There is some kind of pursuit through the corridors of one building and into the maze of another.  I’m running with another man who, awake, I can’t remember, but who was familiar to me in the dream. It is as if some great evil is hunting us, but we escape into a forest thicket–the manner and means forgotten after waking. But a joyful weariness slowly begins to inhabit every limb of my body as my friend and I walk through the autumn forest. My friend suggests that I lie down and rest on a thick blanket of fallen maple leaves. I slowly do so and then drift off into the sleep of death. My spirit, aloft among the limbs and branches, hovers over my body, that is now alone. Years fly by in moments as I watch my body decompose, becoming a shape in the leaves, something one would circle in those drawings for children. Again, the passage of time and, once again, my body takes on flesh. I begin to feel the dampness of the earth and I realize that I am once more within the forest material, cohering into human form. Eventually, I stand again upon the earth, turn and look down at the impression I have left in the forest floor.

 The amazing thing to me later was the realization of scents and fragrances in this dream which, of recent age, are becoming parts of my dream life where they never were before. 


Once again I am dreaming and in the dream I am sitting in my library chair, in some afternoon drowsy, and then I am with my book in a woodland glen, outside of some quaint New England town visible and nearby. I have been reading while walking on a dirt path. Looking up, the maple trees vaunt themselves over and above a split rail fence the runs alongside the path as it gradually ascends a rise. The leaves are on fire with the spirit of thanksgiving, but my eyes are on the crest of the hill. I see Benjamin standing there next to a white horse, holding the reins. I feel in my bones the years of not knowing where he was. And there it is again, something not threatening, but not yet completed and still unfinished, an odd inhabitant in my heart–a Being mixed of sorrow and joy, regret and anticipation, who is often my prelude to holiness. I watch as Benjamin and the white horse turn and disappear over the rise. I am filled with the testimony of hearts and bones. I know I will take these yearning with me to the grave.