Of Dreams

It seems that in every dream I have I am running. Sometimes the running takes the form of constantly checking the rearview mirror in whatever car I am riding in, sometimes it happens in that I am hiding somewhere dark, hoping not to be found. Sometimes it takes place under trees, in city alleys, on mountaintops, in valleys, by the sea, over rocks, or through grass. Sometimes I have allies, sometimes no one is in sight. Sometimes I escape, other times I am found and that is when I fight. But always I am running, an eternal fugitive in my sleep.

Is this some psychological sign that I am running from something here in the real world? If so, then I cannot tell you what it is, for it must be buried deep. In life I do my best to run toward things, not away from them. But always in my dreams something lurks just behind me.

I am standing on sand on a seaside shore, enjoying the wind in my hair and knowing that I have to leave soon, because something is coming. My eyes are uneasy, they're searching the sky for a sign of what is wrong, but even as the wind picks up I hear a voice calling my name. It sounds like my mom, which doesn't make any sense, since she's not here. But there she is, in the space underneath the beach house, by the boat. My brother and sister are there to. This was probably what felt wrong, since this trip is just me and my friends. I pass through the tunnel-like shelter to stand in the empty parking space, look out toward the marsh and then to my right.

I gasp. The moon is hanging low in the sky over the condos, bigger than I have ever seen it before. It is shining yellow, golden, spilling light onto the dark island. I call to my friends and my family to come see, and they run out onto the porch and the pavement. Their gasps echo mine. The sight is surreal and indescribably beautiful. I just want to stand here and stare at it. But then the feeling clenches my chest again and I notice something odd. Golden light is not the only thing up there. As everyone else murmurs in appreciation of the beauty, I watch with wide eyes as a faint green glow begins to slowly converge and collapse into the shining orb.

And then the moon explodes.

There are more gasps from everyone, except me. My mind is still trying to comprehend the information my eyes sent it. Fireworks seem to fill the sky and a strange, muted roar pushes its way behind the running, screaming people. I struggle to collect my thoughts, to bring them together into some form of order that I may understand. One pushes the others aside and springs to the front, propelled by the distant roaring... The moon controls the tides. We are on an island. The moon is gone. What does that mean? I don't know. I don't have any idea of the physics involved, or what the sea will do. I only know that the distant roar continues and we must get inland.

I turn and run toward the stairs and my friends on the porch, screaming for them to get their stuff and get in the car. We have to go, we have to get out of here. Flaming meteors, falling everywhere. Bags being thrown in the car, people scrambling through doors and over seats to get in... I slam my door shut but the roar still fills my ears. An engine comes to life and the road stretches out before us to the condos and the empty space above them where the moon had just hung...

My eyes open.

None of this has happened. I'm lying on my bed in my dorm room, we still have weeks until spring break. All is okay. But still, weeks later, as we stood on the beach at midnight watching the sea reflect silver light, I hesitated to call attention to the moon's beauty for fear all would end. But then a quiet voice whispered to my heart and I remembered that the moon had some roles to play yet, and it couldn't vanish now. And indeed, it stayed, and still shines through my window and lights the dreams I have today.