Post by abeautifulmind on Jul 16, 2012 2:10:24 GMT
The Fireplace
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Everybody has recurring dreams and there is usually nothing they can do about them. They replay an event, that could have and should have gone another way. What's done is done and dreaming of things that have long since passed serves no purpose, as it changes nothing.
Luckily for me, my reoccurring dream became a way of understanding; a way of accepting death. I vividly remember the moment I got the news that my grandfather had passed away. I was a boy of no more than thirteen, having never thought of mortality in any way. My grandfather and I were close but I reacted to the news apathetically. In retrospect I realize it was because I didn't know what death was. I didn't comprehend its finality nor understood that there was no resolution. If you were dead, you couldn't come back.
As the thought of death and finality seeped into my mind, I became confused. I knew what happened - physiologically - when someone died but did I really understand it? It was hard to fathom not being able to see the person you golfed with days ago, ever again. This was when I started to contemplate the ideas of forever and never and before and after.
I was visited by my grandfather who would appear at random intervals in my dreams. I always knew he was dead as there was an understanding between us, and we never spoke. He neither scared me nor comforted me; he just existed. A solitary figure inextricably woven into many of my dreams. By the time I was sixteen I was used to him. I accepted his death but never did completely understand his passing. Was it a goodbye, or a warning the terminally-ill give that I longed for?
Maybe there were some questions or feelings I failed to express at the time of his passing. They say time waits for no one. Indeed my life went on.
One night I found myself in a large forest. I felt the thick air of fall and saw various colours of leaves on the path directly in front of me. I was in a vast open area surrounded by a wall of enormous trees. Their green leaves seemed wet and moist, as if it had just rained. There were plants nestled in between them all of purple and green shades. There was a gentle breeze that was neither cool nor warm. The sky was dim but you could see the stars faintly poking out of a velvety fog.
Not too far in the distance I spotted a robust evergreen tree with glistening rays of snow on its branches. Around the perimeter of the tree lay fresh heaps of powder that looked as if they had just fallen. I assumed it much colder by the tree as I somehow knew the snow would never melt.
There was a faint light illuminating the entire area but it wasn't coming from any of the stars, but rather from the flicker of a fire. I could see its origin in the distance on the other side of a small creek. I looked down at my feet and saw the ground I was standing on was a dirt path caked with pebbles and stones. The earth was dark and solid and the path looked fresh containing no markings or footprints. I looked back up and marveled at my surroundings. A sort of awesome sensation struck me.
The sensation was one of an overwhelming stillness. A stillness so foreign that it terrified me, as if I had just transcended death to be born into a new universe alone. Horror began to creep over me as I slowly realized I would spend eternity in solitude. The silence began to consume me and I felt like I was going to crumble. As quickly as the feeling came it was gone. I realized that indeed this was not a dream world, but a place outside of dreams.
To pinpoint the location would be to contradict it, which is why my rational mind avoided seeking an explanation. My comprehension of existence fumbled around in front me like a juggler losing control, and I felt like I was on the verge of an astonishing new understanding.
But before the revelation truly started, it stopped. I saw him looking at me from down the path. I was startled but not in the usual way because this was different. I felt denser and he seemed much clearer. With hands clasped behind his back, my grandfather began to make his way over. He came close enough for me to see him how I always had: a pensive man who sometimes got lost in his thoughts, which had in turn inspired me to use my imagination.
There was something different about him this time and I understood it right way. He was one with his surroundings and it was I who was lost in thought. It was I who was thinking about where we were and why. He knew and I didn't. We looked at each other for either an eternity or a second, and continued down the path towards the light.
We continued our tradition of silence and made our way over to a small bridge. Under the bridge there was a stream that seemed to trickle with a gentle yet affirmative force. I glimpsed down to view dark water that was both foreboding and benevolent at the same time. In a gentle whisper it warned me to not look deep, for there was something at the bottom I was not ready to see. As I contemplated this I became shocked to realize that I had no reflection, and withdrew my gaze at once, not wanting to test the warning I had been given. I looked over to see my grandfather staring at me and acknowledged that we were to move on.
As we crossed the bridge I could see the light with more detail. It was coming from what appeared to be a large fireplace in the middle of a great room. The fireplace was lodged in a single, large stone wall that stood erected on its own. As we grew closer I saw the soil path we were traveling on soon met with a thick marble floor. He led the way and we proceeded to enter the great room.
I was mesmerized as I looked above the fireplace to see a flurry of snow flakes falling on the other side of the wall. It seemed darker over here and the night sky was clearer, as the stars shone in abundance. The marble floor was slick and had a purplish-blue shade to it that in conjunction with the fireplace gave off a soothing glow.
