The reality of dreams

By Virginia Jasmin Pasalo

 

I believe in the presence of energies among us, communicating beyond physical existence. In a dream for example, at a point when one is in between the real and the imagined, we experience the touch, have conversation and feel the physicality of another. And we say, “nan-palikna”, a term used for a visitation of the otherworldly. I honor these experiences, bridging the distance between the here and beyond, a chance to touch a life from another space, to look at a face, and to feel old feelings in the backburner of one’s psyche.

Sometimes I get lucky to get a full conversation and remember the exchange word for word and write them fast in a notebook i called “Dreamlife” before the morning breeze carries them away. Writing, like taking a photograph entombs the moment, and dreams rebel from being written or photographed, they want to float in freedom, visiting at will, leaving whenever they like, appearing in color or black and white. I take dreams seriously because they tell me more about myself, they tell me about the me that I have forgotten, about the me that hurts, about the me that patiently waits to be remembered. It has no logic or awareness of time and space.

An uncanny dream experience brings me back to a bed, with my head on a pillow, the scent of sampaguita and rosal right on my nostrils, and running my fingers to feel the rich texture of each petal. They were real! Almost, till I woke up. To my mind, dreams are real, they are fragments of a life lived in another dimension, sometimes difficult to apprehend, but a reality that can be understood with honesty and reflection.

 

The sound of light rain

 

you visited last night, i could tell

from the footsteps of shadows

who took your shadow as their own

moving freely in the here and now

without a word, with just a sound

the sound of light rain, falling…

 

you said hello to the coffee cup

still unwashed from the scent of your lips

brushing against the edges of life and death

accepting a truth peddled by a dream

 

you won your destiny

by your own pessimism

and adherence to logic

casting my hopes into the basket

of myths and fairy tales

 

i prayed for you to come back, into the light

as a feather, a leaf, a little flower

or a tiny chilli seed

borne by the droppings of birds

from a distant forest

created by the breath of angels

 

and you came back, with the moonlight

without a word, with just a sound

the sound of light rain, falling…

(For your comments and reactions, please email to: punch.sunday@gmail.com)

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