Those early days of the journey,
when I had just made
peace
with lucid dreams,
one night, after I realized
that in my
dream
I had passed through a
wall,
I rolled onto the branches of a pine tree,
and at the very last moment,
a cool, gentle breeze
held me between earth and sky.
On a quiet yet luminous night,
above scattered hills,
each cradling a small
house with its light on,
it lifted me into flight.
A guitar was playing,
and a
woman, with a voice like mine
but softer,
was humming a tender song
about a love that
never became whole.
That day, as I flew above the unconscious,
I did not know
that the vow we had made
was remembered by the collective soul,
and that to heal its wounds
it would return to our love.
Now I know
that it always washes itself
in the love of lovers,
warms itself with their warm breaths,
and drinks from the light of
hope
that springs from their hearts,
and comes alive again—
for
peace,
for survival.
Even if we are born
a thousand times more,
it will find you and me again,
and in our unconscious
bind us together once more.