The tiles looked as if they were carved for giants as I could have easily stretched across one. I looked at the fire and was surprised to notice that it was feeding itself. There were no logs, just flickering red flames reminding me that if I played in the snow I could regenerate in their warmth. Upon closer inspection I noticed the conflagration did not possess the heat of a traditional fire, and if anything was there to merely offer consolation to the spirit.
I caught my grandfather gazing at me. I could see the flames flickering in his eyes, and he let it be known that the observer was being observed. At this point I had grown used to his presence and I continued to explore the room. At the end of it I saw that the tile's edge bordered a ground covered in snow. The flakes came down at a steady pace but the snow never rose above the floor.
I peered over at the massive fireplace with its stone columns and saw an object on the mantle that I hadn't noticed before. I walked over to the mantle and saw a wooden clock staring at me with an expressionless face.
There were no numbers on it. There were dozens of lines marking the spots normally reserved for all the minutes and hours. The hands were missing and the pendulum was at a standstill. I looked closely but couldn't make out the emblem that was engraved on the pendulum. It looked like a symbol of some sort I had seen before. The clock had a dark finish and the mere appearance of it emanated a nostalgia for my childhood. My grandfather began to walk away and beckoned for me to leave the room.
As we left the room a staggering realization overcame me.
I froze in my place looking around at my surroundings in awe. I knew what this place was even though I didn't know where it was located. I knew why I was here and what it meant. I was touring through a room in the frame of existence and my grandfather was the guide.
I was being given a preview to what lay ahead. Through this journey I could see that the simplest things in life were also the most intricate. The things we take for granted are often the things that bind us together. I now understood that there was an interconnectedness that exists between all things, a link that helps complete a whole. I realized that this was no different with life and death.
I woke up in the morning with a distinct new awareness. I had gained insight on matters that could not be unlearned. There was a natural order to things, and I would learn more when I was ready. Some mysteries in life aren't meant to be solved, and disagreeing with this was futile. To understand that you can't understand will often give you the peace and harmony you are truly seeking.
Could death just be a completion of a cycle, in which we return to our natural place in the universe to remain forever as part of the whole? They do say we were made from the stars, do they not? Perhaps the answer is not meant to be known. I don't understand why, but I accept that I don't understand. I've visualized, spoken, and written about my place in the sky but no matter how hard I try, I can never go back. Perhaps I will when I am ready.
-- T.N. Manet
www.lulu.com/shop/the-icarus-project-members/flying-too-close-to-the-sun/ebook/product-17411894.html
Everybody has recurring dreams and there is usually nothing they can do about them. They replay an event, that could have and should have gone another way. What's done is done and dreaming of things that have long since passed serves no purpose, as it changes nothing.
Luckily for me, my reoccurring dream became a way of understanding; a way of accepting death. I vividly remember the moment I got the news that my grandfather had passed away. I was a boy of no more than thirteen, having never thought of mortality in any way. My grandfather and I were close but I reacted to the news apathetically. In retrospect I realize it was because I didn't know what death was. I didn't comprehend its finality nor understood that there was no resolution. If you were dead, you couldn't come back.
As the thought of death and finality seeped into my mind, I became confused. I knew what happened - physiologically - when someone died but did I really understand it? It was hard to fathom not being able to see the person you golfed with days ago, ever again. This was when I started to contemplate the ideas of forever and never and before and after.
I was visited by my grandfather who would appear at random intervals in my dreams. I always knew he was dead as there was an understanding between us, and we never spoke. He neither scared me nor comforted me; he just existed. A solitary figure inextricably woven into many of my dreams. By the time I was sixteen I was used to him. I accepted his death but never did completely understand his passing. Was it a goodbye, or a warning the terminally-ill give that I longed for?
Maybe there were some questions or feelings I failed to express at the time of his passing. They say time waits for no one. Indeed my life went on.
One night I found myself in a large forest. I felt the thick air of fall and saw various colours of leaves on the path directly in front of me. I was in a vast open area surrounded by a wall of enormous trees. Their green leaves seemed wet and moist, as if it had just rained. There were plants nestled in between them all of purple and green shades. There was a gentle breeze that was neither cool nor warm. The sky was dim but you could see the stars faintly poking out of a velvety fog.
Not too far in the distance I spotted a robust evergreen tree with glistening rays of snow on its branches. Around the perimeter of the tree lay fresh heaps of powder that looked as if they had just fallen. I assumed it much colder by the tree as I somehow knew the snow would never melt.
There was a faint light illuminating the entire area but it wasn't coming from any of the stars, but rather from the flicker of a fire. I could see its origin in the distance on the other side of a small creek. I looked down at my feet and saw the ground I was standing on was a dirt path caked with pebbles and stones. The earth was dark and solid and the path looked fresh containing no markings or footprints. I looked back up and marveled at my surroundings. A sort of awesome sensation struck me.
