In the wee hours this morning I found myself fighting to stay asleep, to continue a dream I didn't want to wake from. But as it is with these things, my body would have none of it, and I was extracted from my fantasy despite my best efforts.
I dream a lot, and my dreams speak to me. But it isn't often I get a message like this.
I dreamt I was a character who was a hybrid between myself and Jack from the story Brokeback Mountain. I was taller, lankier than my actual self, with blended features both physically and emotionally. I was dressed in a dark brown, comfortably weathered cowboy hat, boots, a blue and white plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up, faded wranglers and a worn leather belt with a big buckle.
I was floating in a river on a black inner tube, fully dressed. This river was lazy and murky and looked much like the Guadalupe. It flowed through forest and town, through places unknown to me. I remember the sky was dark and gloomy, but I could see. The time was neither night nor day, neither dawn nor dusk, but rather some perpetual, oppressive twilight.
I drifted silently down the river through dark forest, past farms and ranches, past suburban tract-house developments and back through the dark forest. I could see but drifted unseen. I passed one ranch where a fit, strong young cowboy was roping horses. He was completely naked but for his hat and roping gear. He roped a horse by the tail and dragged it to the ground. It lay panting and sweating in the dust, and the cowboy jumped off his horse and strode proudly around it, the glow of his lilly-white skin cutting through the dust that hung in the air.
"You're not a real cowboy!," I scoffed. "A real cowboy would never rope a horse by the tail!"
Other cowboys, fully dressed, gathered around to congratulate him on his accomplishment, seemingly unaware of his state of undress. My protests went unheard, and I was envious of his beauty and success. I drifted on past other homes and ranches and cowboys, past people walking dogs and having backyard barbecues, and no one took any notice of me at all.
Eventually I emerged from a section of dark forest and I drifted by a small house siting near the bank of the river. A familiar looking woman with a ghostly white face and thin red lips was standing in the back yard. As I passed she looked at me and asked with a soft country drawl, "Where ya goin', cowboy?"
"I don't know. I'm just waiting."
"Waiting for what?"
"I don't know."
"Well why don't you come on 'round the house while you're waitin'. I've got some wild stallions need ridin.' They're mostly gentle now. Mostly," she winked and turned away.
I hauled myself out of the river and walked around the front of the small ranch house. There was a dirt drive with a gate across it, which I passed through to get into the back yard. Lights were on inside the house, so I peeked in. To my shock, Memaw was standing in the window looking out at me. She was dressed very smart in a suit and looked healthy and strong. Behind her I could see happy people eating at a long table, but I couldn't see their faces. It looked so comfortable and inviting, but I didn't want to join them.
Memaw looked at me with a stern but concerned look, then walked away from the window.
The pale faced woman pulled an old van into the driveway and up to the gate. I ran to open it, and she drove in. Always she had this seductive smile on her face when she looked at me. It kinda weirded me out.
A moment later Memaw was standing next to me. "She's a washed up old celebrity," Memaw said to me of the pale faced woman. "She's got her eye on you, but you just mind your business and let me deal with her."
"Yes ma'am," I said, and she vanished again.
I spent hours riding the pale faced woman's wild stallions. I rode those broncs like nobody's business. They were beautiful and wild indeed - mostly shades of black and dark brown, with shiny coats, flowing manes and muscled bodies. They were full of the Sprit of the West - wild, magical, untamable. One could put their bodies in a corral, but one could never cage their spirit.
At first I was afraid, but in those moments when I sat atop the first wild horse, the cycle of life and death became clear to me in a way it had never before been. Death was as beautiful and precious as life, for they were two sides of the same coin. The Creator who had given the gift of life had also given the gift of death. They were not the beginning and the end, but rather doorways to different states of being. To waste a moment fearing death was to squander a moment of life. And so, fearlessly, I gave myself completely to the moment and for the first time lived my life to the fullest. I truly felt what it meant to be alive.
When all the horses had been tired out and had no fight left in them, I dropped to my feet and I leaned against the rail, dusty and exhausted, bruised and happy. The pale faced woman approached me. "I noticed you had a particular interest in that wild one there," she said, pointing to a yellow dun with an exceptionally free spirit.
"Yes ma'am," I said, looking into that horses eyes. I'd indeed made a connection with that one. We'd found something, some common ground, something in our souls I can't put to words. He was mine and I was his, and that's all I could articulate.
"Well," said the pale faced woman, "you'd better get him ready. I suspect it's a long journey home."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"He's yours. You gotta take him with you. When soulmates meet nothing can part them. That's how God made it, see."
"But have no place to ride or keep him! I don't even own a..."
A voice from behind interrupted, "What he meant was that he'd be delighted to take that horse." I turned and Memaw was standing there. "Now you go get that horse ready to take home with you," she said to me.
"But Memaw I don't have..."
"Do it now and don't back talk me," she said. "Go on."
"Yes ma'am," I said and walked to get the horse. Later Memaw was next to me again. "Memaw, you know I don't own anything but the shirt on my back. You know I'd love nothing more than to have a ranch and take this horse, but..."
"But nothing," she interrupted. "You've got a ranch. All of the arrangements have been made."
Her face softened. She leaned in, kissed me on the cheek, and whispered, "That's why Memaw is here. I'm always here looking out for you. Now you saddle up that horse and ride home to that beautiful ranch in the mountains just like you always dreamed. Don't ever look back, don't have any regrets. I love you." And with that, she disappeared.
I started to wake up then, but as the dream faded I could see from the back of my yellow dun a vast ranch in a green valley ringed by forested, snow-capped mountains. There was an elk herd grazing by a clear, cold stream. A small cabin sat off in the distance, with warm yellow windows and a thin stream of smoke coming from the chimney. There was no human development for as far as I could see in any direction. There was no traffic, no strip malls, no pollution, no greedy corporations and no office cubicles. There were no clocks. It was just me and my horse, clear blue skies and a wild, unspoiled wilderness. The whole thing hummed to the timeless cycles of the seasons, was beautiful for its own sake, and answered to no one but God. It was heaven, and I was home.
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