I wake up briefly, but maybe it I am only dreaming that I woke up. Conditions seem just right, and yes, the buzzing starts. It startles me, and I pull back into consciousness once or twice, but finally give in to that exquisite feeling of heaviness before I flow out of myself and fly around my room.
It dawns on me that this is my room, but different. It's much larger, and is furnished differently. I can't quite place the style - Indian? Oriental? Middle Eastern? A fusion of all, perhaps? - but it's exotic and beautiful, full of rich silks of deep reds and golds, and polished woods. As quickly as I am startled by all this, I get used to it. This has always been my room, of course! And I turn my attention to flying around. I have no desire to go outside, but instead concentrate on thinking of a way to bring back proof that I do indeed fly.
A small flutter near the ornate light fixture catches my eye and I giggle to see a cobweb hanging down. I giggle again, because I know the "Mother" (I'm again startled to recognize her, even though I have never met her in life) keeps a spotless place. As I float so close to the ceiling, I realize that it's full of dusty cobwebs that from the floor would be invisible. I think how startling it would be to her to see this and then just as quickly, realize that I can provide the proof indeed! I can make my hand just dense enough to collect these cobwebs!!
And that is exactly what I do, leisurely all around the large room, occasionally glancing at myself on the bed, but mostly concentrating on collecting quite a respectable gray ball of fluff. Just for fun, I stick my head through the large window to look outside, and enjoy the cool darkness, before going back inside, and gently slide into myself. My physical hand now holds the cobwebs gathered, and I feel very pleased with my accomplishments.
In the hallway I hear "Mother" talking with someone else, and excitedly I call to her. She comes in, her arms full of laundry, and tells me she can't stay to talk. I convince her otherwise by offering to fold the long sheets with her, and she gratefully dumps everything on my bed. "Mother" is a middle-aged plump woman, wearing a pink flowered cotton sari, her black hair generously streaked with gray and pulled into a bun at the back.
I tell her that I just came back from flying, and this time brought proof of this. I show her the sticky gray fluff, and tell her how I got it. After the first horrifying moment at the knowledge that her place isn't as clean as she thought, she is actually quite impressed, and talks to me at length about it, promising never to doubt me again. All this while, we are folding the laundry companionably.
It is now later in the day, and I am out in a beautiful garden behind the house. There are a number of younger women there, all dressed in beautiful saris, and I am especially drawn to one with dark curly hair and black eyes. She's very tiny and fragile, and quite sad. We start talking and she tells me that she needs to marry again, but doesn't know how to go about getting out of the marriage she's already in. I feel I know her in more than just the dream.
The garden is becoming more crowded as we are joined by some men and young boys, around age 10 to 12. One of them is dressed in a white silk jacket and pants, and is very "beautiful" - even as I say this word, I know it's inappropriate for a boy, but there is no other way to describe him. He is also quite a comedian, and keeps us all entertained and laughing with his antics. At one time he climbs into "Mother's" lap and sings to her how he has outgrown his work at the plantation, how he needs to expand his wings and go see the world. We are all deeply moved by his plea for independence, and the Mother hugs him closer.
I momentarily lose track of the beautiful slender woman I spoke to, and now look for her. She is standing by herself, her back to us and I go to her, as do all the other people in this garden. She now has an odd headpiece on, one that looks much more like European medieval - a wide chin-strap of white linen embroidered in red, an oval linen white veil held in place with a thin silver circlet. She looks at me with more determination in her eyes and a faint smile, and tells me she is now ready to move on with her life. She is ready for this marriage that is designed to free her from the bondage she is in.
A young man approaches her - he is obviously Caucasian and dressed in medieval garb. He has an easy, approachable, gentle manner about him, and it's obvious that they are very, very happy together.
As a huge celebration starts, for the first time, she laughs aloud with genuine joy, and dances about with her new husband. I do want to ask how she dealt with the issue of her other marriage, but know this is not the time nor the place, and knowing that she did indeed set her other life behind her.
I join in the celebration which now has become a long spiral dance ...
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