The sensation was one of an overwhelming stillness. A stillness so foreign that it terrified me, as if I had just transcended death to be born into a new universe alone. Horror began to creep over me as I slowly realized I would spend eternity in solitude. The silence began to consume me and I felt like I was going to crumble. As quickly as the feeling came it was gone. I realized that indeed this was not a dream world, but a place outside of dreams.
To pinpoint the location would be to contradict it, which is why my rational mind avoided seeking an explanation. My comprehension of existence fumbled around in front me like a juggler losing control, and I felt like I was on the verge of an astonishing new understanding.
But before the revelation truly started, it stopped. I saw him looking at me from down the path. I was startled but not in the usual way because this was different. I felt denser and he seemed much clearer. With hands clasped behind his back, my grandfather began to make his way over. He came close enough for me to see him how I always had: a pensive man who sometimes got lost in his thoughts, which had in turn inspired me to use my imagination.
There was something different about him this time and I understood it right way. He was one with his surroundings and it was I who was lost in thought. It was I who was thinking about where we were and why. He knew and I didn't. We looked at each other for either an eternity or a second, and continued down the path towards the light.
We continued our tradition of silence and made our way over to a small bridge. Under the bridge there was a stream that seemed to trickle with a gentle yet affirmative force. I glimpsed down to view dark water that was both foreboding and benevolent at the same time. In a gentle whisper it warned me to not look deep, for there was something at the bottom I was not ready to see. As I contemplated this I became shocked to realize that I had no reflection, and withdrew my gaze at once, not wanting to test the warning I had been given. I looked over to see my grandfather staring at me and acknowledged that we were to move on.
As we crossed the bridge I could see the light with more detail. It was coming from what appeared to be a large fireplace in the middle of a great room. The fireplace was lodged in a single, large stone wall that stood erected on its own. As we grew closer I saw the soil path we were traveling on soon met with a thick marble floor. He led the way and we proceeded to enter the great room.
I was mesmerized as I looked above the fireplace to see a flurry of snow flakes falling on the other side of the wall. It seemed darker over here and the night sky was clearer, as the stars shone in abundance. The marble floor was slick and had a purplish-blue shade to it that in conjunction with the fireplace gave off a soothing glow.
The tiles looked as if they were carved for giants as I could have easily stretched across one. I looked at the fire and was surprised to notice that it was feeding itself. There were no logs, just flickering red flames reminding me that if I played in the snow I could regenerate in their warmth. Upon closer inspection I noticed the conflagration did not possess the heat of a traditional fire, and if anything was there to merely offer consolation to the spirit.
I caught my grandfather gazing at me. I could see the flames flickering in his eyes, and he let it be known that the observer was being observed. At this point I had grown used to his presence and I continued to explore the room. At the end of it I saw that the tile's edge bordered a ground covered in snow. The flakes came down at a steady pace but the snow never rose above the floor.
I peered over at the massive fireplace with its stone columns and saw an object on the mantle that I hadn't noticed before. I walked over to the mantle and saw a wooden clock staring at me with an expressionless face.
There were no numbers on it. There were dozens of lines marking the spots normally reserved for all the minutes and hours. The hands were missing and the pendulum was at a standstill. I looked closely but couldn't make out the emblem that was engraved on the pendulum. It looked like a symbol of some sort I had seen before. The clock had a dark finish and the mere appearance of it emanated a nostalgia for my childhood. My grandfather began to walk away and beckoned for me to leave the room.
As we left the room a staggering realization overcame me.
I froze in my place looking around at my surroundings in awe. I knew what this place was even though I didn't know where it was located. I knew why I was here and what it meant. I was touring through a room in the frame of existence and my grandfather was the guide.
I was being given a preview to what lay ahead. Through this journey I could see that the simplest things in life were also the most intricate. The things we take for granted are often the things that bind us together. I now understood that there was an interconnectedness that exists between all things, a link that helps complete a whole. I realized that this was no different with life and death.
I woke up in the morning with a distinct new awareness. I had gained insight on matters that could not be unlearned. There was a natural order to things, and I would learn more when I was ready. Some mysteries in life aren't meant to be solved, and disagreeing with this was futile. To understand that you can't understand will often give you the peace and harmony you are truly seeking.
Could death just be a completion of a cycle, in which we return to our natural place in the universe to remain forever as part of the whole? They do say we were made from the stars, do they not? Perhaps the answer is not meant to be known. I don't understand why, but I accept that I don't understand. I've visualized, spoken, and written about my place in the sky but no matter how hard I try, I can never go back. Perhaps I will when I am ready.
-- T.N. Manet