I've been having huge dreams. I don't know if it's because my life is so quiet - there has to be drama somewhere - or if they are marking some kind of journey. Maybe both these things can be true. Always I am dreaming of moving water. Last night I found my way back to the street I lived on when I was seven and eight years old. We lived at 32 Mill Street, almost at the bottom of a hill. Right at the bottom was a creek where the stone ruins of some kind of mill still stood. Two flat-topped stone and concrete triangles, probably about twenty feet high. Kids used to climb them - their inclines were stepped, and when I was that young they had the feel of some kind of archeological ruin. The creek must once have been deeper, or have been channelled, because barely six inches of water ran between the big stone towers.
They're gone now, and the woods along the creek have been cleared, partly as a city park, partly for houses. My friends and I had a 'secret place' by the creek. A weeping willow hung down, making a green tent that sheltered a tiny piece of stony beach, and part of the creek. We used the split the stones and find tiny fossils, plants, and little shells.
Last night I found my way there again. It was a challenging trip, through some vast panoramic subterranean midway of bars and restaurants and very baroque cinemas and tattoo parlours and some kind of Oscar celebration that was happening in front of one of the huge gaudy cinemas. Up levels, down escalators, more emporiums and sideshows and Babylonian underground gardens. And then, suddenly, out, and there was the old bridge, the creek running out from under it. Krishna was standing in the water looking at me as I emerged. His skin was not blue - it was a beautiful cafe-au-lait brown, and even at that distance, maybe fifty or sixty feet, we made strong eye contact. Then either the water began to rise, or he began to sink, but before he disappeared into the water the creek had gone, and I was finding my way through some ornate and gilt tourist park attached to the creek.
I don't know how I knew it was him, but I did. And this evening, as I prepared to write this blog entry, I went to my cards and cut the Lover. Could be Krishna himself, because he is one of the avatars connected to that card.
A lot of people read the Lover as 'the Lovers' and attribute it to romance. In some ways this can be so. Being 'in love' is certainly about the Lover, because at that point we are essentially deifying the person we're in love with. The honeymoon has yet to be over, and we are in the presence of the God Himself. We forget that, and attribute godlike qualities to the one we happen to be loving, but these slough off soon enough and we then have to come to terms with a real-life human being. But for a while we're hearing Krishna's flute, as you can when you look closely at the card of the Lover.
I loved that creek. I can remember walking on it in the winter after an early hard freeze, when it was still clear of snow. The world underneath the ice was magic, plants stil moving on the bottom, a world held all in and of itself, separated from my world by a glass barrier, unaware of me as it moved along its path. I felt like an angel watching the world from the other side of an unbreachable barrier. That creek will always run through my dreams. Did I hear the God there, in my sanctuary under the willow, breaking stones to find tiny forgotten animals? Maybe.