all your heart’s desires,” said she, “and so much more; then you’ll have no need for such things as your dreams anymore.”
As I considered her outrageous proposal, she admired my mantle; then I noticed her pretty shawl looked less alluring, little by little: it no longer twinkled with the luminosity of moons and stars, but did grow dim and dimmer still: its glow had become most scarce. I began to wonder if this night’s adventures had been a farce.
Who was this lady, who came to me with such an offer - such a nefarious suggestion that did me bewilder?
“Well, my child? Have you my answer?” she asked, “Would you or nay? The night draws near its end, and I must soon be on my way.”
“Lady,” said I at last, “I know not who, or what, you be; but to your proposition, I will not agree. My dreams are mine: to dream, to pursue – they are a part of me.”
I thought she might be annoyed, but she did only sigh, and said, “Very well then, you foolish child, I bid you good-bye. Some other folks await me, who would their wildest dreams me sell; dreams they'd eagerly exchange to get out of their hovel or their hell. I lack no takers, and I’ll always wear a beautiful shawl of dreams, while your mantle will in time grow ragged, or fray at the seams.”
Here, she full had faded away, and my room began to fill with sunbeams.
Slowly I blink, and find myself in bed, warm beneath my eiderdown; my head lies upon my pillow, and I am dressed in my sleeping gown.
Drowsily I sit up and yawn, and I take a look around my room. Methinks I had been visited, but I cannot recall by what or whom.
Then my hand falls upon a scrap of cloth that most brilliantly gleams; and when I turn it over, I find a message, but I know not what it means: I may come to you again, it reads; and is signed,
19th - 21st Oct 2005
scribbled on Friday, October 21, 2005
1 Comments:
The dream is a wonderful thing
thank you
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